harry styles dirty one shot

Lover

Where you’re his ex-girlfriend and you see his new girlfriend wearing your t-shirt

Masterlist linked in bio

If there’s one thing Y/n can’t stand, it’s pity. Which is unfortunate for her, considering that’s all she’s been getting ever since Harry had broken up with her.

Between her family, her friends, and long-known acquaintances, the pity was never-ending. The looks people gave her whenever she occupied a room made her feel sick to her stomach. Nobody looked at her the way they used—to as if their perception of her has been altered from a beautiful, humble woman to somebody truly broken hearted.

Talking to people didn’t help much, either, considering they live with an irrational fear that one harsh tone could wreck what’s left of her. To those, her identity and name have seemed to be forgotten, only to be replaced by the image of a woman whose heart failed to mend.

It’s all a myth, really—a myth that hasn’t been confirmed or denied within the past four months. Y/n provided no reassurance for anybody, nor did she show any improvement since their break up. But she did try her best. Her attempts to answer the question, “how have you been, you know, since the breakup and all?” with a very well rehearsed “I’ve been okay” didn’t go unnoticed, however, proved no reassurance.

And the pity only got worse when Harry got a new girlfriend.

It was plastered everywhere, the rumors that Harry’s new girlfriend stayed at his hotel in Los Angeles and traveled with him back to his home in London. They disclosed that her name was Jessica, who works as a travel blogger.

She was beautiful, too—much more beautiful than Y/n wanted her to be, as selfish and sadistic as it was. She was the perfect image for him, especially at the height of his career.

Y/n’s heart hit rock bottom that day. Every unblemished part of it became a ruin, a shattered piece of what was once so full and whole.

Y/n hadn’t expected it, not this fast, at least. When Harry initiated the breakup, he told her that it wasn’t the end of their relationship. He had promised her that with the right amount of distance, all the problems they’ve had in their relationship would be fixed entirely.

She believed him, too—that with maybe some time apart, their bitterness towards each other would decease, and all that would remain would be their overwhelming needs for one another.

She should have never been so gullible. She should have never let her trust run that deep. After they broke up, they never spoke to each other again. All their ties had been cut, leaving them both hanging in completely separate lives. 

Y/n never got over him. She didn’t know how to, especially after being with each other for so long. They were soulmates—they were each other’s everything. No matter what came at them, they always found their way back to one another.

But Harry’s fame started skyrocketing, leaving Y/n on the ground with no way to reach him anymore. She should have known he’d find someone else—someone more worthy of his time. She just didn’t want to believe it and didn’t want to believe that it had happened so soon.

“How are you feeling?” Gabby asks, reaching over the wooden table so that her fingers can rest on top of Y/n’s hand—a small gesture that Gabby has been giving Y/n nearly every day for the past four months.

Y/n wishes she found it as comforting as it intended to be, however she couldn’t help feeling worse whenever Gabby did so.

It’s all pity. Everything was because of pity.

She looks down at her cold, untouched hot chocolate as she swirls the straw along the brim, resisting to roll her eyes as it’s the only question everybody has seemed to ask her recently.

“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing’s really changed.”

Gabby gives her a half smile before returning to her tea. The cafe is only occupied by the both of them, considering it’s 7 in the morning on a Sunday. But after everything that’s happened, Y/n’s sleep schedule has been slacking and Gabby wanted nothing more than to be there for Y/n whenever she had the chance.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Gabby asks, a hint of worry in her eyes. “It’s on me if you want anything.”

Y/n shrugs again, a faint yawn falling from her lips as she shakes her head.

A part of her feels guilty for making her best friend go through all of this. The constant worrying, the tentativeness whenever she spoke, the constant need to somehow protect Y/n—it makes her feel like an unwanted obligation.

“No, I’m okay. I think I’ll make some waffles when we get back, but we’ll need to stop at the grocery store before we head off. Ran out of milk and flour the other day.”

Gabby smiles softly. “We could stop by now if you’d like. I’m getting quite full, anyways.”

“Yeah, sure” Y/n nods, “sounds fine.”

.


The entrance doors chime when Y/n and Gabby enter the grocery store, barely any people filling the aisles at such hours. Neither of them speak much before they go their separate ways, grabbing all the necessary ingredients Y/n needs for when she gets home.

When she finds flour on one of the bottom shelves, Y/n bends down to grab the cheapest one she could find. In all honesty, she doesn’t have a lot of money to spend since she took some time off of work for “mental health reasons,” and she wanted nothing more than to go back home and spend the rest of her day in bed.

When she stands back up from her squatting position, her body rams into somebody else’s, making everything they both were carrying fall onto the floor.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Y/n gasps, scrambling to pick up the ingredients that have fallen from the girl’s arms.

When Y/n stands back up to return her fallen items, it was as if every nightmare Y/n has ever had was standing right in front of her.

She’d recognize her face anywhere. It haunted her everywhere she went—mocking her and destroying every last bit of her wellbeing. Her face is unforgettable, having been ingrained into her head for so long now. She’s exactly how she is in her pictures, except she’s so much more perfect in person.

It’s when Y/n’s eyes drift down to the shirt she’s wearing that takes the breath right from her lungs.

The word Lover printed inside of a red heart, the end of it hidden by the pocket right on her chest. It looked so unfamiliar on her—so unfamiliar that tears started piling in her eyes and her lips began to quiver.

That shirt was theirs. That shirt belonged to Y/n and Harry.

Lover.

It was a nickname Y/n always gave Harry. She would have normally settled for “babe” or “baby” like she did with her previous boyfriends, but “lover” came so naturally to her. It exemplified just how unique and rare their relationship was, too.

Harry had never been called that before, but there was something about it that felt so right. The first time she called him that, he blushed like no other. His cheeks and heartfelt so warm, and Y/n wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. But no matter how much she joked about how much he blushed that night, it only made her call him that more.

And the more she said it, the more she realized that there was no other name to describe him.

She gave him the shirt for their first anniversary. She was insecure about it, considering it was the only gift she purchased him that year and wasn’t nearly as expensive as all the gifts Harry had given her. But after all the flowers she received had died months later, after all the chocolate he bought her had been eaten in two nights, after all the in-home spa treatments had been used by the both of them progressively throughout the months, and after all the sex they shared died down by the next morning, the only gift that remained so dearly to their hearts was that goddamn shirt.

The shirt became sentimental to their relationship and was almost used as a keepsake between the two of them. The mornings after making love, Y/n found herself slipping it on before rolling out of bed to make breakfast. Harry fell in love with her tendency to do so and always made sure she knew just how much he loved her for it.

This is my favorite look on you, he’d always say, where the shirt hung loosely from her frame and her skin scattered with the marks from his tongue.

Harry wore the shirt as a tradition, most commonly on their anniversaries or on any specific date that held such significance to their relationship. And every time Y/n saw him wearing it, she found it irresistible to kiss the heart designed right upon his chest.

.

My lover, she’d say, looks so perfect on you.

She never imagined anybody else in it. Even after they had broken up, she never thought the shirt would be passed down to later relationships Harry had with other women. When she moved out, he kept insisting that she should be the one to take it.

