Prompt For All The Tropes: “did You Like Last Night’s Head”

Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry)

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

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Series Masterlist

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Platform 9 ¾ feels gloomier this year, at least that’s how Harry seems to find it. The worried looks on parents’ faces as they watch their children board the train makes him uneasy, especially when he hears their crude whispers and spiteful glares when he walks past them. “That’s the Styles boy, you want to steer clear of him,” they say as though he isn’t only meters away from where they stand. He chooses to ignore it though, at least that way he can pretend that he isn’t the son of a fucking wanted criminal. 

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TO BE SO LONELY

A/N: i think it's easily the juiciest smut i've written. just woke up and i was like "oh yeah, this is gonna be good" and needed to write it so... enjoy!

PAIRING: Harry X Reader

WARNINGS: smut, dom/sub stuff, edging, mouth fucking, a bit of degrading kink? idk im really bad at these tags lol

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

“Thank you so much, Y/N!” the fans say in unison as the last photo is taken and you make sure everyone got what they wanted.

“Of course. Have a great time tonight!” you smile at them, knowing that they will be down in the pit later tonight at the concert. They told you all about how excited they are to finally see Harry perform and you assured them that he is just as excited to be on stage.

“She is so nice,” one of the shorter girls whispers to her friends, standing already a few feet away, but you still heard her, a smile tugging at your lips. You’ve been trying to build up a great relationship with Harry’s fans knowing well they are so significant in his life. Unlike his previous exes, you might have had it a bit easier than them, having been friends for a long time with Harry before you finally took it to the next level. Now you’ve been together for four years and even though there will always be people feeling bitter about you, most of the fans approve of your relationship, seeing how happy you are making each other.

You wave at them one last time, ready to continue your walk back to the hotel when one of them calls after you again.

“Yeah?” you turn around, not at all irritated that they are holding you up. It’s just one tiny gesture from you, but they will probably always remember meeting you, you’d rather give them a nice experience.

“Do you know why he doesn’t play To Be So Lonely anymore?” the brunette girl asks shyly and you breathe out. It’s come up several times since tour started, but you genuinely have no idea why the song never made it to the set list.

“I wish I could tell,” you tell them with an apologetic smile.

“You could convince him to play it!” the tallest of them chimes in.

“You guys really like to call him an arrogant son of a bitch, huh?” you smirk, making them laugh. “I’ll… ask him, okay? But I can’t promise anything.”

“It would be so great, because we will be here for night two as well,” the brunette muses. You can tell they are huge fans, queuing for two nights in a row, that’s dedication, not even mentioning the money they invested into it.

“Give me an Instagram name, I’ll let you know what he said,” you sigh, giving in. They excitedly get back around you as they decide whose username to give you. Putting it into your notes you bid them your final goodbye and head back to the hotel.

It’s only noon, so Harry is still lounging in the hotel room. Arriving you find him only in a pair of shorts, lying across the bed, scrolling on his phone. His head shoots up when he hears the door open and close, already smiling when you come into his vision.

“Hello, love. Had a nice walk?” he hums, following you with his eyes as you drop your bag and kick your shoes off, changing them to the fluffy slippers the hotel gave you.

“Yeah, you should have really come,” you smile back, thinking how the girls would have lost their shit if you were with Harry when they met you. But Harry felt a little too tired, wanted to get some more rest before tonight’s show. All the traveling has been taking a toll on him, though he wouldn’t admit it, he is too proud for that, but you notice the way he is out like a light almost every night, turning into a pile of bricks when his head finally hits the pillow. Okay, not instantly, he surely makes sure to fulfill his boyfriend duties more than enough. And now as you see him lying in bed shirtless, you just can’t stop your eyes from wandering around his naked chest. It’s always like the first time over and over again, he never fails to stun you with just… existing.

Putting his phone aside he reaches out, grabbing the air to show you he wants you there with him. Without batting an eye, you shimmy yourself out of your tight jeans to make you comfortable, leaving you in only your tour merch shirt as you climb to bed, Harry’s arms wrapping around you, pulling you on top of him as he kisses your cheek sloppily.

“Missed me?” you grin at him, his hands moving up and down your back, reaching lower with each stroke, his fingers brushing over your bum until he finally just grabs it shamelessly.

“Always,” he smirks, lifting his head so your lips could meet.

Walking into the room you had the intention to ask him about To Be So Lonely, but quite honestly, when you feel his hands slide under the fabric of your panties and turning you over he gets on top of you, the song definitely slips your mind… you’ll ask him later, right?

Right.

It’s impossible not to grin as you watch Harry surrounded by all those signs. It’s impressive how they all got together to demand justice for a song. Harry is pretending like he can’t see any of them, but you know it’s hard for him to do so.

These girls really do want to hear that song, why wouldn’t he finally give in? You’ll have to step in. After all, they should get what they want for their money, whether it’s Harry twerking, his naked chest or… a song where they can call him an arrogant son of a bitch.

He is still on his adrenaline rush when you leave the venue, all handsy and touchy, he can’t tear himself off of you, not that you mind it.

“H, stop!” you giggle, when his hand slides under your skirt. His driver, Malcolm has seen and heard enough of the two of you on this tour, doesn’t need any more trauma.

“Sorry,” he growls, but doesn’t seem to actually mean it. Cupping his face you smack a kiss to his lips before patting his chest gently.

“Behave a little.”

He is trying his best, he really does. Keeping his distance as you head up to your room, but as soon as you step inside, the beast is out.

“Harry!” you squeal when he throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bed like a caveman as you hold onto his waist so you don’t fall face first.

“I’m so fucking horny!” he growls and you can’t help but chuckle and smack his ass that just riles him up even more. He throws you to the bed, making you bounce from the action as the sheets wrinkle around you. Climbing on top of you he is quick to attack your lips with his, putting most of his weight on you, a moan slipping through your lips, your legs locking around his waist. But as his mouth travels down your saw and throat, devouring you eagerly, your eyes open and you remember what you were supposed to talk to him about tonight.

“H?” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair. He just hums in response, but doesn’t stop. “Why don’t you just put To Be So Lonely on the setlist?”

He stops, your question clearly surprising him. His head lifts so his hungry green eyes meet yours and you can tell how puzzled he is.

“I’m sorry, did you just ask me about my setlist when I’m trying to get some sexy time?”

You chuckle at his words, nudging his butt with your heels. Pushing himself up to his hands he puts some space between the two of you, but his hips are still pressed against yours.

“I met a few fans today and they were curious why you wouldn’t just play it. They’ve been begging you since the beginning of tour and I know you saw the signs tonight.”

As you speak, you trace his features with the pad of your fingers, when you reach his lips he gently bites on it before kissing it.

“It was just a general, creative decision to leave it out,” he gives you the diplomatic answer, but you know it’s not the truth.

“Okay, so then make another creative decision and put it on the list.”

“Y/N, it’s not that easy to mess with the set list,” he sighs dramatically and you give him a look.

“Uhuh, so you can just randomly sing about a girl dressed as a banana, but can’t put To Be So Lonely on the list beforehand? With time to rehearse and all that?”

Harry growls, his head falling forward to the nook of your neck. A few seconds pass by and no answer comes, but you feel his lips nibbling on your skin, he is trying to avert your attention, but he is not gonna win this.

“H? Why are you so against the song?”

“Because quite frankly, when I wrote it, I didn’t think thousands of women will scream at me at my concerts, calling me an arrogant son of a bitch,” he snaps, giving you a stern look, but you know he is not mad, just a little frustrated that you brought it up when he was trying to get into your pants.

“You can’t be that narcissistic, baby. It’s a great line and… kinda true.”

“Okay, you have the right to call me that, but I would like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not against you. It’s like a joke you share with your fans and they are sad you took it away.”

“They will get over it,” he shrugs, trying to lean down to kiss you, but you move your head out of the way.

“Or you can just give them what they want,” you suggest, giving him the puppy eyes.

“Babe, are you seriously talking about this when I’m literally throbbing for you?” His hips push against you and it’s pretty clear how much he wants you. It’s taking everything in you not to drop the subject and just jump his bones, but… you feel like you owe this to those girls and all his other fans.

“We would be over this if you just told me you’d put it on the list.”

“Not happening,” he shakes his head stubbornly.

“Okay, then…” you push him off of yourself, breaking up the position you’ve been in, his shocked eyes following your movements in disbelief as you stand up from the bed. “Then this is not happening either.”

He stares at you, like you’re a ghost as you fix your shirt and walk over to your suitcase, digging into it aimlessly. You just need to do something so you don’t bend and get back in bed with him. Then you hear his laugh and you dare to peek at him.

“I can’t believe my own fans are cockblocking me!” He is kneeling on the bed, shoulders curled forward as his head hangs low, shaking from side to side with a chuckle. And you can clearly see the outline of his hard cock that makes your thighs shudder.

Folding your arms on your chest you watch him climb off the bed, nearing you but he stops a few feet away, hands on his hips.

“So no sex?”

“Not until you put the song on the list.”

“What if I told you I’ll perform it tomorrow?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you, but you weren’t born yesterday. He is a sneaky arrogant son of a bitch who doesn’t shy away from playing you when sex is on the line.

“Nah, I don’t trust you. You’ll get this,” you say, pointing at your groin, “after I heard you play the song.”

He stares at you for a couple of long moments, probably hoping that you’d break, but it’s not happening, not this time. He then gives up, his head falling back as he growls in irritation.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he mumbles under his breath, heading into the bathroom and you know that the setlist will be longer on night two in Chicago. You won.

Grabbing the doorknob he stops, glancing back at you one last time.

“Babe, I’m going in there and I’m gonna use my own hands. Probably for the first time since last tour,” he informs you, referring back to the time when you spent the most time apart at the beginning of your relationship. The two of you often sought relief on FaceTime, using your own hand, pretending like you were touching each other as your moans travelled through the call across the world. But now you’re in the same room, and he is forced to touch himself. You don’t particularly like the idea, but his ego could use the punch for one time and besides, he’ll get what he deserves tomorrow night if he really plays the song.

“This is your last chance, Y/N,” he warms you, his hand moving to his crotch, palming himself through his pants and your mouth waters, but you keep a straight face.

“Well... to be so lonely…” you sing, grinning back at him, which just earns another grunt from him before he disappears in the bathroom.

He is definitely grumpy when he returns, you can’t tell for sure if he jerked himself off or not, the running water covered any other noise. You take a quick shower too and when you come out, he is out on the balcony, talking to someone on the phone as he leans against the railing. You just get under the covers, making yourself comfortable, listening to his muffled voice through the sliding glass door. Then you hear him get back, moving around the room until the mattress dips under you, his warm body pressing against yours from behind, His hand slides to your stomach, toying with the hem of your sleeping shirt.

“Babe?” he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

“Mmm.”

“Can I just… put it in?” he murmurs and you can feel him grow hard again. Well, if he took care of himself in the shower, he is one horny motherfucker for trying to go at it again. Turning your head to the side you smile at him sweetly.

“You can do more than that tomorrow, after I heard you sing the song.”

You feel him freeze and then sigh, rolling to his back, the warmth of his body disappearing from behind you. Turning around you cuddle to his side and pushing yourself up you smile down at him, proud of yourself for winning this game.

“But I still love you,” you hum, kissing his lips softly. “Do you love me?”

“I guess,” he sighs, but wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him tight as he closes his eyes.

The next morning while Harry is in the bathroom, you search up the girl who gave you her username and send her a quick message that tonight is going to be the night, but keep it a secret so others can be surprised when he plays the song. Macy, as you see on her profile writes you a lengthy reply thanking you for convincing him and ranting how much they love you. It’s sweet and you can’t wait to see the reactions when they finally get what they want.

Harry seems to be holding up his mad act, but you know it won’t last long. He still holds your hand, still makes sure you eat right and still kisses you all the time.

Right before he goes on stage, he pulls you in for one last kiss, but before he pulls back, he leans to your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“I hope you know your ass will be red when I’m done with you tonight.”

A whimper slips through your lips and you need to clench your thighs together as he gives your ass a light smack, running off to get into that stupid box and get rolled under the stage. You mumble a soft fuck under your breath, but you’re excited to see him go all crazy on you.

The fans finally get what they wanted. When the opening accords of To Be So Lonely fill the arena, they lose their shit and Harry just stands behind his mic, smirking to himself. Of course, they scream that one line at him like there’s no tomorrow and you can’t help but laugh.

You know he is riled up, it’s written all over him and you know you’ll be ruined by the end of the day. But you don’t mind it.

You thought he would at least hold it together until you get back to the hotel, but oh boy, were you wrong! Because as soon as Harry finds you when he is off the stage, you see the fire in his eyes. He runs up to you, grabs your hand and starts pulling you after him to the dressing room.

“Harry, are you—“

You don’t get to finish, he pulls you into the room, slams the door closed and pushes you against it, his lips devouring you right away. His hips strain against yours and you can already feel his hard cock pushed against you.

“You got what you wanted? Are you proud of yourself?” he growls, a hand coming up to grab your jaw, keeping you in place, not that you’d ever push him away. No words come out of your mouth, you just can’t get yourself to talk, not when his other hand is already sliding into your pants, rubbing your clit through the fabric of your panties.

“Answer me when I ask a question,” he grits through his teeth, his fingers pushing on your sensitive bud, making you moan from the sensation.

“Yes! Yes, I got what I wanted,” you choke out when his mouth sucks hard on your skin under your ear, for sure leaving a mark on you.

“Want to know what I want?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, legs turning into jelly as he is still working on your clit. Your panties are flooded, this very short sex ban wasn’t only hard on him. You missed out on the lazy morning sex and you couldn’t get your hands on him when he was parading around in the room in only his underwear.

“I want to fuck you until your legs give up and collapse onto me. I want to show you what you were missing last night.”

You gasp when you’re pulled away from the door and you vaguely process him bringing you to the vanity, helping you up until you’re sitting on the wooden top. He basically rips your shirt off of you, throwing you behind him before his hands start kneading your breasts in the black lacy bra you put on purposely, knowing well it’s one of his favorites.

He licks and bites down your neck and chest, not even bothering to unhook the bra, just tugging on the cups so your breasts spill out for him. Your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct and you grind against him, your chest heaving wildly from the way he sucks on your hardened nipples. You want the bra off though, so reaching behind you unclasp it and throw it to the side, an approving grunt leaving his throat as he keeps leaving marks on your breasts.