He looked down at the shirt all crinkled in his hands, the last compromise they had to make before Y/n officially moved out of their home. Her suitcases were packed neatly by the front door, the darkened sky from the storm waiting to approach making the house feel colder than it already had turned.

Y/n’s body was slumped against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes red with inevitable tears as they were forced to face the harsh reality of what was to come.

After three years of a relationship neither of them expected to end, Harry had insisted that they take a break from each other. With his career coming to its peak and Y/n spending most of her time in the office, their relationship was going through a rough patch that lasted far too long.

“You paid for this, you know,” Harry whispered, obstructing the silence that seemed to make the air around them thicker and harder to breathe, “this is yours, always has been.”

Y/n shook her head, a few loose tears falling from her face as she did so. In all honesty, she didn’t want to be reminded of it after this. It’s held so much meaning between the two of them throughout a majority of their years being together that she couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at it in her selection of wardrobe. Not when Harry won’t be by her side, not when Harry won’t be apart of her life anymore.

She placed her hand on top of his softly, stroking the knuckles of his clenched fingers with her thumb.

“It was ours. But when it comes down to it, I bought it for you. It was a gift, you should keep it.”

Harry clenched his fingers harsher against the fabric, his quivered lips attempting a small smile as he lifted it to his chest. His thumb traced the heart above the pocket, watching as one of his tears soak into the material.

“It looks better on you anyways.” Y/n tried to laugh through the silent cries, but neither of them had the heart to make light of the situation they were facing.

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at her while a small sigh fell from his lips.

“You know I’d never wear this again, right? Not until we find our way back to each other.”

Y/n’s shaken hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, her lips pursed together to ensure her broken sobs wouldn’t surface until she was alone in her car.

“Yeah, until we find our way back.”

She stood on her toes to reach his cheek, where she tentatively placed a kiss on the flushed skin.

“You’ll always be my lover.”

.

But looking back at it now, she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a grocery store, crying pathetically in front of a complete stranger if she had just taken the damn thing.

How could he do this to me?

“Babe, we gotta get goi—“

Harry’s words get caught in his throat when he sees Y/n standing in front of Jessica with tears streaming down her face and cries shaking her body.

At first, his instinct is to reach his hand out to her. But as his eyes follow her tearful gaze to Jessica’s shirt, which is far too large for her frame, but still being worn on her body, the realization hits him that it’s probably the last thing she would want.

He flutters his eyes shut as an unbearable feeling starts to rise in his stomach. This is the most unfortunate time to see Y/n again, and he can’t imagine how much hatred flowing through Y/n’s system as he stands there, cowardly silenced.

Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even a pathetic stutter of her name, or even a lift of his lips to greet her in the most minimal of ways.

The only thought swirling through Y/n’s mind is how could you not say anything to me? After everything you did, after what I’m witnessing now, how is there not one word to say?

He watches as pain settles in her eyes as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s begging for an explanation, or even an apology he doesn’t really mean. She’s just looking for something, and knowing that she’s not getting anything is taking all the remaining life out of her.  

But he has so much to say. There are so many apologies, so many thoughts all scrambling in his head that everything becomes incoherent. He wants to tell her how sorry he is, and how hard it is to live with himself after all that he’s done to her. He wants to tell her that he never gave her that fucking shirt, that Jessica found it in one of his drawers and put it on while he was still sleeping from the night before. He wants to tell her that it isn’t what it looks like, that it isn’t what everybody thinks this is. But his throat tightens and his tongue suddenly becomes numb, completely preventing him from saying all the things he wishes to say.

“Y/n, is everything alr—”

Gabby halts when she discovers Y/n’s crying body being watched by the very two people that broke her heart. She’s breaking, so evidently breaking and neither one of them are doing anything about it.

“I w—want to go home.” Y/n’s voice cracks, face twisting as Harry still doesn’t find anything to say to her. “Let’s just go home.”

If Gabby hadn’t witnessed her best friend go through so much pain within the last four months, she would have been able to contain all the rage she’s held toward Harry. But something inside of her snaps when she sees the shirt Jessica’s wearing.

“No!” Gabby spits.

Before anybody sees it happening, Gabby slams her fists against Harry’s chest. Jessica begins to scream while Y/n jumps in an attempt to remove Gabby’s wild arms away from him.

Harry doesn’t do anything to defend himself, though, as he allows her to keep swinging her arms at him. All he can think about it how much he deserves it—how much he deserves all of what’s coming at him.

“You’re such a fucking jerk, Harry!” Gabby roars. “You ruined her! Who the fuck do you think you are?!“

“Gab, stop.” Y/n mumbles, finally able to capture her arms.

Gabby squirms as she tries to escape Y/n’s harsh hold on her, but against Y/n’s anger mixed with all her overwhelming emotions, there’s no match.

Y/n starts to push Gabby toward the doors, and it takes every bit of strength left in her to not turn around to look at him one last time. 

“You’re her biggest mistake! I hope you know that!”

His First. (A Dirty Harry Styles One Shot)

- In which Harry is a bit.. inexperienced in the bedroom.

Harry thought he could hide it. He thought he could get away with it. But, when everything came to him so all of a sudden, he realized that he was trapped, and the only way to get out, was by telling the truth. 

And so he did.

“What?” you ask breathlessly, your hands at the mid of Harry’s patterned shirt, fingers frozen on the buttons, pulling the colorful fabric away from his tall and lanky form.

“I-I’m.. yeh are my first.”


Keep reading

Birthday boy

A one shot with a surprise birthday party and a sub Harry

WARNING: SMUT

Keep reading

Mute

- Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n.

Masterlist linked in bio


.

It’s Monday, which means that Harry has to start his week with Physics class.

Harry doesn’t mind the subject itself, he actually has come to the conclusion that it’s the class he’s most interested in—it’s more so the three-hour lab that couldn’t seem to end soon enough. Physics lab means three hours of group research, which requires an abundance of group participation and discussion—all of which makes Harry want to crawl out of his own skin.

And despite Physics holding Harry’s highest grade in university, everyone in that class only hopes to not be paired with him.

Not one student has heard him utter a single word, which ultimately led them to believe that his lack of participation will jeopardize their already mediocre grades. But Harry always finds himself writing all the data information to make up for his lack of discussion, even if he hated it.

So inevitably, Harry lets out an inaudible sigh when he settles into his chair, hair a bit disheveled and eyes still watering from the early hour. And he mentally curses himself for sleeping in a couple extra minutes because now he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of caffeine to help him feel more prepared for the next three hours.

Keep reading

golden streaks

based on this ask:

There are several types of couples.

There are the lovebirds. These are typically the ones who are just starting out and they’re infatuated by each other. They who see the world through a rose-tinted lens, they who see the good in everything in the world because their emotions are running on a high at the sight, sound and mere reminder that there exists a person who adores them as much as they adore the person. They are always together, and in the instances they’re not physically together, you can almost be certain they’re texting or, hell, you’d even convince yourself they’re sending messages telepathically. Because they’re so smiley and giggly all the time, doped up with intense emotion.