You can’t stay still as his mouth moves down on your stomach, his fingers working fast to unbutton your pants. He tugs them off of you easily along with your soaked panties, leaving you completely naked in front of him while he is still wearing his stage outfit, but it seems like he wants it off just as much as you do.

Dragging the suspenders off his shoulders, he moves his hands to tear the shirt open, but you stop him with the remaining of your responsible thoughts.

“No! Lambert will fucking kill you!” you chuckle, reaching up to unbutton the shirt carefully. He just breathes out heavily, letting you undress him as he works on his pants. The slacks pool at his feet by the time you’re done with the buttons and he rids himself of the shirt fast, pushing back between your legs, now only in his underwear.

“Always so thoughtful,” he murmurs, kissing you hard as his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you to the end of the vanity table. “But weren’t so thoughtful when you denied this from me.”

Without warning, two of his fingers push into you, curling inside, sending a shiver down your spine. His name tears out of you loud and clear as you gasp for air while Harry starts pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“Did you enjoy playing with me? Did you like making me suffer?”

“Harry!” you moan, your thighs starting to shake as your orgasm is building up rapidly.

“You were a little brat, you know that? I should punish you for it.”

You want to protest, you want to say you’re sorry, but you just can’t form the words, the only thing that leaves your mouth is his name over and over again. But right when you’re about to cum, he pulls back and all the air gets knocked out of your lungs.

“I don’t think you deserve to cum just yet. Now get on your knees,” he orders and you jump off fast, not even thinking for a second about obeying him. He has full control over you and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

You eagerly pull his underwear down, his throbbing, hard cock springing free and your mouth waters at the sight, the head glistening from the precum. But before you could wrap your lips around him, he stops you, making you look up at him confused.

“No, I don’t want you to suck me,” he hums shaking his head, cupping your face in his hands. “I want to fuck that bratty mouth of yours so you know that your words have consequences.”

Fuck, he is so hot! You need to clench your thighs as a moan rips out of you.

“Stay still,” he orders, one hand on the base of his cock as he pushes himself into your warm, wet mouth, a whimper of your name slipping through his pink lips. Then both his hands come to cup your head and he starts thrusting in and out of your mouth.

Putting your hands on his thighs you try to keep as steady as possible, his head reaching the back of your throat every time he pushes into your mouth. Tears are stinging your eyes, but you don’t want him to stop. Looking up you see how much he is enjoying it, how you’re the only one who makes him feel this way and you can almost feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm again. The urge to touch yourself is strong, but you know he would punish you for that, he doesn’t like you touching yourself, unless he asks you to do it, so you just try to breathe and stay still just like he asked.

“Fuck, your mouth is perfect,” he growls, pushing in one last time, your nose touching his pelvis and he keeps himself there for a few heartbeats, until you start gagging. Then he pulls back, his whole dick glistening from your saliva and it’s such an exciting view, one you’ll never have enough of.

He helps you up, your knees are sore, but you couldn’t care less. Kissing you hard his hands squeeze your ass before he turns you around, bending you over the vanity and you push your ass up high instantly.

“And now…” he hums, his hand cupping your ass as he pushes his cock between the cheeks, sliding it back and forth a few times, making you whimper. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night.”

His hand smacks your ass, making you yelp, then he massages it gently before his palm meets the cheek again. Fuck, this feels so good and he is not even inside you yet.

“Harry,” you whine, your upper body pressing against the wooden surface as he keeps kneading your butt with no mercy. Then he bucks his hips back, just enough so his cock now slides between your soaking wet folds and he starts rocking himself against, teasing and edging you.

“What is it? Now you want my cock? You didn’t want it last night?”

“I did! I wanted it!”

“So you just chose to be a brat, letting me use my hands?”

You don’t answer, his tip is nudging at your clit every time he pushes forward and you clench your walls around nothing, you need to feel him inside you or you’ll go nuts.

“Just for your information, I didn’t jerk myself off last night. It was hard to resist, but I didn’t want anything else than your sweet pussy.”

“Then take it. It’s all yours, Harry!” you cry out and yelp again when he smacks your ass again.

“Gonna fuck you so good you’ll never want to play games with me,” he growls, grabbing the base of his cock and finally pushing inside you, both of you gasping from satisfaction. “Fuck, nothing feels like this, baby,” he breathes out, staying motionless for a few seconds, his cock buried balls deep inside you.

Then he grabs your hips and starts pounding into you so hard, your thighs keep hitting against the edge of the table and you need all your energy to keep yourself up. His stamina is impressive, he just gave a whole ass concert and now he is fucking you so hard, as if he’s been training for it his whole life. Fingers digging into your flesh, his hips smacking against your ass every time he thrusts inside you hard and fast.

“Are you close?” he pants and all you can do is nod eagerly. “Don’t cum yet. Don’t cum!”

“Harry! Please!” you beg, almost crying for relief.

“Not yet!” he barks and pulls out of you, the lack of his hardness inside you making you gasp. “Come on, baby. Just a little longer,” he murmurs, pulling you up from the table, he presses a kiss to your forehead and lips as he walks you to the sofa. He turns you to face him and you throw your arms around his neck like a little monkey, you just need to be close to him. He has edged you so close to your orgasm two times, you’re not sure you can take a second.

You hear voices coming from the other side of the door and for a moment you wonder if he locked the door, but when he kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip, you forget about it instantly.

His hands find the back of your thighs and he picks you up easily as he sits down, making you straddle him, knees pushing into the soft cushion. His lips melt against yours, a tad bit softer than he has been treating you, but you love both sides of him equally. Strong hands run up and down your naked, sweaty back before one of them moves between the two of you, lining himself up with you and then he pulls you down, his cock filling you up again as you softly gasp against his mouth.

“Ride me. Wanna see you bounce on me,” he tells you.

You feel tired, like not much energy is left in your body, but you nod, mustering up everything you have to obey him. His hands grab onto your waist, guiding you in your first few movements as you roll your hips back and forth, up and down, riding him in his dimly lit dressing room, his thousands of fans still lingering around in the building probably. It excites you, knowing that so many others want him, ache for him, but you’re the only one he wants and needs.

Grabbing onto his broad shoulders you keep up a steady pace, bouncing on him, panting heavily and every time you feel like you’re too tired to continue, you see it in his eyes, the want, the desire, how in awe he is with you, like you’re the only person on this Earth. He leans forward and kisses your throat, collarbones before wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking and biting it to edge your senses.

“H, I’m close,” you moan, pulling his head up so you can kiss him.

“Wanna cum around my cock?”

“Yes! Please!”

He wraps his arms around you as he rises from the sofa and turning the two of you he lays you down, getting on top of you. It’s a small sofa, one of your legs is thrown over the back while the other one falls off of the seating just so he can get between your thighs, but when he starts pounding into you, bottoming out every time you forget about how uncomfortable it is.

“Cum for me. Let me feel your pussy tighten around my cock,” he grunts, kissing your hard, his tongue pushing past your lips.

A few more thrusts and you finally fall over the edge, coming so intensely, you can’t hold a scream back as you drag your nails down his back. You’re seeing stars, gasping for air as he follows you with his own relief, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mine. You’re all mine,” he grunts, so animalistic and raw as his thrusts become slower but even harder, his cock jerking inside you.

“Yes, I’m yours!” you breathe out, holding him tight as he rides the last waves of his orgasm until he comes to a stop, but still remains inside you.

You’re gone, melted into a puddle, barely able to move your limbs, but it feels so good. The thought of getting up from this sofa feels so painful, you just want to stay here, like this forever, even though your back is starting to hurt and your leg is kind of going numb.

You feel Harry’s lips gently kiss your shoulder before he pushes himself, up, lifting his weight off of you and sliding out of you at the same time. You must have whimpered unapprovingly at the feeling, because he kisses your lips softly.

“I know baby. Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs and you hear him move around the room, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

You feel a damp washcloth between your legs, he cleans you up gently not to hurt you since he knows how sensitive you are, especially after a round like this. It hurts to get your leg off of the back of the sofa, but you just need to. Pushing yourself up into a sitting position Harry returns, helping you up and as soon as you’re on your feet, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you to the shower where the water is already running.

You take a nice, hot shower together, Harry washes you with so much care and keeps kissing you murmuring sweet nothings to you. It always amazed you how dominant he can be during sex, but then he turns into this soft bundle of joy, taking good care of you, no matter what you did or said.

While you get dressed, you inspect your reddened butt in the mirror and you swear you see the outline of his hand on it. Walking up behind you he squats down and kisses the red marks, making you chuckle.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, regret glistening in his eyes.

“No. I would have told you on the spot,” you smile down at him. Grabbing you pants he helps you into them, caressing your bum over the fabric gently. He stands back up and cups your face in his hands, kissing you tenderly.

“I love you. But if you pull this shit on me again,” he warns, but can’t push his smirk down.

“I did it for your fans.”

“Then tell them it earned you a good fuck.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, pulling him down to kiss you again.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

N. 17 “Fucking try me.” PLEASE

Fucking Try Me

17. “Fucking try me.”

Based off of this ask

Prompt List

A/N: This is so hot I can’t even function. You’re welcome🥴🥵 Enjoy🙃

You and Harry had a great and VERY active sex life. So active that Jeff has walked into many of your not so private rendezvous. The two of you couldn’t get enough of each other and if you needed each other, you just did it. Didn’t matter where you were, if you wanted each other, you were going to find a way.

A few nights ago, the two of you were invited out to dinner with Jeff and Glenne. But just as you were about to head downstairs to leave, Harry comes out of the bathroom and catches a glimpse of your outfit for the evening.

“I hope you weren’t planning on us just leaving and not let me fuck you.”

“Well if we are going to fuck, can you bend me over the couch? It’ll make it easier for us to leave afterwards.” You exit out of the room, with a needy Harry right behind you. The two of you then proceeded down the stairs to which you were almost immediately bent over the arm of your couch. Your jeans and panties were pulled all the way down to your ankles and Harry’s mouth was on you. Normally you wouldn’t be into spitting. But with Harry it was like you needed it all of the time. You couldn’t get enough of him spitting on you. Whether it be in your mouth or on your pussy, you absolutely loved it. You were already wet, because how could you not be when you were around Harry? Just for him to spit on both of your holes; you were completely dripping.

For the next 15 minuets, the sounds of Harry’s skin harshly slapping against yours and your combined moans resonate through the otherwise quiet house. You could feel his fingers digging into your hips as he slammed his hips into yours, causing you to dig your nails into the couch cushions. By the time you two left the house, your once perfectly curled hair was now straight and sweaty, you were walking on wobbly legs, and you smelled like sex, pure, raw sex. And on top of all that, you were 15 minuets late. You and Harry strolled onto the restaurant slightly disheveled, with an underlying sex smell which the two of you did your best to mask; well you did at least. Harry on the other hand wore it like a badge of honor so to speak.

“Look who decided to show up” Jeff says as you and Harry approach the table.

“I’m so sorry were late, we got held up.” You rush sitting in front of the couple.

“How was it?” Jeff teases, alluding to the real reason why you and Harry were late.

“Why do you always assume we’re just having sex?” Harry questions, even though in the back of his mind he already knows the answer.  Glenne and Jeff break out into laughter across from you guys.

“Because you guys are always having sex” Jeff says matter of factly, still laughing at Harry’s previous statement.

“No were not” you jump in, even though you know he may have a point.

“Y/n, I love you guys, I really do. But you act like sex-crazed teenagers”

“No we do not” Harry tries.

“Almost every time we’re together, I’m either walking in or about to walk in on you guys.” The table goes silent. All of you knowing what Jeff said was completely true. “I don’t think you guys could go a whole day without going at it” he challenges.

“I could, this one couldn’t” you reply

“Weren’t you the one who was all over me yesterday?” Harry questions, already knowing that you were the one who was literally crawling onto his lap every five minuets.

“Well weren’t you the one who made us late” you shut him down instantly with the undeniable truth.

“Well let’s just agree on this, you wouldn’t be able to last more than a day” he challenges you.

“Fucking try me.”

“Challenge accepted” he sticks his hand out to shake on it, but you leave him hanging. Which causes Jeff and Glenne to burst into laughter again. “She just knows she’s gonna lose, that’s all.” he chuckles, shaking his head at you.

Fast forward 3 days later and the two of you are doing everything you can to make the other break. Whether it be Harry brushing past you in the kitchen, pressing his front into you from behind, or you bending over right in front of him. Both of you were dying over the lack of intimacy between the two of you. Now outsiders may wonder how you guys survive while Harry’s on tour if you can barely make it through three days. Well the answer to that is simple. The two of you could survive Harry being on tour because you guys weren’t around each other. Hence the reason why the two of you are always going at it; because you just couldn’t get enough of each other. In Harry’s opinion, the mere sight of you made him want to take you on any nearby surface.

He didn’t think it would be so bad at first, but he was sadly mistaken. And he realized his mistake as soon as he got home the first night.  The two of you went about your normal routine, the two of you changed and got ready for bed like usual. Only this time, Harry was going crazy. Seeing you bent over the bathroom sink in his t-shirt doing your nighttime routine was driving him up the walls. When you hopped into bed you gave Harry a kiss goodnight and it literally felt like sparks of electricity were flowing through his body. On top of that, sometimes before bed Harry would push his cock inside you. He loved having you wrapped around him and you loved how full you felt with him inside of you, so it just made sense. Instead, Harry had to sleep next to you, more like pressed against you from behind instead of inside of you. He was starting to regret his decision.

Harry wasn’t the only one though, you were starting to regret it too. You did fine the first night when you got home, but everyday after that was a struggle. The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, just to find Harry jerking himself off in the shower. You could hear his deep moans and you just wanted to get in with him. You wanted him to push you against the wall and just slam into you. But you couldn’t lose. You really wanted to win this. But it was really hard, it was hard to win a no sex competition when the literal concept of sex was  walking around your home. Both of you were hot and bothered and you knew it. Then it had turned into a breaking game. Who was going to break down and give in to their need for the other first? For the next two days, all the two of you did was try and seduce each other. Whether it be you wearing nothing but one of Harry’s shirts and a thin pair of panties around the house, or Harry wearing no underwear under his sweats, giving you the perfect view of his cock. Both of you were trying so hard to have self control but it was getting harder and harder as the days progressed. Night 2 was probably the hardest of them all. As Harry was getting into bed he climbs on top of you and he smears his lips onto yours. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you against his body, pressing his bulge against you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him more into you. Your spontaneous make out session continues, embracing the fact that this was the only action both of you had received for the past two days almost. Your make out comes to an abrupt end when Harry pulls away and rolls over onto his side of the bed. He says a quick goodnight to you and he presses a kiss to your cheek before turning out the lights. Leaving you wide awake and turned on.