There are the Tom and Jerrys. They’re the ones who are always bickering. They’d be screaming on the phone to each other so much, you start to wonder how they’re even together. One day, one of the two is calling you up for a shoulder to cry on and the next, they’re ditching all plans to have not-so-secret make-up sex somewhere you’d rather not know about.

There are the “We’re just FWBs”. Nope. They’re clearly not just FWBs. Everyone knows this. Einstein knows this. Pete Wentz knows this. A baby who just popped out of Mummy’s vagina knows this. Everyone and their second cousin thrice removed knows this. But not them.

Then, there’s you and Harry. You are the old couple. You got through sucky LDRs and bad phone sex and pulled through the worst of disagreements. You’ve just about gotten past the point of filtering everything you say because you’re so acquainted with each other that everything typical about one has become second nature to the other.

In other words, you’re comfortable.

But not tonight, you aren’t.

You first started noticing your discomfort when the both of you were in the car.

You had your fist pressed into your cheek while you looked straight out the windshield, absently watching the endless road as the car drives past. Minutes into the ride, you had brought one of your legs up the seat with your free arm clutching on to your shin. The only sounds you barely registered were the smooth humming of the engine, a Simon and Garfunkel song on the in-built stereo and a combination of the two: your boyfriend humming the song freely.

He was in vacation mood after a good many months preparing for his debut album, debuting said album, preparing for a movie role, acting said role, modelling, going for fittings, talk shows, red carpets, interviews, touring the world – twice – and everything else in between. While a part of him relishes the routine and excitement of that part of his life, there’s another part of him which revels in the way the muscles in his body are finally able to unclench and relax, without a worry.

He merely had on a white shirt that teases you with his inked body, a pair of pink shorts and a pair of dad trainers. A pair of Gemma’s sunglasses sat majestically atop his bed of hair, but a pair of Gucci ones have made their way on the collar of his shirt. You’re convinced his outfit alone costs half of your salary. The rays of the setting sun were streaking in from his side of the car and, not long later, the shades on his head settle before his eyes.

The conversation between the two of you ended about half an hour ago that left you two warm and contented. You didn’t really have a mind for navigation, so the roads seemed to be going in circles to you. Not that you minded, because the mundaneness of it all was a break in and of itself from your own hectic life. This was one of the vacation trips you were looking forward to with the man you love.

Your eyes slowly drifted to his hands, which seemed to have a mind of their own with the steering wheel. It’s clear he’s committed the route to his summer villa by memory – an obvious observation, yet one which still surprised you a little, considering he never seemed like the type to enjoy rests for a very long time.

But there you two were, in the car, driving to his summer villa. Something about the idleness of it all – the opened bag of chips and water in the cupholders, the cool air from the air conditioning soothing the sun pricking your skin, the low hum of the stereo – crystallises into an image in your mind.

It wasn’t long until you began to doze off. Your head was leaning against the seatbelt and you didn’t notice as your mind starts to drift, and your head begins to hang lower and lower.

A panicked exclamation and sharp bump on the road wakes you up and you feel yourself lunge almost completely forward were it not for the seatbelt holding you back. Your arms instinctively extend to stabilise yourself and your head whips towards Harry, whose knuckles are white from squeezing the gear stick hard.

“Shit, sorry, babe. Didn’t see the pothole,” his explanation sounds odd against the calming music that is still playing softly. He shifts the gear and manoeuvres the wheel without a second to waste.

Something else he didn’t see was how your eyes had caught sight of his shorts riding up just a tiny bit, exposing even more of his pasty thighs and the tiger tattoo that you so love and outlining… him. Before you can stop yourself, ideas are already racing through your head and you curse yourself for going commando today of all days, when you feel your shorts getting damp beneath you.

Like that wasn’t enough to rile you up, you just wanted to finish what he unintentionally got started for you down there. Moments after it happened, you start mentally admonishing yourself for letting your thoughts get so wild in one snap of the fingers.

But your body is singing a vastly different tune, and not long later, so are your thoughts. You imagine yourself on him, his hair tightly wound between your fingers—

You cross your legs. Then, for safe measure, you cross your arms too, and stare intensely out the windscreen in a poor attempt to turn your thoughts elsewhere. The vibrations of the car don’t help the pressure against you, but you don’t readjust. Harry notices this shift in you immediately, but he wrongly deduces the reason behind it. A cloud of guilt consumes his features in a sheepish grimace and a twang in his chest.

“M’sorry, love. I’ll be more careful,” he apologises and, without realising the state you’re in, reaches out to plant an apologetic squeeze onto your exposed thigh. The contact of his sweaty palm on your skin is enough to send a chill up your spine and a rush between your legs.

You try to conceal the hitch in your breathing by lightly clearing your throat. He shoots another glance your way again, in confusion this time. But within a fraction of a second, he sees the flush that has overtaken your cheeks and the upright posture you’ve assumed, and instantly his deductions change as an amused smirk engraves itself onto his face.

You don’t dare to face him in fear that he knows what you know. In fact, you notice he’s stopped humming.

You turn to directly face the window, keeping your elbow against the arm rest. The scenery is beautiful, after all, you think: the trees are gigantic and their shadows are cast long and far into the distance. The sky is a gorgeous shade of blues and purples on one side, and reds, oranges and golds on the other. Simply stunning. But your eyes focus on your reflection that reveal your dilated pupils instead, and soon enough you’re back to keeping your eyes on the windshield, sliding a sly hand to rest in between your tightly shut thighs.

“You seem a little restless, darling,” Harry drawls, and you know he knows from the way his voice flows smooth and thick as dark as molasses.

“We’ve been sitting for a while, s’all,” you cover up, unclicking your seatbelt and letting it slide back into place. You shift and bring both your feet up and underneath you, a position which inadvertently leaves you completely facing him.

Fuck. You can’t help the once-over you give him. His hair is a little tousled from the shades resting back up on them. You can see the smirk he’s trying to hide, revealed all too well by the very slight and almost unnoticeable upturn of his lip. The lines defining his neck, his Adam’s apple, his collarbones drive your imagination wild and your eyes skip his torso altogether to linger a little longer at his wide, open thighs, resting on the seat and spread out. You imagine your fingertips gliding up his torso and feeling every toned crevice—

“Wanna… take a break, pet?” he asks with his eyes still looking ahead. He looks too god damn nonchalant for his own fucking good.

“It’s not too far from here, though, innit?” you break your sight away from him reluctantly, looking out the window and finding the signs a bit more familiar. “Might as well endure a few more minutes.”

At this, he glances at you again and you gulp when you see his pupils have blown out too. “Oh?” he responds. You bite your lower lips. Something about the way he urges you on flips a more brazen and bolder switch in you. You ogle him more unabashedly now, but you find yourself always looking back down to those gorgeous thighs.

He brings his free hand up to pinch his lower lips the rest of the way there, resting his elbow against the door. He’s trying to keep his mind on the road, but it’s already wrecking a proper havoc in his head thinking of all the things he’d do to you when you get there. Tying you to the posts of the bed and edging you over and over, with his tongue, with his fingers, with and without his rings—

He slowly hits the gas just a little harder and has to hide his groan when the villa finally comes into view. He visualises taking you in every room until you’re begging for mercy.

You are fully aware of how carelessly he’s parking the Range Rover, rushing the reverse and just about yanking the wheel so hard, he might as well have damaged it.

“Are you gonna get in, or will I have to take you in the car?” he growls when you’re still fixatedly watching his frenzied attempts to park the car, but his tone has got you scurrying out and slamming the door harder than you intended. You feel the pool in your shorts with every step you take, and just thinking about the kinds of things he’ll do to you in a matter of minutes makes you physically hold back a moan.

The keys rattle in your shaking hands as you try to unlock the door with a little difficulty. Harry catches up right behind you much quicker than you expected and, pressing himself onto your bum, he hisses and snatches the keys from your hand, slamming it dead on right into the keyhole and twisting his wrist to finally get the door open.

You turn and grab him by the next without another second to lose and send his flushed lips crashing right onto yours, sensitive from all the biting you had done. Refusing to break away, he bangs the door shut with his foot and bends down to grab your thighs in his large hands, squeezing them fondly and shoving you against the wall. A whine escapes you from when your head hits the wall, but you stop him before he can apologise by reconnecting your lips and fisting his shirt in your hands.

“M’little minx,” he rasps as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your jaw, sending shivers down your spine and your nails digging harder into him when he gets to one particularly sensitive spot right where your neck and jawbone meet. “Getting wet f’me when I’m behind the wheel,” he pushes his growing bulge against you and you mewl, pulling at the locks on the back of his head. “Tell me what you want, you vixen,” he drawls into your ear as one of his hands travel up your shirt and under your bra. “What got you soaking wet for me?” he asks thickly, pinching your hardened nipple between his fingers and causing you to stifle a moan.

You let out a shaky breath, biting your lip as your feet flex from the immense pleasure he brings with every movement. “Wanna… oh… wanna ride your sexy thighs.”

A restrained grunt releases itself from his throat at your confession. “You naughty, naughty girl.” He grips harder at your thighs and, trapping your bottom lip between his greedy lips, he leads the two of you somewhere. He swipes his tongue across your lips and slides in when your lips part. Your hand rises to cup his jaw, sighing into his parted lips as you reciprocate.

You don’t register your surrounding until he unwillingly breaks away from the kiss, forcing your eyes open from their reverie, and you feel the cold evening air on your skin. Your eyes widen partly in bewilderment, partly in risqué excitement.

“The viewing gallery? You want me to ride your thighs in the open?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“It’s just you, me and the sea, innit, darling?” he smirks, settling himself on the edge of the deck chair and you adjusting yourself onto his thigh, but he grasps your inner thigh and pushes you back up while he tuts you.

“Shorts. Off.” He demands while pulling the hems of his up, and you can feel your knees going weak. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you grip his hard shoulder and use your free hand to hook your shorts down slowly, and you feel a cold rush of air hitting your wet entrance when you expose yourself, all while his eyes trail your movements. He unexpectedly slides a finger between your folds and you buck and whimper, sucking in a breath when he brings it up to his mouth and licks it, not even sparing you the hums and wet smacks and deadly eye contact he makes the whole time. “Mm, who did this to you, babygirl?”

“It’s you, you did this to me,” you whimper, “please just let me.”

He blinks and raises his eyebrows teasingly. “What’s that, darling? Let you what?” He smacks his lips loudly again, releasing his finger from his mouth with a pop.

“Fuck, please, just let me fuck myself on your thighs, baby, don’t let me wait anymore—”

His fingers pressed down your hips bring you down to his inked thigh, relishing in the way you let out a pure, high-pitched yelp when your wet clit comes into contact with his bare skin. Your hands gripping hard on his shoulders, you rock yourself hard and fast, pushing yourself down on him and circling yourself on him. Your back hunches forward in pleasure, hands roaming his chest under his shirt and teeth biting his earlobe as your quick pants land on the skin just under his ear.

He’s surprised by how fast he gave in to you, especially turned on by the way you begged for him. He takes immense enjoyment in the sight of you riding his thigh like your life depends on it, and the way your hot breath and quiet moans are filling his ear causes the bulge in his shorts to grow.

He wants to see you get off on his thigh so bad. His hand tangles itself into your hair and pulls you back from his ear. Your confusion quickly melts into complete arousal as you feel his tongue slide up your neck, emitting another moan from you.

“So dirty for me, aren’t you, poppet?” You hum in response as he nibbles on the skin of your neck down to your collarbone. Your hands rush back to his broad shoulders but your swivels don’t stop, gaining in speed and intensity as you feel yourself culminating.

He pushes your shirt and sports bra up your breasts, taking one of your nipples between his teeth while one hand twists your other nipple. With his remaining free hand, he flattens a finger between his thigh and you, earning a mix of moans and whines even louder than before. You can feel yourself quivering under the overstimulation of your senses.

Ah, Har, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, Y/N, you sly kitten.”

That, coupled with his sudden domination of your nerves, sends you over the edge as your body tremors, waves of pleasure raising goosebumps down your arms and legs. He brings his wet finger to your lips and you twirl your tongue around his calloused finger, shooting desire through his body. Your huffs are longer and harder now, and your movements have slowed down as you ride the final waves of your pleasure.

Harry watches with dilated pupils as your lips part ever so slightly for him and your eyes squeeze shut under furrowed eyebrows, your sweat-glossed head rolling back as your nails are sunken hard into the skin of his back. All this, while the sun sets behind you, with golden streaks that frame your silhouette.

“Beautiful, you are. Did so well f’me,” he mutters. Hearing that, you smile at him exhaustedly but coyly, as if you hadn’t just done what you just did. Your body slackens and you push his hair back, bringing your lips to his again.

anonymous asked:

Harry letting you ride his face and he's pressing you down onto his mouth to get you closer and he's properly moaning and smacking your ass.

This..,.,.,.this is an attack..,.,.

///

Just imagine you guys are laying back on your king bed, facing the flat screen TV across the room and locked in a heated match of Mario Kart. Harry’s clad in an old, scuffed up pair of black denim jeans and the yellow smiley face t-shirt he nearly wore to shreds back in Jamaica. His socks are mismatched (one has a fuchsia background with tiny flamingos all over it– this sock is actually yours– and the other is a plain black Nike ankle-high) and his pants are unbuttoned, hair fluffy and somewhat tamed since you’d just gotten home from a movie date.

He’s been gunning for you since the match started, storing away shells for just the right moment to knock you right off the track. Every time a turtle smacks the back bumper of your tiny vehicle, you let out a screech, which he returns with a smug grin and maniacal, triumphant little giggles.

When it’s come down to the two of you at the front, you randomly start to kick at his feet and legs, trying to topple him off the bed and distract him just enough to end him once and for all. But Harry can play dirty, too, resulting in him rolling onto you and crushing you under his weight as he looks over his shoulder, aiming the controller over his head and using this advantage to the max.

“Harry, stop it! That’s not fair!” You buck under him, shoulders thrashing as you try to free your arms to at least keep moving in the game.

“You started it!” He aims a bomb at you, dangling the remote above your head and tapping his finger threateningly over the release button. “Sorry, pet. Gonna have to try harder than that.”