The next day went just like the others. You get up, and you go through the day trying your hardest to get one another to cave in. These things went from slight brushes against each other to spontaneous make outs. It was as if you both found a loophole in your bet. Both of you indirectly rationed that making out wasn’t breaking any of the terms of the bet, it was just relieving some of the sexual frustration the two of you had built up within the past few days. Throughout the day at random, you’d be pressed between the wall or any other surface of the house and Harry. His lips would be smeared against yours and his hardened cock would be pressed against you. Your fingers would be tangled in his curls and you’d release soft whimpers into his mouth. Even though it wasn’t close to actually having sex with Harry, you would take anything you could get.

Now at first Harry was confident that you were going to be the first one to cave in. But he was sadly mistaken. As much as he would have liked to win the bet, he didn’t know how much more he could take.

You and Harry were now approaching the end of the third day of your bet. The two of you were laying on the couch with your legs stretched across his lap. The two of you were comfortably watching some show on Netflix Harry suggested. You guys were doing good, keeping your sexual desires at bay. That  was until the coveted sex scene comes. The fact that the characters in the show were getting more action than both of you were drove you and Harry crazy. Mainly Harry though. The way the woman in the show reacted to the pleasure she was receiving made Harry hard all over again. All he could think about was the way you responded to him when he fucked you. The way you whimper when you feel his cock stretching your walls. The way you grip onto the sheets as he thrusts his cock into you, going so deep you could feel him in your tummy. The way your head thrashed against any surface you were pressed against. Even the way you practically begged him to fill you up. All of these filthy thoughts were flooding into his mind, just from the simple sex scene on the screen in front of him. He looks over to you and he sees you and he sees how your eyes are locked in on the tv. He could see how bad you wanted him, simply from the way you were biting your lip, and the not so subtle way you were clenching your thighs.

Harry couldn’t do it anymore. He stands up from the couch, and he bends down, pulling you up and over his shoulder. He tunes out all of your protests and questions to his sudden actions and he takes you both upstairs to the bedroom. Harry tosses you down onto the bed and he gawks over your body. He wastes no time, ripping your panties down your legs. He pulls your shirt off and he spreads your legs. He pushes you further up the bed, pushing his head between your spread legs. In that moment all of the need you had built up in the past few days came rushing back to you. As much as you would have liked to have his mouth on you, you needed him inside of you even more.

“I need you inside of me so bad” you tug at his hair. He looks up towards you and he sees the needy, and desperate look in your eye. He pushes up off of the bed and he peels his boxers off of his hips. As soon as he does, his painfully hard cock slaps against his lower stomach. The crown of his cock is so red, it looked as if it was about to burst. His shaft looked thicker than normal and the veins running up from his balls to his head were larger and more prominent than usual. You couldn’t get the thought of how those veins would feel rubbing against your walls. By now you were throbbing for his cock. Harry climbs back onto the bed and he positions himself between your legs.

“Tell me I won” you pant, feeling the thick head of his cock nudging between your lips, prodding at your tight hole.

“You won baby” he groans, dropping his head into the space between your neck and your shoulder. One hand grips your waist, holding you still beneath him, and the other grips his cock, slowly pushing further into you.

“You’re so big” you whimper feeling his girth stretch you out so good. You didn’t know if you had a pain kink, but you did know that you loved the sting that came with Harry pushing his cock into you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as you feel him begin to move inside of you. The two of you could only gasp, neither being able to express how good you both felt in words. The only word you could get out was “harder”. You were dying to feel his cock slam into you. You wanted him to pin you against the mattress and just pound into you.

As soon as it left your mouth Harry instantly pulled out of you. He flipped you onto your stomach and he spread your legs as wide as possible. He grips onto his cock and he lines himself up with your entrance. Without any warning Harry slams into you again, and he doesn’t slow down. His hips continuously crash into yours, sending shockwaves through your body. He hears your whimpers and he sees you falling apart in front of him. He watches you grasping at anything you could.

“Fuckin tight” he growls pining your hands above your head. He then presses his upper body into your back, pressing you further into the bed.

“You’re so deep” you gasp, feeling him going so deep inside of you could feel him in your tummy.

“Y’like me deep inside yeh baby? Y’like feeling me in y’little tummy baby? Like feelin’ nice and full” he pants, laying further into your back.

“Mhm” you whimper “m’gonna cum” you mewl. This made Harry slam into you even harder than before. You felt his cock nudging the soft spongy spot deep inside of you. “Fuck” you whimper, clenching tightly around his cock.

“Cum f’me baby. Cum ‘round my cock sweet girl” he pants, feeling his own release catching up with him.

“Oh my god” you scream feeling your release crash down onto you. Harry could feel your juices coating his cock and he knew for sure you were dripping onto the sheets. He feels his own release catching right up to him. He slams into you one more time, filling you to the hilt, and stilling inside you. His grip on your wrists tighten as he fills you up with his cum. You can feel spurt after spurt of his cum flowing into you. Once he’s released every last drop of his cum inside of you, he slowly pulls out of you.

“Squeeze f’me baby. Wan’ yeh to keep it all inside.” He mumbles into your ear. He slowly pulls out of you and he sees some of his cum begin to spill out of you. He swipes at your pussy and scoops up some of his cum, and he pushes it past his lips. The taste of his cum mixed with your juices was intoxicating to him, it was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Harry falls back onto the bed next to you and he pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss to your forehead. You lay your head on his chest and the two of you lay there together, silently reminiscing on the amazing sex the both of you just had. Despite the great sex you just had, the both of you could go again. You both were making up for the morning, afternoon, and evening sex the two of you missed out on for the last few days.

“Do you think we’re sex addicts?” Harry whispers, breaking the silence and staring up at the ceiling.

“I think both of us just ooze sex, and we just happen to be addicted to each other” you reason playing with his necklace.

“So yes” he chuckles, lightly scratching at the back of your neck.

“Y’wanna go again?”

“I thought you’d never ask” he chuckles, pulling you on top of him. “How about you let me get a taste first” he smirks, sticking his tongue out towards you.

You and Harry were going to have a sit down conversation with Jeff. Because neither you or Harry were going to be slowing down anytime soon, so Jeff was just going to have to suck it up. Maybe you and Harry could get a do not disturb sign? Or a sock on the door handle?

Masterlist

WELCOME TO THE MASTERLIST FOR IN MY FEELINGS

what it is: you and harry hate one another, like really hate one another–but then you start fucking. 

based off of lana del rey’s song in my feelings. 

*completed*

*warning: the sex in this series is going to be rough and a little mean (choking, slapping, etc) so if that’s not your thing…beware*

✰=smut

in my feelings fits

playlist

moodboard

general masterlist

…………………………

part one

part two✰

part three✰

part four✰

part five✰

part six✰

part seven

shy

being mr. azoff's assistant was y/n's dream job, it was just a bummer that his most beloved client seemed to hate her.

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Did you want anything, Harry? (Y/N)'s about to make a coffee run." 

Although she'd never admit it, (Y/N) held her breath as she fiddled her fingers behind her back, awaiting any response. She already had a good idea of what he would say when he bothered to give an answer, but she still had a tiny hope he'd prove her wrong. 

"No, 'm alright." 

He didn't even raise his head from where it was buried in his phone. Mr. Azoff gave (Y/N) that same polite smile he always did whenever Mr. Styles rejected her services, like he wasn't sure why Mr. Styles wasn't more accepting but it wasn't his place to ask or change the habit. Mr. Azoff treated her right and that was what she tried to focus on, not that the fact his best friend and someone she could consider to be a creative idol, couldn't seem to even give her a moment of his time. 

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) chirped pleasantly, well versed in how to brush off being brushed off. 

(Y/N) was grateful for the fact her boss's preferred shop was only a few blocks away from his office, giving her the chance to clear her head with fresh (or as fresh as it could be here in L.A.) air instead of stuffing herself into her car. 

Mr. Styles was always like this. Why it still bothered her when he brushed her off or ignored any of her offers of help, she wasn't sure, but it did. That world famous kindness that circulated within the industry as well as what was flung around Twitter had been what she was expecting when she finally made it through the vetting process to be hired as Jeff Azoff's assistant, knowing full well who one of his biggest clients was. She had been realistic, knowing that Harry Styles wasn't going to be her best friend, fawning over her at all times, or suddenly fall in love—this wasn't like those stories she remembers reading when she was young—but she had figured he would give her more than a passing glance the first time she met him. 

Since that first day where he offered a single sentence introduction, she'd been waiting in vain for anything more to happen. More often than not, his conversation would stop when she entered the room or go quiet enough to let her know she wasn't to be included. He gave her plain smiles, not even the hint of a dimple, when he bothered to acknowledge her presence, usually when he would skirt around her to leave the room she'd just entered. She never got a chance to experience firsthand the humor everyone praised, the kindness he all but trademarked as a middle name, or the gentle vulnerability he gave to those who needed it. He could barely even meet her eyes, his gaze moving to his phone or where he plucked at his sleeves or painted nails. 

To be fair, she was still fairly new at the job, only about six months in to her position, so there was a good chance he still needed some warming up after being so used to Mr. Azoff's last assistant that had been employed for years before relocating and leaving the position. Mr. Styles was also known to be shy, something a few others had disclosed to her when they noticed she didn't have much to add whenever he was brought up. Maybe he needed a little more time, and that was something she was more than willing to give, along with the space it seemed he needed.

At least until his European tour started. Then, he would have to at least get used to her presence, seeing as they were to be sanctioned to matching flights, hotels, and backstage areas for the better part of the next three months. She wouldn't be able to give him much space then. Hopefully he wouldn't hate her more after those ninety days together. 

As much as the walk to the cafe and the extra Matcha latte she treated herself with, cleared her head and had her back on her feet after being blown back by the nonchalance paid to her entire existence by someone she felt singled out by, the effect could only last for so long when she entered the office. 

Before pushing the door open, she could hear the voices inside happily chattering away. Mr. Styles' cackling laugh that she was sure had his eyes creasing closed with his head thrown back was the most prevalent noise, something she usually only caught the tail end. As she expected, the second she gave a gentle rapping of her knuckles against the door just before pushing it open, all sound stopped, even Mr. Azoff's chattering trailing off once he realized Mr. Styles was done interacting for the moment. 

"Here you go," she chirped, passing along the coffee to her boss with an unbothered smile that was much stronger than she felt, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

"No, no," he shook his head, "Not until this afternoon. Go and enjoy your lunch, (Y/N)." 

She gave a quiet nod of her head, chancing a single look in Mr. Styles' direction. He had his gaze fixed on his hands. A flush clung to his skin, surely a lingering effect of the laughter she had interrupted. 

"Okay, let me know if that changes," she offered with a short smile before turning on her heel.

Just as she left the room, closing the door behind her, she heard Mr. Azoff heave a muffled sigh on the other side. 

"Harry..." 

"Jeff, please. She jus'—" 

(Y/N) left before she could hear much more. She didn't need to know what Mr. Styles thought about her. 

—————

Despite the buzz filling the terminal, (Y/N) almost couldn't believe the way not a single person had noted Mr. Styles' presence. Not even a single muttering or whisper of his name could be heard in the busy place. 

He sat in peace, a grey hoodie with the strings tied covered his torso, hood up over a pink beanie that concealed his curls. He sat with his legs spread wide, taking up space with his black sweats folded over his legs. Scrolling through his phone, he was in his own world with his chin propped up in his hand, cheek smushed against his ring-bare fingers. He only looked up when boarding was called. 

(Y/N) followed quietly behind the trio of Mr. Styles, her boss, and Mr. Lambert, the tour's stylist. She could hear the tittering and quiet conversation in front of her while other members of production and the team trailed behind her. Without Mr. Azoff's wife joining them just yet for this tour, she didn't have many close friends within this group for the time being. 

It was all a blur, finding her seat on the plane and placing her carryon above. She was the first in her row, huddling close to the window seat. She knew Mr. Azoff was going to join her as soon as he finished doing whatever it was he and the Harry's were doing, so at least she wasn't going to be completely alone. 

Biding her time until take off while the rest of the plane filled up, (Y/N) distracted herself with answering emails on Mr. Azoff's behalf. She verified hotel arrangements, replied to all the correspondence that went along with Mrs. Azoff joining them later in the week, and anything else that needed her attention before takeoff. 

Huddled into her corner of the row, the early call time for the flight began to catch up with her. The emails in front of her couldn't hold her attention against the tiny pillow she had managed to sneak into the backpack she shoved under her seat, the plush sandwiched between her cheek and the sidewall of the plane. The sound of shuffling feet as the rest of the flight filled up was like white noise to her cloud-puffed brain. 

(Y/N) couldn't help herself before she was fluttering her eyes closed. Surely, Mr. Azoff would wake her before takeoff if she really passed out. 

She wasn't sure how long she sat, resting her eyes with her limbs floating in the in-between realm before much of the shuffling ceased and the heft of someone settling in beside her sounded in the empty space. She didn't bother blinking her eyes open, even when she heard chattering beside her. Mr. Azoff was one of the voices, followed by someone who sounded a little too close to her for his comfort. 

"Jeffery..." Mr. Styles sighed. 

"Stop acting like a child, H," her boss scolded, voice stern though he was quiet, "She's asleep, I'm not going to make you talk to her." 

(Y/N) was grateful for the way she had her cheeks mushed between her shoulder and her fluffed pillow. Maybe if she covered them, her seat mates wouldn't be able to feel the embarrassed heat gathering under her skin. 

Mr. Styles was sitting right next to her, she realized when she heard the heavy intake of a breath leave his lungs. She wasn't sure how she'd do it, but it looked like she was going to have to pretend to be asleep all the way to the hotel. Maybe, she could convince everyone she was a very well-organized and direction-following sleepwalker if she was careful. 