You kick at his knees violently, wailing out in defeat when you feel your controller shudder and let out the sound that signifies you lost.

Keep reading

Late, Yet So Sweet. (A Smutty Harry Styles Blurb)

- a quick 30 minute blurb where Harry eats Y/N out at 1 am, hope you enjoy it. xx

The Sun set behind the horizon a few hours ago, but the sky is still baby blue, and the last rays of light are creeping through the blinds, brightening up the dark living room.

Heavy breaths and pants, quiet whimpers and deep moans linger in the open space, as well as the faint sound of the television, which still has on the stupid reality-tv shows, that got left behind a while ago, when Harry nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, started kissing the supple skin, and put his hand down your sweatpants, pressing your clit with his thumb, whimpering:

“Let m’ taste yeh, please. Miss yeh on my tongue.”

With your back slouched against the corner of the sofa, you take a hold of the back of Harry’s head, which is settled right between your thighs, his body rested on his knees on the hardwood floor.

You moan softly, when Harry wraps his lips around your swollen clit, and suckles the sensitive nubbin, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. Your toes curl up against the sofa cushions, and your legs tremble slightly when Harry flicks his tongue quickly over your clit, making him smile up to you. Even with his cheeks hollowed, his deep dimples still manage to make an appearance.

Harry can feel his cock twitching in his black Calvin Klein boxers, when you tug at his curls, pushing his mouth closer to your dripping wet core. A low groan escapes his lips, vibrating against you.

Harry’s hands travel up your front, his cold rings dragging against your hot skin, to your breasts and cup them under the thin fabric of your t-shirt, that is crinkled over at the hem, showing off a bit of your skin and your belly button.

The filthy sounds of Harry slurping on you and humming, loving the sweet taste of you, makes you shudder and your eyes flutter shut, and your lips fall into an o-shape.

“So fuckin’ sweet, angel.” his words get muffled by your wet cunt, and make your hips shift, grinding yourself gently against his mouth. 

His other hand starts slowly sliding down on your skin, and settles on your lower tummy, that place he finds perfect to have midday naps on. You place your own hand over his, holding tightly to his tattooed wrist.

“Oh, shit.” you curse under your breath, when you feel the burning sensation in your tummy add up, making you complete mess. You’re panting with shaky legs, your knuckles turning white from gripping too hard, whether to the pillows and blankets, or Harry’s short curls.

You cry out, when Harry pulls himself away from you. With eyes half-lidded and your chest rising up and down in a rapid speed, you look down at him, watching in awe as his eyes sparkle when he locks them with yours, his raspberry lips glistening from your juices, as well as his slightly scruffy chin and jaw. 

“What, why-why did you stop?” you pant out, your hand gripping onto the pillow next to you, but Harry just chuckles at your question. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he answers, now a smirk curved on his lips.

“Let m’ feel yeh cum aroun’ my cock, how does that sound, love?”

Harry’s a pilot, and Y/N is a shy flight attendant on his flight

Originally posted by bionicmalik-blog

Warnings: A lot of Smut

Word Count: 8k

*Smut, angst, fluff…a lot of everything

Wrote something a little different xx

“Y/N, the baby in seat 32c threw up on the floor again.”

She groans. Her neat bun was now beginning to have stray pieces peeking out of it messily, fingers sore from preparing all of the bloody meals for the flight (which tasted disgusting, so she doesn’t understand why anyone bothers eating them), and grabs the powdery cleaning material, working to walk towards the mess of vomit near the end of the plane.

When she gets back from cleaning up the mess, she realizes no other flight attendant is at the station, and that three people have been pressing their call buttons. Before she has the time to wonder where the fuck everyone is, she leaves in a rush to tend to the passengers. She tends to the first class passenger first, he rudely asks her for a bottle of Perrier water. ‘Not water, Perrier’ he specifies cockily before looking away. First class passengers were always the worst, so unsurprisingly she marches away in concealed anger and gets him his stupid Perrier.

The hardest part of being a flight attendant was not falling asleep, and constantly having to move around everywhere. Although there were some plus sides, like the stealthy tips she would receive for helping some of the first class passengers.

After serving peanuts and giving wine to the other two passengers, she relocates someone in economy who’s TV screen stopped working, giving someone a spare set of cheap earbuds, and listens to her fellow attendants gossip about who the hottest person on the flight was. She then finally realizes it’s time for her break. Sighing contently, she pops her back and then turns to head towards the cockpit.

Y/N swears she’s the only attendant who has this break, given that this wasn’t a very demanding flight with many people and that everyone had somehow taken their break while she was alone, working at the demand of the few people on the flight. She approaches the uncomfortably cold bunker, closing the door, and begins to strip down her clothing, goosebumps forming on her skin from how cold it is. She’s prepared to take a shower in the first class shower chamber connected to the cockpit before lulling off to sleep like she usually does.

But just as she strips off her button down, leaving her in just her underwear and her bra, she hears the door click open. Startled, and standing awkwardly in the center of the room, she just stares wide eyed at the door frame.

It appears the other person is just as shocked as well, she opens her mouth to scream, only a small whimper escaping her throat as a large hand makes its way up to cover her mouth.

“You scream, we both get fired.” An accented voice states. Even in the conservative lighting of the room, she makes out two bright green eyes staring widely back at her. There’s a head of tousled hair on him, followed by a crest on a neat navy jacket, a crest only worn by pilots.

Harry is shocked when he opens the doors to see the flight attendant he’s quite sure he’s frequented a few flights before with. She’s rather shy, but when she’s working near the attendants she’s close to, the laughter never seems to cease. She’s served him his meals a few times, leaving encouraging notes handwritten onto sticky notes stuck onto his plates of food,

“Mr. Styles?” she manages to sputter out. Her mouth being pressed down on by his large hands. He nods, curls bobbing up and down before he figures she won’t yell. He then peels his hand off of her mouth.

He nods, clearly exhausted as his curls bop against his forehead. He was known for kind of being a tight ass, normally speaking with a rather strict tone and staying up the entire flight because he didn’t trust anyone else to do the job for him. Evidently, tonight that all seemed to go to dust, as he stood tiredly in the cockpit of the plane.

Y/N doesn’t give herself much time to ponder, covering her nearly exposed chest by crossing her forearms. The gesture, although covering the view of her lacy bra, pushes her breasts up further unintentionally. The action draws Harry’s attention to her breasts, and he blushes visibly, staring for a few moments before he tears his gaze away and clears his throat.

“I-I thought I was the only one who had this break.” Y/N nervously speaks. Harry nods in understanding, “I don’t really take much break time so they forget to add me into the schedule sometimes.”

Y/N nods in understanding, clearing the awkward silence by nearly sprinting away from him and into the shower lounge. And from the corner of her eye, she swears she hears him laughing, chuckling slightly at her actions.

-

It’s cold.

Like, really fucking cold.

They must be the unluckiest two workers on the entire plane. It appeared as if their flight was flying over the far south of the world just as they situated themselves into their bunkers. The chamber was freezing, all of the hot air and heating being used to warm up the passengers due to their prioritization by the airline.

Harry and Y/N are both shuddering in their individual bunks, both too shy to say anything as they basically communicate with the sound of their teeth chattering. Eventually, knowing there’s no way that Harry’s possibly sleeping at this temperature, Y/N decides to speak up,

“I’m literally freezing to death.”

She bluntly states. And Harry can’t help but laugh at the upfront nature of the statement. His laugh sputters out as he shivers, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“Tell me about it. M’closer to dying of the cold than falling asleep.” He replies from a few uncomfortable foam mattresses away. Y/N laughs loudly, her laughing heating up her cheeks and warming her up a bit as she thinks of a snarky response.

“I’m going to pass in the cockpit of a plane, with the most influential thing I last did being cleaning up some baby’s vomit.” She feigns distress, and the both of them giggle while laying there, unable to sleep.

They bask in comfortable silence after that, until Harry clears his throat to speak again.

“Y/N I don’t - don’t really know you that well, but i’d say we’re both pretty uncomfortable because it’s so cold so uh-” He cuts himself off, but Y/N can tell where he’s leading.

“Do you-wanna, uhm-”

And Y/N almost swoons, her heart thumping louder (maybe it’s because she’s nearing her death at how cold she is), and she figures it’s because how fucking cute he is. With his fluffy chocolate hair and his hesitant and nervous questioning.

“Share a bed?” She finishes his suggestion. Through the dim lighting of the moving plane, she can practically see him blushing.

“S’really cold, I don’t think either of us’ll be able to sleep like this.” He reasons, and he doesn’t have to speak twice before Y/N unbuckles her cot, hopping out of it with her pillow tucked beneath her arm before sinking into the soft padding of his. He lies his thin blanket over both of their frames, and she awkwardly lies on her side so that she face him.

He wraps his arm around her waist, her face poking lightly at his chest as he sighs contently, the both of them much warmer than they were moments ago. She can smell the scent of his expensive cologne lingering on the white t-shirt he’s wearing - he can probably afford it with his large pilot salary. Feeling content, she snakes an arm underneath his arm and above his torso, pulling him closer and falling asleep.

She didn’t notice his absence from beneath the sheets at first. The presence of his warmth still lingering beneath them as she stuffed her face closer into the pillow, half asleep and half awake.

But the warmth doesn’t last on the sheets for long. Soon she realizes how much cooler they’ve gotten. Her hands reach around herself to feel that she’s rolled up inside the thin material, not a trace of Harry underneath them. So tiredly, just in case he’s having trouble getting his sleep schedule on track or is silently freezing to death besides her, she cracks open a sliver of her eyes, only to be met with complete darkness.

The alarm clock on the wall of the plane displays a glowy 2, and she know it’s the middle of the night, around 4 hours until they land, and three before they have to wake up to get ready to quickly empty the plane.

Her eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness, she stares at the safety guidelines on the wall to adjust to the darkness. She then moves her eyes, rolling her gaze to the other side of the bed, and that’s when she sees him.

Truthfully she was expecting to see him absent from the bed as a whole. Maybe he had realized how awkward it was to be sharing a bed with some random flight attendant, and he hurried back to work after an hour of sleep. So her eyes widen a bit when she sees her superior, a visible tint in his boxers, mouth open while silently groaning into the quiet space of the room.

She want to fall back asleep, wants to ignore the way that his fingers curl up every once in a while from the lost contact he can’t give himself in his dreamy state, but she can’t bring herself to do so. The more she stares at him, the more awake she becomes.

And god, he looks like something straight out of a movie. His curls are resting messily against the white fabric of the pillow situating his head. His stomach is flexing every once in a while, the tattoos on his creamy skin that are visible through his shirt curving a bit every time he does so. He looks so pretty, like she could take a filthy picture of him in this state and publish it in a few decades on the walls of the louvre.

But as beautiful as he looks, he also looks helpless, his forehead in a permanently creased state as he can’t get the release he craves. There’s a damp spot forming in his grey boxers, the small gap in the front of them opening as he grows fuller.

She questions whether she should do it, full on debates the pros and cons of her probable actions in her head. He is basically her boss, she admits, but the chances are that she’d never see him again after this flight. The odds of being assigned directly to a flight with the same pilot from the one she served before were very slim.

So she reaches out immediately, fingers merely ghosting over the fabric of the tight boxers. Just as she traces over the very prominent bulge there, he lets out a throaty groan.

She almost moans at the sound, but quickly clamps her other hand over her mouth, being careful not to wake him. He’s so sensitive in his dream state, every little touch driving him nearly over the edge.

Slowly, and very carefully, she situates herself between his long legs that are split apart on the narrow space of the small bed. Her legs are folded uncomfortably beneath her, but she figures it won’t take long to get him off.

She pinches at the top of the boxers he’s wearing. He sighs at the feeling of the fabric gliding across his hard member, fingers turning over to grip the cheap fabric of the sheets beneath him. She’s increasingly careful not to wake him up, focusing on getting him off so that she can warmly go back to sleep with him tucked under the sheets again.

“Unh” He lets out of his parted lips, eyes still closed when his boxer band lets him free, his member bounces up after being released from the confines of the clothing, curving upwards towards the ceiling.

Her mouth begins to water in hunger, even though she specifically remembers going to bed full on airplane peanuts and cheap coffee. The tip is swollen red, shiny from the precum coating it as it slides down the sides of his shaft. He’s so hard it looks like it hurts, explaining the furrowing of his eyebrows even in his slumber.

Not being able to resist herself any longer, she reaches forward, one hand holding his boxers back a bit and the other hovering over him. She allows her thumb to graze over the tip of his cock, picking up some of the glossy liquid in the process. His breathing stutters and she brings her thumb up to her lips to taste him.

She whimpers at the salty taste, becoming greedier and greedier by the second. She lean her head over his hips, nose slightly nudging at his tip. He seems sensitive to any contact, his abs flexing a bit when she does so.

Then, she sticks her tongue out of her mouth, curtly letting the liquid on the tip of his member meet the soft surface of her tongue. He immediately lets out another groan, loud enough to encourage her but quiet enough to let her know he’s still incapable of grasping reality.

Breathing heavily from the arousal dripping between her legs, dampening her shorts after soaking through her underwear, she finally, finally, dips down and takes him between her parted lips, warming him up inside of her mouth.

He breathes in, she can tell as she stares at his stomach expanding through the curtain of her lashes. But in the middle of his breath, he chokes a bit, head jerking. Although she can’t quite see his face from the angle, she can tell he’s awake.

He dips his head from side to side, probably trying to acknowledge that he’s woken up and that whatever occurred in his dream, stayed in his dream. To let him know she’s still there, she lets the tip of her tongue drag across the crease where his head meets his shaft, pressing it against the sliver intensely. He throws back his head once again, moaning loudly as his hand goes to grip his member, finding her head there instead.

His eyes snap to where she’s situated, back arched as one of her hands holds him gently, the other one lightly gripping his thigh to keep her in place.

“Hey, love.” His voice is raspy from having just woken up, something that dampens her inner thighs even more as she whimpers with him in her mouth. He inhales sharply at the vibration, admiring her.

She pulls more of him into her mouth greedily, pushing him between her lips as her tongue licks at the thick vein running from the bottom of his shaft to the top. She looks up at him to see his head thrown back, his eyes closed as he concentrates on the feeling.