That thought didn't last long, (Y/N) having to break her facade at the sound of Mr. Azoff's voice calling to her.

"(Y/N)," he started, speaking around Mr. Styles. He repeated her name a couple of more times, prompting her to mime opening her eyes as if she'd been dead asleep only moments prior before he continued, "We're about to take off." 

"Oh," she smiled, the curve tight, "Thank you." 

If not for the fact she was sure she would die if they knew she had overheard the way Mr. Styles couldn't stand to even sit next to her, she would have hesitated more before she crossed her gaze to the man beside her. His eyes were already on her when she looked at him, expression tight as he seemingly forced a smile in her direction. His back was stiff against the seat, hands twisted in his lap with flaking nail polish. His gaze didn't linger on her for very long before he looked away, just in time for the safety spiel from the steward team.  

Following suit, she followed through the motions of checking her seatbelt, absently locating the exits, and curling into her seat by the time they were cleared for takeoff. She didn't like this part, but it was enough to huddle herself against the back of her seat and brace herself with her hands clenched into the armrest to her right side. 

She sat with her eyes closed, nails digging into the leather of the armrest as she felt the motion beneath her feet, the runway disappearing underneath them until the turbulence of takeoff shook the body of the plane. (Y/N) breathed her way through it, hunkering down into the slouchy fit of her hoodie. 

It wasn't until the turbulence evened out, steady windfall starting in the dark of the early morning, that she felt eyes on her. Without really thinking, she blinked her eyes open only to find Mr. Styles looking to her with something softer painted over his features. 

He didn't immediately flit away when her eyes met his, allowing himself to touch over her features with the warmth of his gaze. His tanned skin still held a buttery warmth even under the draining overhead lights of the cabin, stubble covering the bottom half of his face she'd never seen him grow out until recently. His eye contact was famous around the world, unrelenting though welcoming as it gave her a chance to see the flecks and streaks through the moss of his irises. (Y/N) floundered under his attention, unsure of what to do with something she doesn't think she's ever had before. 

"Um—Did—Or, do you want m-my pillow?" she asked, blindly reaching for the little plush fit between her body and the sidewall. 

At the sound of her voice, Mr. Styles seemed to realize what exactly he was doing and who he was glazing over with his eyes. He shook his head then, curls peeking out from underneath his beanie. 

"No, thank you," he mumbled, reaching into his hoodie pocket to pull out a pair of headphones. 

That was all his attention that she was granted until his headphones were plugged into his ears and she was alone again in her row. 

—————

"And finally, on drums, Sarah Jones!" 

(Y/N) was blown away as the area erupted into cheers she was sure could rival the screams that sounded when Mr. Styles first appeared on stage. She watched on from the mouth of the backstage area, her boss at her side with a drink in hand, as Mr. Styles reveled in the screaming and yelling, a bright dimpled smile on his face. If not for the fact she was technically there in a professional sense and this was only the second show she'd had the privilege of watching, she would have joined in and screamed and cheered for the band that was being introduced. (After getting a chance to meet every moving part of his touring band as well as watching them perform, she very much so understood the enthusiasm offered to these characters).

It was when Mr. Styles joined in on the fanfare, pumping his fist and making a noise that sounded like he was barking along with the crowd that she couldn't hold back her laughter. The layered fringe hanging from his jacket glittered in the light, matching the sheen of sweat that covered his shirtless body. He threw his head back with a bright laugh she almost wished he had the microphone held to his mouth for, just so she could hear what his joy sounded like. 

Even just this moment alone was something she was sure she was always going to remember, no matter how many times she was going to witness this over and over. Never had she been to a concert that held the same energy as these arenas—and eventually stadiums—she'd visited. She couldn't blame a single person in this room for everything they did to get to this place, every moment of planning, saving, celebrating, and crying. She understood. 

Mr. Styles was meant to perform. Even with his brief breaks he spent on movie sets, it was clear why he came back to this space with these people that followed him like honeybees and gave so much love and kindness to him. 

She watched as he finished his introductions of the band, launching into another song that had the whole arena moving and dancing. Even without the help of the spotlight and the cameras following his every move, she was sure she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes from him; he commanded the space, with every intention of taking that attention and thriving under it. 

Despite the relationship—or lack there of—off stage, (Y/N) couldn't wait to see this almost every night for however many months she had the privilege of standing stage side.

—————

"Call me if you need anything!" 

Mr. Azoff shook off (Y/N)'s offer as she started off in the direction of the green room being used as the catering space for the day. A busy morning had ensued, leaving (Y/N) running around trying to find any trace of an adequate wifi connection in the middle of the venue just so she could answer emails and show up to video meetings she was attending on Mr. Azoff's behalf. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for the time differences given the fact she was on a completely different continent than any business she was working with. The stress of it all had her beat before the morning had even touched into the double digits for the day, still with another handful of hours worth of work to get through. 

Finally—finally—she had typed away at every email, fielded every phone call, and spaced out the following day's agenda given the lack of a performance crowding Mr. Azoff's schedule. Now, she could sit down and eat before shuttling back to the hotel for a nap—as long as she wasn't needed for anything else, of course.

The catering space wasn't as busy as she sure it had been an hour prior, only a few others lingering about. One of the few happened to be Mr. Styles. 

A clip was holding his curls back, a plain t-shirt with a pair of basketball shorts covering his legs revealed he had just finished with a workout before he would shower off and get to his soundcheck. He had his phone in hand as he forked food into his mouth, that intense look on his face that she always seemed to catch on him. His brows were knitted heavily in the middle, shrouding the bright green of his eyes in the shadow of his brow with his jaw tight as he chewed down whatever he had picked over from the table. 

(Y/N) flitted her eyes to the rest of the crew littering the space before she was caught by Mr. Styles who seemed to always somehow know when someone had spotted him, even with nothing more than a phone camera. The little whiteboard catering hung above the food table was filled out with the day's menu. The prettily curved words brought a bright smile to (Y/N)'s face when she spotted the forth item down the list. 

The catering team's arancini was easily one of (Y/N)'s favorite things she's ever eaten, on this tour or otherwise. She didn't care that it wasn't more than some risotto rice left over from the night before's dinner, repurposed as to minimize waste and turned into a crunchy, cheesy ball with the perfect acidic marinara served alongside it. If she could, she would live off those little pieces by themselves. Hopefully, there were at least a few left for her to devour, even if they were a little cold at this point. 

Readying her plate with a small serving of Caesar salad and the lemon baked salmon (Mr. Styles' favorite and top request from what she'd heard), (Y/N) worked down the line until she reached the covered basin that held the arancini she easily dreamt of at least five times since the first bite. Lifting the lid, the fresh scent of bright tomatoes and fragrant oregano filled her senses, the bite of the smell hitting her harder with her empty stomach. 

Nothing hit quite as hard on her expectant tummy than the fact she realized only a second too late that there wasn't a single rice ball left in the warmer. A thin layer of remaining sauce was laid along the bottom, but nothing was dropped beside the mushed tomatoes. 

Maybe she was being a little dramatic, but (Y/N) felt her shoulders drop at the sight of the empty container. To be fair, she was almost two hours late to serving time, so she couldn't be that surprised that there wasn't any left to spare. Surely, she wasn't the only one obsessed with the parmesan coating on the outside of the sticky rice. She couldn't blame anyone for jumping on the opportunity to take as many as they could while they were there. 

(Y/N) replaced the lid, taking her half filled plate to one of the small tables set up in the room. The day began to catch up with her as she sat down. Her morning had been hectic enough to suck the energy out of her bones, now combined with the disappointment of how high she put herself at the mention of her favorite food before finding it all gone. She slumped into her chair, taking out her phone and finally looking at something that wasn't work-related for the first time that day. 

Every bite she scooped into her mouth was monotonous as she slipped a pair of earbuds in before screening the missed messages she'd had to ignore for the morning. Music was filtering through her headphones, the perfect distraction to her brain that felt entirely too empty now that she wasn't running at top speed like she had been the second she'd woke up. If not for the texture of each bite she took, she wouldn't know exactly what she was eating with the way she couldn't use even muster the minuscule amount of energy it would take to glance at her fork.  

With her eyes glued to her phone as a video now played out on screen, (Y/N) didn't have enough room in her head to keep track of the rest of the room. As much as she prides herself on being a good assistant, especially being so new to this position, she doesn't think she would notice if Mr. Azoff walked in and screamed out her name while banging pots and pans. 

That was exactly the reason she didn't notice Mr. Styles approaching her table either. 

It wasn't until she noticed a plate being slid onto the table beside her, a hand complete with a tattooed cross and green glittery nails keeping a hold of the lip until she managed to pull an earbud out. Looking up, Mr. Styles still had that tight look on his face, his free hand fidgeting at his side like he was itching to get out of there. 

"Yes?" she chirped, assuming he was finally taking her up on her offers to help him as well when she assisted Mr. Azoff. 

Watching as Mr. Styles dropped his gaze from hers, (Y/N) had to keep from tipping her head at him. That wasn't like him at all, unable to keep eye contact. From what she knew, that was something he insisted on. She hoped he was okay. 

"Um—'M full, but I thought I'd ask if y'wanted any before I threw these away," he said, his voice floating under his breath. 

It was then that (Y/N) finally noted what was on his plate, finding a duo of the arancini balls she had been mourning only moments earlier. The same fragrant, acidic sauce laid underneath it along with shreds of parmesan cheese sprinkled atop, the same way she would have plated it. She had to keep herself from drooling at the sight. 

"A-Are you sure?" 

A beat passed, the green of Mr. Styles' gaze finally meeting hers again. "I thought these were your favorite." 

(Y/N) had to stop herself from letting a pinch touch at her brows. "I mean, yeah, they are, b—" 

"Then, 'm sure." 

The deep vibrato of his voice was more soothing than any note of music she played could ever hope to be, the same voice she'd had the privilege of listening to every night while on the road on the loudspeakers. Despite the giving nature of his tone, underlying softness floating alongside, she knew there wasn't much room to argue. Besides, (Y/N) didn't think she had the strength to say no to his offer with that plate in front of her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Styles," she smiled, reaching for the plate as he retracted his grip. 

A chaste smile curved his lips, the tip of his nose seemingly blushing red before he gave her a quiet nod of his head. He didn't say anything else before he walked away, leaving her to constitute her two plates of food into one with that warmth in her stomach that could have energized her enough to work another hectic morning. Her only complaint was that she wished he would have sat down with her. She'd even give up his offer of the arancini if that meant he'd sit down beside her and finish his meal. 

She didn't see him again until he was leaving the greenroom with a granola bar in hand, one bite already taken out. She had thought he said he was full. 

It was with that thought that, shortly after, (Y/N) realized she had never told Mr. Styles what her favorite food was. 

—————

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear (Y/N), happy birthday to you!" 

(Y/N)'s skin felt warm with all eyes on her, a sheet cake in front of her with frosting flowers and twinkling candles stuck through. She didn't know what to do with everyone's eyes on her, twisting in her spot with a shy smile on her lips as the song came to a close. Fluttering her eyes to a close, she blew out the candles while everyone cheered. A wish absently flittered through her head, hoping for happiness to come to everyone in this room with her as they deserved so much after surprising her with a birthday celebration in the middle of an international tour. 

"Thank you all, so much," (Y/N) muttered once the room grew quiet, her fingers knotted into a sheepish pile as she swept her gaze across the gathered crowd, "I didn't even realize anyone knew it was my birthday, this really means a lot. Thank you." 

All of her new friends, crew and production members for the tour that she had grown close with over the last few weeks, all gave her mixed mutterings of more birthday wishes, that of course they remembered, and they were all more than happy to be a part of this with her. After the show tonight, they all promised to take her out to one of the clubs in town to help her celebrate before they would be off for the next city the following day. Cutting the cake came next, the grouping of crew began to break off as conversations rose in volume in the green room, leaving (Y/N) to soak in the atmosphere as the creamy icing spread over her tongue at first bite. 

She truthfully had no idea anyone had been aware of her birthday, let alone have the time to put something like this together. Sure, it wasn't a huge celebration, but the fact a cake had been secured, complete with personalized frosting spelling out her name while on the road, was enough to have her heart hurting from how full it was. Even Mr. Styles had made it, huddling himself in one of the small corners with his arms folded across his chest as he sang along to the birthday song. She was pretty sure he had even been a few minutes late to a fitting for the next slew of tour outfits just so he could be apart of something like this for her. 

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," Mr. Azoff said, coming up behind her with his wife only a few paces behind, both with a plate of cake in hands. 

(Y/N)'s features softened immediately as she took him in. "Thank you so much, Mr. Azoff," she started, still disregarding every invitation for her to call him by his first name, "You didn't need to put anything like this together at all. Really, thank you so much." 

He would be the only one that might recall her birthday, she figured, coming from her hire paperwork. Besides, they spent enough time together she may have accidentally let it slip out while talking. Mr. Azoff would definitely be the kind of boss that would do something like this for her. 

Instead of the humble way he swept away her gratitude she had been expecting, her boss let out a bubbling peal of laughter. Mrs. Azoff matched (Y/N)'s confused expression, knitted brows and all as they looked at him. 

"I didn't put this together," he clarified, shaking his head before spearing another bite of cake, "I've been so busy I can't even remember what year it is, let alone the day." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, face dropping. "Do you know who it was then? I just want to thank them properly." 

A shared look happened between the Azoffs, the missus' blonde brows raising in her husband's direction as if she was wondering the same thing. Mr. Azoff gave her a pointed look, flicking his gaze to (Y/N) for only a moment before he raised a brow. Realization seemed to spring across Mrs. Azoff's face, the kind (Y/N) was hoping she could share in. 

"Tell her," Mrs. Azoff mumbled, quiet enough (Y/N) knew she wasn't necessarily meant to hear the command. She watched as Mr. Azoff floundered, his lips pressing into a thin line with wide eyes as if he were pleading with her without words. "Jeffery, I think it would be nice for her to know. He's not going to mind." 

Her reasoning seemed to loosen him up some, only enough to have his gaze returning to (Y/N)'s with a small pivot. "Sorry," he told her, excusing the last few moments with a chaste smile on his lips, "Um—It was Harry. He was the one who remembered and put this all together." 

(Y/N) had to keep her jaw from dropping at the new information. Her fork was limp in her hand. "Really?" 

"Mhm," Mrs. Azoff chirped, "He was the one who came to us, telling us he had everything all planned out, we just needed to be here to surprise you. He did a good job, didn't he?" 

The picture of Mr. Styles standing so nonchalant in the corner of the room, singing quietly to the birthday song while she stood in front of the warm glow of the sparkling candles took on a new tint. This had been all of his idea, even the light pink and warm green frosting spelling out her name with petite flowers on the sheet cake had been his idea. The cake itself was even her favorite flavor, something she was doubting was a coincidence. 

"Really?" she asked, the question feeling dumb on her tongue but she couldn't help but ask. 

"It's all he's been talking about his last couple of days off. He wanted to make sure everyone knew and would be able to come celebrate with you." 

Mrs. Azoff's warm smile along with her boss's quiet curl to his lips was all the confirmation (Y/N) needed to know they were being completely serious. They were acting as if they were sharing a secret with her despite the room full of people that were in on it before she was. 

"Th-That's really nice of him," she settled on, unsure if there were any real words that could convey just how much the idea of Mr. Styles planning this little surprise made her heart ache. "I'm going to have to tell him thank you when he has a minute." 

"I think he'd really like that," Mr. Azoff told her, voice quiet as if he were sharing a tiny secret. 

With the way Mrs. Azoff looked at hm after he spoke, (Y/N) wondered if there really was another secret she wasn't privy to.

—————

Screaming cheers filled the SUV the second the door flung open, Mr. Styles piling inside with a towel hung over his shoulder and a bright smile gracing his features. His energy was vibrating off of him in waves, intoxicating the small space of the car as they pulled out of the venue as the curtains closed behind them. (Y/N) never really got to see him this closely after a show, tonight being an occasion that Mr. Azoff and she were to head back to the hotel with him right away in prep for the late night meetings needed before any of them were to be dismissed to bed (Mr. Styles' next album was coming up closer and closer, and labels needed answers if he wanted the vinyl pressings to be done in time). 

Tonight, (Y/N) was packed into the backseat of the SUV with Mr. Styles, feeling that bright energy he harnessed on stage settling in like another person sitting between them. He used the towel offered to him by security to wipe off his glistening face, sweat soaking the fabric though he didn't stop smiling. 

"Jeff, Jeff," Mr. Styles started, pulling on the neckline of his blueberry embellished top, drawing the fabric away from his skin, "Did you see that back there?" 

She watched as her boss let out a small laugh, turning around where he sat in the front passenger seat to face his client. "See what, H?" 

The smile that broke out on Mr. Styles' face somehow grew bigger. His breathing was still coming in pants, something (Y/N) wasn't sure was coming from his excitement or the lingering exertion from his stage time. "That girl, she was dressed like a clam and her head was the pearl! I think she had a sign too, but I couldn't see it because every time I looked, she was dancing and I couldn't stop laughing." 

"Oh, that's why you could barely finish singing Sushi?" Mr. Azoff pressed, matching Mr. Styles excitement with his own bubbling smile. A small glance was flicked in (Y/N)'s direction, as if she were telling her to get a load of this guy. 

"It was so funny, Jeffery," Mr. Styles insisted, the purple leather of his pants squeaking against the seats with the way he couldn't manage to sit still, "It was like there was a bobblehead out there, but with these little legs." Just when Mr. Azoff went to answer, Mr. Styles completely changed with his jaw dropping before he turned to (Y/N) with another layer of excitement brewing in the car. "Wait, (Y/N)! Did you see that girl dressed like a fairy? She was standing with the angel and the sushi roll!" 

(Y/N) tried to school her features, keep the surprise off her face at the fact Mr. Styles was acknowledging her—and with a smile too! Attempting to focus on the question at hand, she racked her brain for whoever it was that he was referencing. "Maybe. Were they standing in pit?" she asked, settling into the leather of her seat with Mr. Azoff watching on with a less than neutral expression giving away his own shock. 

"Yes, yes," Mr. Styles chattered off, "Towards the exit catwalk! She had on big sparkly wings, and everything!" 

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) perked up, giving him a matching grin, "That was the same costume—" 

"—you wore for Halloween!" Mr. Styles cut her off to finish her own sentence, bouncing in his seat in time with the rhythm of the pavement underneath the wheels of the car. "That's why I noticed her! Y'had the same wings, and the dress, and everything, right?" 

This time (Y/N) wasn't as smooth to recover at his words. She had been the only one to dress as such for the holiday, and she hadn't thought Mr. Styles had seen her at all in his own rush to be dressed in his own costume and prepping the extra song he was to cover for the occasion. It could have only been twice where she thought he might have seen her, especially as more than a blur that had to run past while doing whatever errands Mr. Azoff needed. 

"Y-Yeah," she bubbled off, pretending she didn't stutter in hopes that no one else would notice, "that was my Halloween costume. I didn't realize you noticed." 

The curls that flopped over Mr. Styles' forehead added to the boyish sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her, dimples denting his cheeks. "Your's was m'favorite costume." 

It was only a second later that Mr. Styles was distracted once more in his adrenaline-fueled post-concert excitement, drawing Mr. Azoff into another bubbling conversation about a moment that happened on stage. (Y/N) was left to settle into her spot, seatbelt tight around her chest as her heart struggled to beat out of its cage. 

If he wasn't careful, (Y/N) was going to start thinking he didn't hate her. 

—————

(Y/N) sidestepped out of the doorway, allowing Mr. Styles to brush past her in his rush to exit the room she'd just entered. He didn't bother to even make eye contact with her or shoot her an awkward smile she'd become accustomed to. All she caught of him was his strained expression as she bounced into the room, feeling much more awake this morning after the bubbling excitement she felt while riding back to the hotel with Mr. Styles being so happy to talk with her. 

That excitement drained as soon as she saw the way he all but flinched at her presence now that the after show adrenaline had worn off. Mr. Azoff seemed just as surprised at the blatant switch as he watched Mr. Styles run off. 

"Uh—Good morning, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) attempted to chirp out.

She could see the way he floundered for words, his eyes flicking between her and Mr. Styles' retreating figure she was forcing herself to keep from glancing at. "(Y/N), I—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she waved him off, doing her best to convince herself with her own excuse, "He's probably still tired from last night, it's okay." 

The look on Mr. Azoff's face told her he knew something she didn't. (Y/N) figured it was a secret she didn't want to know. 

—————

This had to be the first time (Y/N) had ever seen Mr. Azoff so stressed, especially after setting out on this tour with his favorite client. His hair was a mess with the usual day's worth of stubble on his face now growing into almost a full beard with the way the last few days have come stumbling around him. Near constantly did he have a phone pressed to his ear, preferring to take all of these phone calls as opposed to allowing (Y/N) to take care of them like he had so far in this route. 

"We don't know if he's going to be able to make it on this Friday," she heard Mr. Azoff sigh into the receiver, dragging a heavy hand through his hair. Mrs. Azoff looked just as glum as she listened into the conversation from the small couch that was set up in the living space of their hotel room. "I know—we're trying. He's barely been able to get out of bed since he got off stage last night, we haven't started on the road at all." 

(Y/N) felt concern spike in her chest at the mention of Mr. Styles' state. She knew he wasn't doing so well after last night, especially with how hard he had to start straining himself towards the end of the show just to hit notes she knew would otherwise be easy for him. What she hadn't known was the fact he didn't have the strength to even get out of bed. She'd hate for him to have caught the same flu that one of the crew members had suffered through just a couple of weeks earlier. 

"We don't want to cancel or reschedule anything, yet, no," Mr. Azoff rushed out, sinking into the couch cushion beside his equally as exhausted wife, "We have a few days still, so we'll see if he feels any better by Thursday. If not, I'll call you with options." 

It was only moments later that Mr. Azoff hung up the call, looking just as exhausted as he started the call. Seeing as how it was Tuesday, and Mr. Styles had only a few days left to be feeling better in time to even travel for his next show, she could understand his stress. 

Before (Y/N) could even offer her services, Mr. Azoff said her name with a lingering exhaustion. "Could you call one of those liquid IV offices, please? And get his doctor on a call; if he needs antibiotics, I want them picked up by the end of the day." 

Very few times did Mr. Azoff feel like a boss, always talking to her in gentler tones with requests rather than demands. Not that he was flexing any superiority and unforgiving directions even now, but she knew this was something he needed done thirty minutes ago, but was still willing to accept it being done now. 

That was all she needed to hear before she had her phone pressed to her ear. Even if Mr. Styles didn't care for her as much as she may have thought a week ago, she wanted him better just as much as Mr. Azoff did, and not just because of the touring schedule. 

—————

How (Y/N) happened to be the only one within the central crew to have been vaccinated for the flu this season, she didn't know, but she didn't mind the added responsibility tied with the booster. Armed with a takeaway container of hot soup, a liter bottle of water, and another round of medication for Mr. Styles, Mr. Azoff sent her off to his hotel room. 

Mr. Styles had all but been quarantined since he started exhibiting those early flu symptoms, a medical team having been the ones tending to him the previous couple of days as he apparently worsened into running a fever and getting sick to his stomach. It was into the late hours of the evening that Mr. Azoff finally shooed them off (at his client's request, supposedly. Mr. Styles felt bad to have so many people fussing over him, he had said), and thanked them for everything they did for his client. They were left with the tools and a regiment on the best and fastest way to get Mr. Styles healthy again. She remembered watching Mr. Azoff read over the extensive list left in his care, a humorless laugh leaving his lips and he muttered something about the miracle of this week being one of the longer breaks he had scheduled between shows. 

As the crew couldn't afford anyone else getting as sick as Mr. Styles was, (Y/N) was chosen to be the first one to tend to him given the fact she would be the least likely to catch whatever virus he had—and even if she did, they could afford to have her on bed rest for a few days. Mr. Azoff had passed along the printed schedule of his medication times and what foods and fluids would be best to get his system back on track in the remaining forty-eight hours left until a decision would have to be made on whether or not the next show was in jeopardy, and she was on her way. 

An apology was ready on her tongue for the second she breached the sanctuary of his hotel room, knowing that she was most likely one of the last people he wanted to see at a time like this. That was the hardest part, she figured. She wasn't afraid of falling ill or seeing him sick, it was knowing just how unwelcome she was going to be in his space, especially since he wouldn't be able to flitter away from her like she knew he was used to. But, that fear was going to have to be shoved into a box in the back of her mind. Mr. Styles wasn't feeling well and needed someone to help him, and that was what she was going to focus on. 

After a quiet rap of her knuckles against his hotel room door went expectedly unanswered, (Y/N) pulled for the keycard Mr. Azoff had slipped into the bag of essentials he'd passed off to her. As soon as the handle clicked with a green light blinking, she twisted the knob carefully. A quiet creak whined from the hinges as she entered the dark room. 

Mr. Styles' messy bed was empty, the only light coming from the dimly set bedside lamp revealing the creases and folds in the bedding she was sure housekeeping hadn't had a chance to come by and change since he'd been holed up in the space. His luggage was left neatly beside the closet, only a pair of brightly colored socks laid atop the case letting her know it had been touched in the last few days. If not for the fact she knew there was no where else for him to have gone without someone on his team being notified, (Y/N) would have assumed his hotel room to be deserted by the way the air felt stale as she stepped in. 

"Mr. Styles? It's (Y/N). I know you probably don't wan—" 

Before she could finish her apology for stepping into his space, a gagging noise from the bathroom gave away his position. That was when she noticed the sliver of light leaking from underneath the closed door. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth with concern knitting her brows together, (Y/N) abandoned her doctor assembled and boss ordered care package on the bedside table. It was with shaking hands that she gently knocked on the bathroom door. 

A groan answered a beat later. "Jeff, I promise 'm going to be alright in a couple of days," Mr. Styles grumbled out, voice deep and sour, "Don't cancel anything, please." 

Releasing the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip, (Y/N) sucked in a deep breath. "Actually, it's (Y/N)." 

"W-What are y'doing here?" was his stuttered response, raw voice leveling out in volume. 

Not quite as biting as she may have expected in a moment like this, but (Y/N) had figured he would ask something of this type. "I'm the only one that's had my flu shot, so Mr. Azoff wanted me to come check on you. Is it alright if I come in?" 

"Please, don't." That was the clipped response she had been anticipating, but (Y/N) thought his tone dipped into something more embarrassed than angry. 

"Mr. Styles, I have water and food, and the medication you'r—" 

Before she could get much further with her explanation, she was cut off by the sound of a guttural noise on the other side of the door. Mr. Styles gagged alone in the bathroom, his panting breaths being cut off only to be replaced with the sound of him getting sick. 

As much as (Y/N) wanted to respect his privacy and foster a kinder relationship between the pair of them, there was no way she was going to be able to sit idly by knowing that she could help him when he so clearly needed some support. That was all it took for her to barge into the bathroom, rushing over the tiles to where Mr. Styles was hunched over the toilet. 

Focusing herself on him and not what was currently leaving his system, (Y/N) stroked her hand down his back while the other worked on drawing his hair out of his face. A stray clip was fit against the top of his head, a sloppy attempt she was sure he had executed with shaking hands. 

"(Y/N), no," he stuttered over her name until she felt a shudder rack his spine, his head being sent back to the toilet bowl as another round of sickness left his body. 

She didn't say anything back, knowing not only would it fall on deaf ears, but this wasn't the time to start pleading with him to let her stay. That wasn't up for debate as far as she was concerned; whether he liked it or not, she wasn't going to leave him to be sick all by himself in a hotel room in a country he didn't call home. Nothing sounded more dreadful than that. 

Instead, she only shushed him and lead a soothing hand down his spine with her other hand fixing his hair from his face. The strands had lost their curl after a few days without wash, matching the stale texture of his clothes that she was sure he hadn't changed out of in just as long. Having heard about how heavily he prioritized his self-care, especially when touring, she knew he really must feel terrible if he couldn't bring himself to do any of those basic things. 

Nonetheless, she stayed a constant, steady presence beside him on the bathroom floor. She tucked baby curls behind his ears, the strands too short to reach clip on the top of his head, and she shushed him with a gentle hand on his back as he emptied his system before being reduced down to dry heaves and gags resulting in nothing more than stolen breath and teary eyes. 