And she doesn’t like that.

So she tightens the hand gripping his thigh, as if she’s telling him “Look at me!” without speaking. He gets the hint, eyes snapping open as she holds eye contact with him, sinking down even further.

“Oh, fuck.” He grabs at her hair, gripping it in his palms and pulling it to start her bobbing motion. She obeys, beginning to sink him in and out of her mouth in a rhythm comfortable for the both of them.

“G’na…” He trails off, whimpering when she suck on his tip for a little bit, soothing her sore jaw. She finds it so strange to witness a man or his sture and status moaning beneath her after having a wet dream. “G’na cum, pet.” His words slur from the pleasure, head pressing itself further into the pillow. She started while he was half hard, so it doesn’t take him long to finish.

She feels him throb into her mouth, getting closer and closer to tipping over the edge as he grows hotter and hotter on her tongue.

When he cums, she lets herself pop off of him, opening her mouth just enough to show him that she enjoys swallowing what he gives her. Ropes of white cum decorate her tongue, he stares at her in awe and hunger as she strokes him with her hand, focusing on milking the rest of him out.

And god, he looks so fucked when he’s done, cheeks flushed in adoration as he softly runs his thumb across her cheek. He doesn’t see it coming when she grabs him again, right after popping off.

“What are yeh…” He trails off when she runs her thumb across the slit on his tip, adoring how hard he still is. He’s insatiable, she thinks, when he twitches in her hand as her cold graduation ring makes contact with his upper shaft.

“You look like you could go for another one.” She winks cheekily, lowering her head before taking him in again. But just as she readies herself to bob down onto him once more, he meets her halfway, pushing up into her lips and filling her mouth up. He looks down at her, making sure she’s comfortable as she pats his hip with her free hand.

And although he seems like he’s enjoying it completely, he’s breathless in his confession, completely overwhelmed as he chokes out an, “I don’t know if I can.” And the sound of him, so needy and so fucked out only motivates her further. She quickly pulls him in and out of her mouth, using her hand to cover the parts her mouth won’t.

“God, baby.” He whimpers, widening his thighs to give her more space to work with. She pulls off for a bit, catching her breath before preparing herself for what she’s about to do. But just as she pulls her head back, his hand pushes at her head, motioning her to reposition himself inside of her mouth, where she was before she popped off. She pushes her head back in slight irritation, ticked off at his actions.

“Do you want me to keep going?” She asks him, sitting upright on her folded knees. He stares at her, the both of them gasping for air as he replies with an, “Of course” Wanting her to continue her actions.

“Then keep your hands off, Baby” She tell him snarkily. His hands immediately detach themselves from her head, gripping instead at the sheets once again. He pulls on them when she wraps her hand tightly around him again, pulling up and down to drive him closer once again.

A small layer of sweat glazes his forehead, messy hair sticking to the surface of his skin. His lips are just as swollen as hers, a result of biting down on them in anticipation. And god, he just looks so pretty. She can’t help herself when she takes one of her hands off of his thighs, instead placing it in between hers as she feels her wet folds dripping against her fingertips. She inserts a finger inside of herself, moaning when she submerges it completely.

He stares at her as she touches herself, wanting to do the same but remembering her strict words. So he moans, stares at her expectantly, and waits for her to touch him again.

And he doesn’t wait long, she moves her fingers back and forth inside of herself as he groans silently, and she returns her mouth onto him to take him in and out. When she hits a tender spot inside of herself, she lets her mouth sink down completely, her nose nudging against the area where his v-line begins.

He groans as he aggressively hits the back of her throat, so loudly that she’s afraid he’ll wake the other passengers on the flight. She doesn’t mind it though, allowing herself to do the same.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t - can’t” He pants out, making her tighten her lips even more as she bops up and down more intensely.

“Fuck!” He yells out, his torso jerking up as he hits his second high. She holds him in her mouth, removing her finger from inside of herself to press his torso back down onto the sheets with her  now free hand. Swallowing while still sucking at his softening member, she summons some more explicit language from between his lips, hearing the melodic sound of his quieting voice.

Finally popping off of him, she waits until he softens a bit before pulling up his boxers. She then lays her head against his soft stomach, grabbing his hand and laying it on her head to signal that she wants his hands running through her hair.

“Thank you” He mutters, taking her hand as he presses a soft kiss on the back of it. He intertwines one hand with hers as she feels her head raising up and down along with his breaths, sighing contently at how incredibly happy she is. She frowns at the that she won’t see him much after this, but focuses on how he throws the sheets over their small cot, making it the most comfortable bed she’s been on with his presence.

-

Y/N doesn’t know whether she’s elated, or disappointed at the arrangements she received in her email for the flight she’s serving. She stared at the list of flight attendants, seeing some familiar ones (familiar enough for her to recognize, but not close to her in any way shape or form), and some that she’s never heard of before. It’s a trans pacific flight, from the Asian country they were originally situated at to somewhere in North America that she really doesn’t remember. The flight log says that it’ll take around 7 hours for the flight to go from one place to the other, and Y/N sighs because that most likely means she either won’t get a break, or will get a break so short it’s practically nonexistent.

But that isn’t what has her head splitting apart.

As she walks onto the plane, mechanics still working for takeoff are scattering around it. A few attendants are already there, and she grabs a physical copy of the itinerary. But as she boredly awaits the crossing bridge to extend, and passengers to fill the large space, she begins to read it once again out of boredom.

It’s the fact that when she turns the page over, looking to peek at who the two pilots were, just to be cautious, she’s met with an all too recognizable name.

Pilot: Harry Edward Styles

RTG Global Flight School

England, United Kingdom

Certified May 6th of 2016

She doesn’t know if she should be nervous or not, wonders how he’ll go about the…situation that occurred the last time they served the same flight - the last time being the day before yesterday.

Her worries soon dissolve though, as two men in uniforms are the first to approach the plane. While the other attendants talk about an attractive passenger preparing to board, setting their bets on what he does for a living, her eyes scatter to meet piercing green ones unsurprisingly boring into her own. He doesn’t seem the least bit shocked, or flustered that she’s here once again and he breaks eye contact quickly, walking into the piloting room at the front of the plane.

4 Hours into the flight, the attendants are in the midst of giving out lunch. Every meal is frustrating, due to the high demand of drinks surrounding the time around the serving of the meal. Refusing to eat it due to her distaste for airline food, she’s reminded that the pilots have not yet received their meal.

She really doesn’t want to serve it.

But she’s the only attendant not preoccupied with a trash bag, or a drink cart. So she doesn’t exactly have a choice when she finds herself knocking on the door of the piloting room, hearing footsteps approaching her as her heart thuds.

Fortunately and unfortunately for her, the older pilot who isn’t - him - opens the door, grey hair tucked beneath his hat.

“I’ve been informed that you haven’t received your lunch?” She asks questioningly, she lowers her voice a bit so that the other pilot doesn’t recognize her.

“I actually think i’ll manage off of our coffee and biscuits.” The older man looks over his shoulder, “Harry? Do you need anything for lunch?”