"It's okay, Mr. Styles, just breathe," she reminded him as he reached to flush the toilet, his breathing coming in rapid pants through his raw throat. 

"Don't call me that," he panted, sitting back on his heels though he still didn't care to turn to face her, "I don't like it when y'call me that." 

"Okay, okay," she soothed, the same word having fallen from her lips at least a hundred times at this point, "What do you want me to call you? What do you like better?"

"Jus' H, please. Want y'to talk to me like y'know me." 

Her heart just about broke at how pathetic he sounded in that moment, his request just short of a whine given his burned throat. "Okay, I can do that," she agreed with a gentle pat to his back. "I'm going to be right back, alright? I brought you some water for you to sip on." 

Before (Y/N) could even get to her feet, Mr. S—Harry—H twisted in his spot and raced to wrap his fingers around her wrists. He kept her from going any further with his manacle-like grip, bloodshot eyes glossy in the low light of the bathroom. "Wait, please. I-I don't want to be alone if I get sick again." 

As much as she knew it was against her better judgment to leave the liter of water out in the bedroom, there was no way she could argue against him when he looked at her like that. And, for the first time ever, he was pleading with her to stay with him, not fighting for a way out of her presence. How could she say no to that?

"Okay, I'll stay a few minutes longer, but I need to have you drinking something soon," she reasoned, settling back down onto the tile floor. She crossed her legs underneath her, opting for something more comfortable than the cuffs of her knees digging into the hard floor as she was prepared to sit there for as long as Harry needed her (or until she could convince him of the importance of water right now). 

Harry all but deflated with relief at her words, slumping into her arms in a way that had (Y/N) doubting he knew he was doing. Another sign of just how bad he was feeling then—he'd never seek comfort in her like this otherwise. Nonetheless, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him without question, cushioning her back against the wall of the bathroom behind her while Harry's clumsy limbs found purchase around her. He shuffled up beside her with legs folded underneath him, his bottom on his heels. He was close enough to the toilet incase of an emergency, but his knees still knocked into hers with his arms around her waist, face tucking into the curve of her throat. 

"Thank you," he murmured into her neck once he burrowed himself against her skin, his forehead clammy. 

"Of course," she told him, her arms around his middle with her palms spanning the planes of his back. "Has it been like this all day?" 

"Mhm," he practically whined, his nose scrunching against her skin, "I hate it. I hate being sick. I jus' want to be better already." 

(Y/N) held him tighter the second she felt wetness slide over her skin, moreso than the sheen of sweat that covered his forehead. He was crying. That gloss that had lacquered his gaze had overflown, now leaking over her skin and pooling in the line of her collarbones. "I know, H, I know," she crooned to him, forcing herself to stay composed despite how much her heart ached for him then, "I brought stuff for you that's supposed to help you feel better. Do you want to try taking some medicine or drinking some water?" 

"I don't think I can keep it down," he told her, voice watery as he spoke, "'M sorry." 

"No, don't be sorry, okay?" she gently scolded him, shaking her head as she brought her hand up to card through the length of the curls on the back of his head. 

"I jus' want to be better, (Y/N)," he repeated earnestly, a sniffle following right after to match the wiggle of his nose she felt against her skin. She wanted to be endeared at the small touch but that was quickly outweighed by the concern she felt the second another wave of tears washed over her skin, Harry's breathing shifting until she feared he would start sobbing. 

"And you will be," she promised, hugging him tighter with her fingers lacing through his hair, "You need to give yourself a little more time, okay? Sleep a little more, and once you're up to it, we'll have you eating and drinking again and you'll be feeling so much better. I promise." 

"But—"

Harry tensed in her arms before could finish his thought. A scramble of limbs ensued then, leaving (Y/N) feeling the absence of his warmth while he hunched over the toilet and threw up the nonexistent contents of his stomach. (Y/N) was behind him in a rush, rubbing his back and cooing to him as he began to dry heave, only bile leaving his system now. 

It was (Y/N) this time that flushed the toilet down for him after a few minutes of nothing else triggering his gag reflex, proceeding to gather him back into her arms once he was settled enough to unlock his joints and allow his muscles to go malleable again. 

"It's alright, H—" 

"See?" he cut her off, voice particularly raw after his latest showing, "'M not getting better, (Y/N). I jus' want to be better and-and play a show and I do-don't want to let anyone down." 

"You're not letting anyone down," she cemented, relaxing into the stiff sidewall of the tub as he tucked himself into her warmth one more time with his face in her neck.

"I've heard Jeff talking about cancelling or rescheduling shows," he mumbled, a sniffle following after, "I don't want to do that. S-So many people travel jus' to see me, and 's be-been so long an—" 

Harry was cut off by his own crying, the stress of the situation along with the just how awful he felt in that moment catching up to him now that someone was there to listen. His grip on her tightened with his arms around her waist and his face buried in her neck, his chest stuttering with his uneven breaths and squeezes of his sobbing lungs. 

All she could do then was hold him against her, as if her hug could keep him from shaking so hard with his heady breaths. Her neck was slick with his tears, the tip of his nose wiggling with every sniffle he sucked in in hopes of regulating his breathing.

"Its okay, H, really," she cooed to him, drawing one of her hands up to the back of his head with her fingertips twirling through the curls, "You need to stop crying, okay? You're only making yourself more sick by crying, you know. Just breathe, alright? It's going to be okay, I promise." 

Though it took him a moment, she could feel the way he tried to heed her advice. He fought off the stutter of his sobs, his breathing coming out in shaky pulls with the exhales being long and drawn out over her skin. Her palms soothed down his spine, the length of her nails dragging over his shirt in what she hoped was calming runs. 

"Feel a little better now?" she asked once he curated a rhythm of deep breaths and sinking exhales. Though she could feel just the smallest remnants of his tears having seeped against her neck, she didn't feel that dampness growing as opposed to the way it was only a few moments earlier. 

"Y-yeah," he mumbled, nodding his head against her neck, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, okay?" she told him, parroting her earlier words, "There's nothing to be sorry for. No one likes being sick, and I know you're under a lot of pressure since we're also on the road. It's okay." 

A nasally little thank you sounded against her neck along with the brush of his lips being felt against her throat. A small smile touched at the corners of her lips as she felt him relax into her, exhaustion weighing him down now that he wasn't clinging to the edge of the toilet. (Y/N) tentatively laid her cheek on the top of his head, lending him more of her warmth in hopes of holding off another wave of his fever. 

Just when she figured he'd fallen asleep, his breathing even with puffs of air fanning over her skin, he pulled his face from her neck. Harry's cheeks were flushed as he looked to her, ruddy and glistening with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were puffy and red, the scleras bloodshot from his crying session. Even his lips were swollen, the same hue as his red-tipped nose. 

"Can I have some water?" he asked her pathetically, voice nasally given his clogged sinuses, "And a blanket. 'M really cold." 

(Y/N) nodded her head right away, feeling her eyes rounding out as she took him in with pity in her gaze. "I'll be right back, okay?" she told him, brushing stray curls behind his ears. 

Harry gave her another sad look, mimicking the nod of her head. "Thank you," he told her before tucking his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. 

She made quick work of collecting the liter of water she'd put off to the side along with the knitted blanket that was bundled over the hotel bed. She knew that was something he'd brought from home, an item she'd seem him cart around to every venue and every hotel room to help him feel more at home despite the miles between. Hopefully it would be just what he needed in that moment. 

Stepping into the bathroom, Harry was just where she had left him. He was bundled beside the bathtub, his legs now bent in front of him to make himself into a small ball with his arms around his shins. His glossy eyes seemed to widen at the sight of his blanket, completely glancing over the water in her opposing hand in favor of reaching for his token from home. 

"Thank you so much," he repeated, grabby hands taking the knitted blanket as soon as she offered it to him.

Despite his aching limbs, the blanket was wrapped around Harry's shoulders in quick succession, the fabric being pulled up to his face with a finger wrapped in the material from underneath absently rubbing against his cheek. He soothed himself enough to have his eyes flutter to a close as (Y/N) settled in beside him, taking her spot against the bathtub wall with her legs criss-crossed underneath her bottom. 

"Still want some water?" she asked in a crooned tone, hoping to keep from disturbing him too much from the sweetened state he was falling into.

"Yes, please," he murmured, eyes still closed. 

Twisting off the cap of his water, (Y/N) offered it to him with a nudge against his shoulder. Harry begrudgingly untangled his hand from the knit of his blanket, taking the bottle with his eyes opened to only a slit. 

"Only take sips, H," she told him as he raised the bottle to his lips, "Any more and it might make you sick again." 

"But 'm so thirsty," he whined, brows pinching together in the middle. 

"I know, but if you drink too fast it'll make you sick again," she reasoned with him, scooting in closer to him with her arm pressing against his own, "Just sip it for now and if you can keep it all down tonight, you can drink all the water you want." 

Heaving a sigh, he gave a nod of his head as he heeded her advice and took small sips from his bottle. (Y/N) kept an eye on him as he drank, watching for any turn of the tide that would garner her helping him back to the toilet bowl. By the time he finally seemed satiated, handing her the bottle in search of the cap to be fixed back on top, he sunk down and lent his cheek against her shoulder. His eyes were shuttered closed once more, his hand working its way back under the knit of his blanket to press the material against his cheek again. 

"Tired?" (Y/N) murmured, maneuvering to wrap her arm around his shoulders and cuddle him close. 

"Yeah," he said, voice cracking some under the pressure of his raw throat. 

"Here," she said, shuffling in her spot to move just far enough away from him to get a whine filtering through his throat. Uncrossing her legs, she unfurled them in front of her with her ankles folding over one another, "Lay down, H, its okay. You can put your head in my lap." 

He seemed calmed at the prospect of her only moving so he could more comfortably. With his legs curled against his tummy into a ball, Harry laid his head in her lap, her plush thighs acting as his pillow. "Thank you," he sighed, nasally voice quietly bouncing off the tiles. 

"When you wake up we'll take some medicine, okay?" she told him, placing her hands in his hair as she unclipped the sprout she'd made with the strands to card through his curls. 

All she earned in response was a quiet okay, leaving him to fall asleep only moments later. 

Sinking against the sidewall of the bathtub, (Y/N) let her own eyes close. Cuddling with Mr. Styles was definitely not how she saw this morning going. She was going to have to text Mr. Azoff to let him know not to expect her for the rest of the day. 

—————

"(Y/N)?" 

Humming to acknowledge the call of her name, (Y/N) continued to clean up the little medication station she made up on his bedside table now that each of the pills were in his system. She was going to have to call up for another large water bottle for him now that there was less than a fourth of the liter left. And, probably another serving of hot soup since that had been forgotten hours earlier, going cold. 

"'M sorry," Harry said behind her, the warmth of his glossy gaze being pinned on her back. 

"You don't need to be sorry, remember?" she said to him, constituting all of his orange and white bottles back into the small pack the medical team had prepared as she gave him a small glance over her shoulder. "No one is upset with you; it's not your fault you're sick, we all know that." 

"No," he croaked, shaking his head against the fluffed pillow, "That's not what 'm talking about." 

"Oh?" she asked, settling into the nest of bedding she'd made her own since they carted him back to bed after his nap. He hadn't been sick for hours at this point, the main concern shifting to fend off the fever that was sapping his energy and drawing a fog over his brain. 

As soon as he saw her close once more, Harry made a move to lay his head in her lap again. It was instinctive at this point to have her hands carding through his hair, pulling the strands from his flushed skin. This time though, Harry looked up at her with his slightly hooded gaze, a touch unfocused despite the fact he'd been awake for the better part of the last hour. 

"'M sorry 'm so mean to you," he breathed, a sheen collecting over his eyes as he took her in, "You're taking care of me, and I don't deserve it." 

(Y/N) felt like a deer in headlights with his tired gaze on her. This was definitely not how she ever saw this conversation going—if this conversation ever happened, anyway. She floundered for words as she shook her head, distracting him with a particularly drawn out run of her fingers through his curls. 

"Don't say that, okay? What you don't deserve, is staying alone in a hotel room while you're sick," she murmured, "But, you don't need to worry about that right now, okay? You don't need to apologize for anything." 

To be fair, she never really considered his behavior mean. He avoided her, sure, but he was never blatantly rude to her. 

"No, no," he shook his head in her lap, "'M so mean to you 's not fair. I-I barely even talk to you, and you're still taking care of me. 'M sorry, (Y/N)." 

"Harry, really, I don't think you're mean, ok—" 

"I jus' don't know how to talk to you, (Y/N)," he continued as if he hadn't heard a single word she said, "'S so hard to talk to you, and-and m'brain hurts when I try to think about it." 

Canting her head as she gazed down at him, she dropped one of her hands from his hair only to skate over the planes of his face. She traced over the height of his cheekbone, and brushed the length of his lashes before she grazed the bridge of his nose. "It's okay, Harry," she soothed him, watching as his eyes fell closed, "It's okay to be shy. I know Mr. Azoff's last assistant was really close to you, it's fine if we're not there yet. We'll get there someday, right?"

"No," he whined, drawing out the syllable as he peeked his eyes open, "'S not like that—not like with Mallory, (Y/N). I like y'so much that m'brain doesn't work around you. It wasn't like that at all with Mallory—I didn't have a crush on her." 

(Y/N) was thankful for the cover of his illness to keep him from fully noticing her reaction to his confession. While it was sweet the way he described his feelings—a crush, he'd said—that had to have been at the very bottom of the list of reasons she would have thought up as to why he behaved the way he did around her. What was she supposed to say to something like that? How was she supposed to take it given the fact that this could be nothing more than one of his delirious ramblings given the state of his fever? 

"I can't believe 'm telling you like this," he muttered, eyes fluttered closed in a tight pinch as he turned in her lap. He faced the soft of her tummy, his arms wrapping around her middle as he nosed at the fabric of her top. "I smell like vomit and I haven't washed m'hair for four days, 'm sorry." 

A quiet sigh left her lips as she carded her fingers through his hair, the unwashed curls slipping between her fingers. "It's okay, Harry. Don't worry about any of that right now, okay? We can talk about that later, but you need to focus on getting better right?" 

"Right," he peeped, voice slowing and dredging deeper into sleep, "And you'll stay with me?"

Her answer was automatic, "Of course. I'll be here to take care of you, I promise." 

It was only moments later he was asleep again, face tucked against her tummy while (Y/N) was wide awake. 

—————

(YN) woke with a stiff neck to the sound of the shower running, still wrapped up in Harry's bedding though now she had his knitted blanket draped over her form. The side of the bed she had slipped him into once she was too tired to stay awake was now cold, only the impression of his body on the sheets giving away his presence. 

Blinking her dry eyes, she tried to get her bearings after the long night she'd had tending to her boss's favorite client, along with every rambling confession he woke up in the middle of the night to share. 

He apparently thought her hair was very pretty, wanted to share clothes with her, and thought she had a cute laugh. Though, those were only the confessions she could decipher in his sleepy, nasally voice. 

She was still clothed in the outfit she'd donned the morning before, her phone waiting with a handful of texts from Mr. Azoff asking about Mr. Styles' state and if there was anything the pair of them needed now that (Y/N) had taken on the role of nursing him back to health for the time being. She pushed those messages off to the side at the moment, instead trying to untwirl her brain now that she had a moment alone without Mr. Styles' health at the front of her mind. 

He liked her, he'd said—he had a crush on her even. That was why he didn't have it in himself to hold a conversation with her, too shy to speak to her without making an ass of himself. The thought made her heart flutter, a fact she couldn't deny especially after she realized the smile on her face when she recalled his exact words. 

Despite the fact his kindness didn't always extend to her in the obvious ways, thinking back, she realized the signs were there. He remembered her birthday and put together an impromptu party that he couldn't even properly attend. He remembered her Halloween costume even though he was running around all day, preparing for one of the biggest shows of the year. He paid attention to her; he listened for her favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite books. While he was too shy to talk to her about those things directly, he still went out of his way to find them out and keep them to himself. 

It was easier for her since she knew she got this job to send her own feelings packing, out of her head and her heart before she could find herself in trouble with an infatuation with her boss's favorite client and best friend. That fact grew even more important as soon as Harry started behaving the way he did around her, but now that she had that glimmering confession, the tender explanation, it was hard to keep those feelings from marching right back in. All those months that she had to school herself into knocking away the melancholy at the fact that one of her inspirations didn't seem to like her now were turned in a new light, trying to see those same moments from Harry's point of view. 

How many times had she thought she felt his eyes on her, only to turn and find him looking the other direction? Had she really been only a second too late to catch his gaze? Every time she had chattered away with a member of the crew or Mr. Azoff himself, with Harry scrolling through his phone distractedly had he really been listening in and collecting information he was too scared to ask for? Or even the times he had dropped his gaze when she met his, the blushing hue to his skin now could be out of sheepish affection and not the need to get away from her as soon as possible. 

She hadn't been invisible to him, or even a negative presence in his day-to-day, she was piecing together. He thought of her the same way she thought of him. What a heart-stopping thought. 

"Morning." 

(Y/N) jumped in her spot, the bedsheets rustling around her denim-clad legs at the sound of Harry's rumbling voice. Dropping back into the moment, she saw him standing just outside the bathroom door, luggage at his feet as he packed away the clothing he would need sent off to be washed before they were on their way to the next destination. A quiet smile was on his lips, a shy shifting to his gaze that kept him from meeting hers. His socked feet dug into the plush carpet on the floor, legs folded over in a pair of heavy black sweats along with a crewneck from his brand that hadn't been released to the public just yet. His hair was damp and dark, finally washed after the few days she was sure it had been bothering him.

"Morning," she chirped back, finding her voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he mused, running a hand through his damp hair, "Finally getting to actually sleep last night helped a lot, I think. I took the medicine y'left on the table, and took a shower and I'm really feeling a lot better."

"Good, that makes me happy. Now, you can sleep all day and actually eat something instead of laying on the bathroom floor." (Y/N) felt proud of herself when she caught sight of the dimples denting his cheeks as he huffed out a quiet laugh.

A beat of silence passed between them as Harry finally dropped the guise of rifling through his bag to face her. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweats, he toed at the ground as he looked at her through the fan of his lashes. 

"Um, thanks for taking care of me and everything yesterday, (Y/N)," he drawled, a pinch touching between his brows, "I really, really appreciate it. 'M sure it wasn't easy. My mum says I always get whiny when 'm sick, so..." 

"You weren't that bad," she told him with a gentle smile, crossing her legs underneath herself from where she sat on the bed, "I used to babysit when I was in college, and you are definitely not as bad as some of the kids I used to help."

"Great," he laughed with a playful roll of his eyes, "'m not as bad as a child. I'll have to tell my mum, that'll show her." 

After the short peals of laughter died down, silence filled in for their voices. Was she supposed to say something? Did he want her to say something? Or was what was said last night meant to stay right there—in the evening hours, in the brain fog that came along with his fever?

"Listen," he said, swallowing hard as he finally met her gaze head on, "'M really sorry about yesterday. I know I said a lot of things, and 'm really sorry if I made y'uncomfortable or anything. I-I don't know why I said any of that, honestly." 

Fighting the urge to drop her own gaze as she'd seen him do so many times before, (Y/N) kept herself focused on him, following the small droplets of water that clung to his forehead from his damp curls. "You didn't make me uncomfortable," she said, "But—um—di-did you mean it? What you said? About being shy and everything because of... me?"

Another harsh swallow had his throat bobbing, the green of his eyes disappearing for just a moment as he blinked towards the ceiling before returning. "I mean, yeah. I did mean it. I never wanted to tell y'like that, though, that's for sure. I know y'were being nice, but I definitely did smell like vomit and you're a saint for sitting there and letting me talk like a crazy person all night. I don't even know how you found time to sleep with me constantly bothering you."

"You weren't bothering me," she said, a smile cracking her features now that she realized there was no catch to his confession. There was no reason to quash the happiness filling her chest. "I thought it was really sweet what you were saying to me. It was nice to hear all of that stuff, especially since I was pretty sure you didn't like me just two days ago."

He clenched his eyes shut at her finishing words. "I really am sorry about that, I hope you know," he said with a heady sigh, "I wish I had a better explanation, but really, you jus' make me nervous." 

"It's okay," she waved off, shuffling towards the edge of the bed closest to him without much thought, "You make me nervous, too—I get it." 

"I do?" he asked, a boyish smile touching at his features while his eyes seemingly sparkled in the low light. 

"I mean, yeah," she revealed, a duh tone to her words, "Why do you think it's always so hard for me to talk to you?" 

Harry took slow steps towards the edge of the bed, his socked feet dragging through the plush carpet. "But you're always so—," he trailed off, flicking his hands out in front of him with a flourish, "Everywhere, I guess. Talking to everyone and laughing. I don't think I've ever seen y'nervous." 

"Well, I don't like everyone else the way I like you, so I don't get nervous like that. It's harder to talk to you when all I want is to say the right thing." 

Before she even realized it, Harry was stood right in front of where she was sat on the edge of the bed. He towered over her with warmth radiating from his chest, the heat much more pleasant than the fever he was running the night before, especially when he looked at her so sweetly with his big eyes. It was in slow movements that he brought his hands out and settled them on her wrists, only to trail down to lace his fingers between hers. When she didn't pull away or make any sound of protest, she felt him squeeze her hands. 

"I like hearing y'talk. Y'have a pretty voice," he murmured, his voice just a touch deeper than normal given the last week of his life. 

"I like your voice too," she beamed up at him, "Why do you think I'm always out there during the shows?" 

"Because, Jeff makes you?" he teased, shyly dropping her gaze to where their hands were bundled between them. 

(Y/N) shook her head, adjusting her position on the bed to sit with her bottom on her heels and her legs folded underneath her. "I like listening to you sing and talk to everyone. You're amazing on stage. It's my favorite part of being on the road with everyone—getting to see you every night like that." 

He keened under her praise, canting his head as he squeezed her hands. Dimples dented his cheeks as he looked to her. "Thank you," he murmured, the blunt ends of his front teeth sinking into his bottom lip once he got his gratitude out. 

Looking at him like this, feeling the strength of his hands and the heat of his skin all the while he looked at her so tenderly had (Y/N)'s heart racing. How was this real?" 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Dropping her eyes to his lips, the raspberry color just a bit drained from his illness though he wasn't any less appealing. She spoke without thought as her stayed stuck on his mouth, "Can I kiss you?" 

She watched as a smile grew on his lips at her words. "I—uh—'M sick, remember?" he protested less than half-heartedly. 

"I got my flu shot, remember?" 

That was all the convincing it took to have Harry dropping her hands from his, only to then cradle the soft of her cheeks in his hands. His lips slotted against hers in a tender press, allowing her to taste the clean mint of his toothpaste and whatever scented chapstick he'd swiped over his pout. She didn't even have time to think about the fact she was still wearing her clothes from the day before with unbrushed hair and unwashed skin, not with the way he was holding her and pressing into her mouth for more. It was as unhurried of a kiss as it was wanting, making up for the lost time that had been wasted over the past few months. 

The contact remained innocent, only sweet presses of their lips growing more and more delicate until Harry pulled away just to press a smattering of kisses against her pout. His actions drew a laugh from her chest, her hands reaching for his shirt as he kissed her smiling mouth. 

"We don't have to leave for the venue until tonight, right?" he asked, slightly breathless though he matched her smile tenfold. (Y/N) nodded her head still in his delicate grip, the pad of his thumb sweeping under her eye. "We should probably leave for a little and let housekeeping clean up a little, but 'm still really tired," his gaze flickered over hers, his smile growing that much more at whatever he found in there, "Could we go back to your room? We don't have to do anything"—that had his cheeks blushing—", but I don't want to sleep alone again after this."

That was all (Y/N) needed before she was dragging him down the hall to her hotel room, following right after him into her unused, plush bed. It was instinct at this point the way he cuddled up to her, face in her neck with his nose pressed to her pulse. All she felt was a press of his lips to the curve of her throat before he was asleep again, leaving (Y/N) the time to send Mr. Azoff a message. 

Harry was fine, she told him, but he'd probably need another day of rest and looking after. A job she was more than willing to continue to take on. She'd tell him the full story later, she decided, especially after he saw the room service charges for double meals to her room.

—————

I got a request for something like this a super long time ago so thank you to whoever requested for being so patient! thank you so much for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if anyone has any ideas or requests of your own pls pls send them in !

I can’t believe I’m expected to do things.. I am full time busy being mentally ill

#38 thank you so much for making this for us! 💕💕

Of course! Hope you like this one! 💜  xxx 

Prompt: “This is probably a bad time, but marry me?” 

[06] “Can you repeat the question?”

Harry really didn’t think this one through.

Which is pretty fucking odd if he thinks so himself. Because he nearly always thinks things through! He’ll do you one better, he’ll overthink till it drains him.

He’ll tear his hair out, pace back and forth and run far too many miles until he’s sure. 

He’ll lose sleep, oversleep and then run more miles just to get some clarity.

Harry likes to be sure.

So for a decision like this, he was sure he’d think on it for a solid month, maybe four. He’d make sure all his ducks were in a row. 

He wanted to be sure she knew who she was saying yes too (hopefully.) That she wasn’t gonna say yes and marry some knob. She doesn’t deserve a knob.

Harry had always heard of that moment where you just know. His dad told him about it once. But Harry scrapped that whole idea years later when his parents separated. But nonetheless, he still thinks his dad was onto something. Because he feels something. That something. 

Harry was absolutely sure that when he’d start to feel like this he’d start planning. He’d make sure she’s happy here, with him, like this for the long haul. That all of this is manageable for her, that she wants to stick around always for all the good and bad bits. And the complicated bits in between. Because there will be all three, there always is. But the bad bits don’t always look as bad when you have someone sitting next to you.

He knew he needed a good plan, a creative one. One that matched them both. Because he knows that if the roles were reversed she’d orchestrate and plan the best of its kind. Shit, she’d be damn good at proposing to him he reckons. But anyway, he wants that, wants her to have the big production from start to finish.

He knew he was supposed to snatch one of her rings, the plenty she keeps on the dressing table and start the search. But did he? No. He knew he had to ask her dad too, (he hadn’t) because if he was going to go all out, might as well go all out.  

But when Harry realized all of this, the whole ‘she’s the only one’ bit he didn’t lose a minute of sleep over a plan nor did he over sleep. He was very calm and comfortable. He’d actually never remembered a time he was this settled. His mind hadn’t raced once. So he didn’t put on his running shoes, nor tug on his hair…not once…not at all. He didn’t need to run anything off, not stress or nerves or any uncertainties. 

Truthfully, he didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t recognize the Harry that wasn’t in knots. He’s sure about this that’s why. No need to go out for a run or sleep and hope it comes to him in a dream.

So he thought of nothing. Not one detail, nothing. Only that he wants to. Wants this. Doesn’t want to be with anyone else ever. So maybe that’s more than enough. To know just that.

And here he is, knowing what he’s got to ask…what he’s got to get out. Because if he doesn’t do it now, it won’t happen for another month or three when he decides to overthink instead.  

He does want her to have the whole production. Flowers, him knelt on one knee and a ring in a box. He’ll do it over if she wants, ten times over even. This is her thing, the thing she’s probably dreamt about since she was young. But he finds it hard to believe that his girl, the one who gave him a hard time about getting a house together…also dreamt of getting fancily proposed to. She laughs and teases at those things. He’ll still do it though. Just to see that reaction if she wants.  Just to see those pretty cheeks redden. 

“Can’t even tell you hate those things.” He says grinning in continued disbelief each time. She still comes with him to every event. Every single one. Even if she’s got an exam the next day (which she does), work and school too and even when she’s cranky or mad at him. She still gets done up and links her arm into his. Every single time.

“I don’t hate them.” She says.

“You hate them.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.” She rolls her eyes. “If I hated them I wouldn’t go. But I go for you. Support and whatnot. Whatever that is.” She teases, 

“You know you don’t have to?” He make sure. She doesn’t have to do anything. 

“I know,” she reaches behind her to pull down the zipper of her dress. She does know. “I know I don’t have to.”

“If you don’t want to you can just tell me, won’t be mad—”

“Where is this coming from Harry?” She turns to him from the mirror where she’s looking for the pesky zipper.

“Nothing, nothing.” He shakes his head. “Just don’t want you to keep doing things you don’t want to with me.”

“Stop that.” She glares.

“I just don’t want you to start resenting—”

“Harry!”

“What?”

“Where is this coming from? And can you drop it?” She crosses her arms, waiting. “I love you right? And m’aways proud of you s’why I come with you. Right?”

She’s right.  

He’s really just checking. He just wants to be sure that she’s still ok with all of this. That she hasn’t ever regretted anything or worse, maybe she’s unhappy. He’s always a bit wary that she doesn’t like this part and it’s quite a big one.

So god help him, he knows now. He always knew but he knows for sure now. When she’s slipping off those uncomfortable heels she hates and forgetting to put them in the closet where they belong. He knows when she’s taking out the pesky bobby pins in her hair as well as her earrings. When it’s half past one in the morning and she’s got an exam in eight hours. When she sits in an uncomfortable chair getting makeup done for hours when all she wants is to take their dog for a stroll in the park or nap. When she has to make sure she’s always got sunglasses in her bag even in rainy London because cameras are blinding. When she has to miss a few classes here and there because Harry is nominated for far far too many things.

“This is probably a bad time, terrible actually,” He starts. He wants to get that out of the way, that he knows he’s being crazy. Taking spontaneous to a whole new level. “Maybe not the worst, could think of a less fitting time…but—” He continues because is he really doing this? Now? Like this? Before he can answer himself it’s already rolling off his tongue, “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes widen, checking to make sure he’s just said what he said. Her head turns in question. Is he actually asking this…that question. And it isn’t rhetorical. None of it is. He hasn’t ever seen her speechless, her eyes wide and stunned for this long. For a moment, he’s sure she didn’t hear or maybe she did and doesn’t have an answer. Maybe she’s so stunned that he’d ask her now, with no flowers, no ring—

“Can you repeat the question?” She barely lets out. “Don’t think I heard you ri—

“I’ll go slower this time…” He inches closer to her which is nearly impossible since he’s already so close to her. And he doesn’t think she’s even blinked since or breathing at all. “So you hear all my words yeah?”

She nods slowly. That’d be a good idea she thinks. “Yeah,” she nods hurriedly. “Again please.”

He pushes her hair back off her shoulder, tucks the strands behind her ear. Maybe her pretty hair is blocking the sound waves. He cups her face, pulling her closer to him so she doesn’t miss it this time.

“Will. You. Marry. Me?” He punctuates every word, wants to make sure it gets through.

That is what he said she realizes. She heard it right the first time. 

“You’re not joking right?” She exhales. She’s been holding her breath apparently. 

“Love.” He whines.

“How am I supposed to know!” She laughs. “We haven’t talked about—”

“Yes we have!” He defends. 

“We talked about babies!”

“Told you I was going to get you pregnant the second we exchanged I do’s and whatnot because—”

“Well be more specific!” She whines.

“M’being specific now!” He reasons. “Asked you to be my wife specifically, just now!”

“And you mean it?”

“Love—”

“You’re not just—”

“I mean it.”

“Well ok then,” she sighs. “Glad we straightened that out.”

He looks at her, bewildered, searching for her answer. She’s forgotten the whole point! She’s looking back at him confused, what’s he waiting for? 

“Still haven’t given me your answer love…” He reminds her.

She thought she’d said it already or that it was implied because they do talk a heck of a lot about babies and whatnot. 

She’s shaking and her smile is wide. She’s covering her face, her warm cheeks and she can’t stand still. She’s quaking in his hold and giggles escape her.

“Yes,” she nods hurriedly as if the offer expires if she doesn’t in time. “I will, yes…want to marry you, yes….a whole lot. Yes!”

He exhales then too, his racing nerves find a resting place and he just has to be sure. “Yeah? Is that a yes? Yes you’ll marry me?”

“Yes!” She sighs shakily as he lifts her up by her waist to wrap around him. “Do you want to ask a third time?” She laughs. “Might ruin it a bit.”

“I might ruin it? You ruined it.” He mutters against her lips. “You thought I was moving April Fools to tonight.”

“You’re always doing silly things.” She says holding onto him tighter.

“Like asking you to marry me?”

“We’ll find out soon won’t we?” She grins. “You’re gonna have to go at it again though. An official one with a ring this time. A take two.”

“I know.” He groans. “Was trying to be spontaneous sue me!”

“We’ve got to get married first silly,” she kisses him. “That’s when the suing and legalities begin.”

“Don’t joke.” He settles into her, at her neck is his favorite. “S’never gonna happen.”

Because even if he didn’t fully think all of this through. Get all the ducks in a row, ring type clarity cut and all that. He’s sure of this. He’s sure of her and the question he meant with every word. He’s sure they’re going to last. No messy documents or yelling behind lawyers. That was never going to happen.

He wouldn’t have come out with, nearly vomited it up if he wasn’t sure. That he knows. And she knows that too, that they’re in it for the long run. She’s hinted far too many times at it and she’s whispering a ‘never’ back at him.

And now because of this, he’s starting to think he was wrong all this time. When he overthinks too much it usually means he isn’t going with his gut. He isn’t absolutely positively sure about it.

But he’s damn sure about this.

“Want the whole thing.” She grins.

“I know you do,” he sighs. “The whole thing.”

“Want you on one knee, non negotiable.”

“Non negotiable.” He agrees because it isn’t. He wants to see her reaction to something cheesy like that. She’d probably laugh with him and tell him to get up because he looks silly.

“Never mind actually, could you write it for me in the sky? All big and bold. Could have you fly out of that same plane and then—”

“Want me to rearrange the stars too? Have them spell out my question?”

“That’s a bit much isn’t it?” She enjoys teasing him.

“That’s where you draw the line?”

“M’not opposed to fireworks either.” She notes.

“I’ll get you some fireworks.” He says but says it in a way that means a promise. Like he just might get her those fireworks.

“I didn’t mean that, don’t do that.”

“Well be more specific!” He whines just like she did. She pinches his side in response and he grins against her neck.

She lets him carry her to their bed. She hasn’t fully pulled off her dress and there still might be a few bobby pins in her hair and her makeup is still on. But she sets all of that aside and lets him hover over her.

“Don’t redo it.” She whispers. “Don’t want a redo. Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I mean it.”

“Have to get you a ring though.” He mumbles into her neck looking for her dress zipper left unzipped. “You might forget you said yes. Want proof you agreed to marry me.”

“Then just that.” She smiles. “So I won’t forget.” She whispers as he finally slides down the zipper she couldn’t quite get.

“Didn’t even ask your dad either…” He remembers.

“You just couldn’t wait could you?” She grins and he just shakes his head against her neck.

He really couldn’t. And he can’t wait for the actual day either. A lot of not being able to wait is ahead. And he can’t wait.

Harrys favourite sex positions.

request hc of harry’s favorite sex positions 🤲🏽

smut!! fluff!!! fuck, i love this request because i can experiment with so much stuff!!! anyways, i hope you enjoy. feedback is welcome as always <33

Missionary

This position is something harry is fond and familiar with. Missionary involves intimacy, and boy does harry styles love intimacy. He loves seeing your face as you cum, the way your eyebrows raise, your eyes squeeze shut and bite your lip. It’s a sight that could make him cum without any sex at all, it’s just a plus side.

He loves communicating with you during sex too. When he’s face to face with you, he can see all your body movements etc. Harry also loves eye contact, it’s a big thing for him with sex. It turns him on way more than it should.

“You gonna take all of me?” Harry asked as he thrusted into you, hands on either side of your head. You nodded closing your eyes. Harry brought one of his hands to your cheeks tapping it softly.

“Look at me when i’m talking to you” Harry said sternly, you opened your eyes as harry thrusted again. “Fuck” You moaned grabbing onto his hair.

Another reason why he likes missionary so much is you pulling at his hair, or caressing his cheeks. He just loves touching you and you touching him. Harry craves that sort of intimacy, it’s the main part of your relationship. Intimacy is so fucking important to harry. Whether it be sexual or just hugs. He needs it.

Harry's tip is teasing your bundle of nerves, you don’t understand why he always pulls out and puts you both through the torture of teasing. You think he finds some sort of pleasure in it - you do not. He likes to see your face, the way it contorts as he teases you, more like punishing to you though.

“Want to see your face again when I thrust into you” He said and you whimpered, Harry smirked at the sound. “You always sound and look so hot when i first slip in. So beautiful” he said teasing, your slit again. You can see how red and full of pre-cum his cock is. You just want him to pound into you, is that too much to ask for?

“I’ll give you what you want” Harry smirked, pounding into you with no mercy. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a moan that he’s never heard from you.

That has him nearly cumming.

Doggy style

Doggy style is another one of harrys favourites for sure.

Although harry loves seeing your face, he also loves pulling at your hair and holding on to your hips. He loves to just pound into you relentlessly. Usually you guys do this after a dinner date or when you’ve been teasing eachother all night. As i said, harry loves and craves intimacy. But the minute you start teasing him, he’s got you turned around and your cheeks red from spanks.

Harry grabbed your neck, pushing your neck down so your head was against the pillow. your hair was in a ponytail so he had easy access to it all. He liked pulling at your hair, it also gave you a lot of pleasure. His hands slid their way down the front of your stomach and your back. You shivered at his touch.

Harrys hands grabbed onto your hips harshly, making you moan. You loved how rough he got. His nails dug into your skin, fuck that’s going to leave a mark but right now you really couldn’t care.

He then pulled your hips up his core so that you were in doggy style.

Harry was teasing you, like you were doing just hours ago. His cock was making its way up and down your slit, you just wanted him to thrust into you with no mercy at all. But you know Harry loves to play dirty.

After what seems like hours of harry teasing you and your soaking wet pussy, you felt his thick cock slide roughly into you. You screamed with pleasure, and Harry groaned, wrapping his hand around your ponytail.

“You feel so fucking good” Harry moaned, as began slipping deeper with every thrust.

“Fucking love you so much”

Cowboy

Harry loves this position, because you get the best from it. You cum so fucking hard each and everytime you ride him. And harry loves it too of course, seeing your face as you cum, your tits bouncing and the whole bed shaking.

You really go all out.

The way it stimulates you, in every single fucking place makes it yours and his favourite. So you try not to do it a lot, because you want to keep that pleasure. But you are sure as hell going to ride your boyfriend like no tomorrow on his birthday. This position gives you the control and him something nice to look at. Harry is let’s just say, obsessed with your tits. Even in a non sexual way he always has something nice to say about them. You’re in the shower, “Fuck, my girls look amazing with water on them”. You’re out on a trampoline, you can just feel his stare on your chest.

If either of you have been gone a little longer than usual he’ll come to bed and snuggle.... you and the girls. “Missed you” he’d mumble, and then a little quieter “and them”.

“Lay down, honey” You instructed, Harry smirked and happily complied with your instructions. He knew he was getting birthday treatment. He fucking loves birthday sex with you. You give it a whole new meaning, you go all out. You treat him with presents and stuff all day and then ride him like there’s no tomorrow? He's one lucky guy.

You take off your shirt, you’re not wearing a bra. But that much was obvious. Harry was drooling over your hard nipples during the drive home from his parents house. You know how to tease a man, he’ll give you that.

“Love my girls” Harry said as you sat on his lap, he’s fully naked mind you. You can feel his cock twitch as you sit on it, your panties the only thing in the way. Harry moans and takes one breast in his mouth, your head goes back in pleasure. Again, he’s obsessed with your tits. He gives the love they deserve.

After getting yourself comfortable, you move your panties over to the side and grab Harry's cock without any warning. You slammed yourself down on it, taking the entirety of his length all at once. Harry's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no words came out. You’re a fucking goddess, he decided as you bounced up and down on his hard, cock.

“Holy shit” He moaned, his hands holding your hips and guiding you up and down. You bit to your lip, moving faster. Your breasts were moving up and down so quickly, and your hair was all over your face.

Harry moved your hair to the side and grabbed your face as you began to slow down your pace, that only made him want to cum even more. You were slow with your pace, Harry moving his hands from your face down to your ass grabbing them to push you down harder.

“Fucking love when you ride me” Harry whimpered and you nodded, moving faster because harry was guiding you to do so. “Love it so much. i feel so good, right?” you asked and Harry nodded, pecking your lips.

“So, so good”

Harry fucking loves all of those positions. But he loves them because it’s with you. He loves the cowboy, because it’s you riding him. He loves missionary because it’s you he gets to watch cum and scream. He loves doggy style because it’s you he gets to hold onto.

It’s always you.

harry pounding u from behind 🥵🥵🥵

Harry loves bunching up Y/N's hair, tugging into it roughly as the other one snakes to her neck, lightly choking her as her moans would feel the room. Harry was pounding and ramming into her cunt so roughly that their bed would creak and their skins would slap harshly against each other. Harry would groan into her ear, nibbling on them, bitting, just to edge her on. His hand would leave her neck, coming down to her clit as he rapidly rubs the swollen puffy nub until she cries in pleasure. The fact that Harry felt so powerful when he slams his cock inside her cunt she knew she wouldn't be able to walk the next day. One thing Harry loves is going raw, feeling the walls of her pussy clenching on his thick and hard cock every time he hits the right spot. He loves cumming in her, filling his seed deep inside as he watches it leaks out right after. Harry would feel bold, swiping his tongue on her leaking pussy, tasting his own cum with hers.

.

Smut request is open!

Imagine you're riding Harry and when he's cums, his stomach is clenching so hard and his butterfly tattoo is just wiggling on his tummy

So let’s say Harry just got out of the shower.

He comes out with a towel wrapped around his hips, using another one to dry his hair and back. He’s rubbing it over his broad shoulders as he pads barefoot over to his cabinets, digging for a pair of briefs as he scrubs his skin dry. You’re watching from the bed, where you had been watching a rerun episode of Baby Daddy, but Harry’s much more interesting at the moment.

His back muscles flex as he reaches behind him as far as possible, trying to rid his skin of all the wetness, shoulders and arms going taut as he works the linen over his body, tattoos wiggling and stretching along with his movements.

Harry walks over to the edge of the bed, plopping down next to you and you catch a glimpse downwards, the towel around his waist shifting lower on his hips to expose the beginning of his pubes. And he knows exactly what he’s doing, the smug smirk on his ruby lips showing it off perfectly.

He leans forward on his palms, giving you a slow once-over as his hair is damp and matted to his neck, his skin smelling of Tom Ford aftershave and Dove bar soap. “D'you think you can help me dry my hair, pet?”

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