And then Harry shifts a gear, his broad arm flexing through his suit jacket as he pulls something. He turns around in his cushy spinny chair, eyes widening when he notices her presence in the room. They stay frozen for a bit, simply staring at each other before the middle aged man snaps them both out of it.

“Harry?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, blinking a few times.

“Do you want lunch?” He asks, awaiting his response so that he can get back to working.

“No, I think i’m good. Arthur, when do you think I could have my break?”

And then she leaves, closing the door behind her as she steps back into the room with the refreshments. She takes a small packet of coffee biscuits, stuffing two into her mouth and crunching down on them as a small snack.

She hears the creak of a door sound in the distance, and figures she must’ve misheard and it must be from a seat. She also thinks it may be from the far bathroom, but just as she’s lost in her thoughts, she feels a set of warm arms wrap around her waist from behind.

Startled, she drops the last cookie in the the package, quickly turning around to be met with a whiff of the same expensive cologne she enjoyed inhaling two nights before. His hand quickly grabs hers, pulling her into the spacious restroom for the staff before closing the door behind them and locking it.

“Mr. Styles, I have work to-”

She begins, keeping her language professional and trying to excuse herself politely. She felt guilty standing in a restroom while every other attendant was working.

“If they say anything, just say I got sick and you were helping me in the restroom.” He mutters lowly into her ear, pulling her into his chest as he lightly nips at her neck. She sighs, breathy moans passing her lips.

“And call me Harry.” He finishes, just as Y/N brings her hand up to lightly pull at the roots of his hair. He moves his lips up, dragging a wet trail from her neck to her jaw, and then her jaw to her lips.

“Harry…” She whimpers, grazing her fingers across the hair on the nape of his neck as she pulls him in, and finally attaches her lips to his.

They work intensely after that in a rush to push together their lips fervorously as they attach, detach, and reattach their lips in a rhythmic motion. His hands grip the back of her thighs, and he squats down, bending his knees before straightening them and picking her up. Y/N squeals, and Harry admires her cute nature before placing her atop of the sink, her legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him in.

The bump in his blue suit pants rubs against her, and she rushes to unbuckle his belt, sloppily tearing it out of his pants before throwing it onto the floor of the bathroom. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning her blouse, merely hiking up her skirt before sliding his hands up her thighs and gripping her underwear in his knuckles, pulling down the flimsy lace material.

While he rushes to do this, she rubs against the bulge in his underwear, heat radiating off of the baggy material. There’s a name brand logo printed onto the waistband and she figures it’s since he makes such an abundance of money that he’s able to afford nice things.

As he removes her underwear, fingers slicking her wetness against her folds, she groans and pulls down his boxers, tugging him closer to her.

“Shit, wait. Do you have a…?” He trails off. She shakes her head, immediately replying before he has time to get discouraged, “I’m on the pill.”

“I’ll pull out just in case” He declares. And she nods as he stands straighter. She whimpers when his tip nudges at her clit, grabbing his member herself and finally pushing the tip inside of her.

Harry’s a mess, groaning out of control. The events from the night before last were all that was on his mind, the memory of her tonguing at the tip of his cock too enjoyable to merely forget. And now he finally, finally gets to feel her. Pressing inside of her slowly, he closes his eyes, with his senses heightened he takes in every little sound she makes.

“Shit, Y/N.” Bowing his head, he takes her breast into one hand as he slips it underneath the unbuttoned part of her blouse, sucking at the soft skin in the crevice between the two round globes. She bites her lip to keep from being too loud, although she knows it won’t be a problem due to the soundproof walls of the bathroom.

“Baby, fuck” He pulls out of her, pushing in again a bit faster this time. They’re both so needy, wanting to feel each other as close as possible as they make use of what limited time they have before his break is over and someone comes looking for her.

She looks down, admiring the way he’s so thick and full, and how he fills her up so perfectly. Her eyes stay glued to his hips, feeling a series of emotions. On one hand, she wants to cry from how good he feels inside of her. But on the other, she wants to be angry because she probably won’t ever feel him like this again.

He lays the pad of his finger on the bottom of her chin, lifting her head up so that they’re holding eye contact. Their eyes are both swirly, feeling euphoric and he mutters words that almost make her melt into the floor right where they are.

“Beautiful, pet.” he rams into her faster, “S’fucking beautiful.”

His words begin to slur as he presses them further and further to their ends. And just as Y/N swears she’s about to let her eyes release tears from how amazing she feels, there’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N? We need you out here.” She hears Christophers light voice say, quietly so that he doesn’t doesn’t disturb any of the passengers but loudly enough into the crack of the soundproof door so that she can hear him.

Harry, doesn’t like that, though. The idea that while he’s trapped in minimal space with Arthur (Who is a very nice man, don’t misunderstand him), she’s surrounded by multiple male employees. Probably having conversations with them. So after Christopher walks away, he turns his head to suck at her neck, nearing his finish but trying to make the moment last.

Still pounding into her quickly, he scatters his breath and sucks at her neck, using it as a form of comfort to let her pesky coworkers know that she had in fact been fucking the pilot in the employee bathroom right before going back to serving everyone.

He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. Because it really shouldn’t, he shouldn’t be so affected by some girl who’s just doing her job. But maybe it’s how good her hair smells, like a tropical drink he believes he had at a bar once or how loud and needy she suddenly gets when he’s inside of her.

It isn’t much longer until Harry pulls out of her, tightly fisting at himself before releasing into the part of the sink she isn’t situated on.

After they finish, grunting into the hot air in the space around them, she moves to press her skirt down, wiping down her blouse to seem just the slightest bit more professional. Neither of them were particularly worried about getting caught, considering there was no viable evidence stacked against them and that they hadn’t put anyone in danger or anything.

Harry works to put himself back together, but not before he feels a small hand smack at his arm. Y/N stands next to him, a shy smirk playing on her lips as she motions to the purplish bruise forming on the side of her neck.

“Really, Harry? How am I supposed to go to work?” She complains. He smiles, grasping some of her soft hair between his fingers before draping it over her shoulders, covering her chest as well in the process. Smiling, he mutters a small, “Beautiful” before lightly kissing her forehead and moving to leave the restroom.

A few moments after Harry leaves, Y/N exits the restroom just as Christopher approaches the door. He slides into the restroom right after she leaves, and she prays he doesn’t notice anything odd about the appearance of the space.

Her hope is crushed, however, when he walks out a minute later, eyebrows furrowed as he holds a men’s Gucci belt in his hands.

“Is this yours?” He asks her, remembering how she was the last person to leave the restroom.

“Uh, yeah.” She tells him, tucking the belt into her tote bag in the corner of the room crowded with other assistants. She makes a mental note to herself to scold Harry the next time she sees him. That is, if she ever sees him again.

-

“What is this?” Y/N motions between her and Harry.

They had been staying at the same hotel, which was arranged due to the fact that the airline reserved rooms for each member of their staff. Y/N had been pondering her unusual actions of the past few days, stressing herself out over what exactly her and Harry were. They were just having sex, right?

So why does ‘just having sex’ make her feel this way?

When she saw him sitting alone, a glass of golden liquid in one of his ring clad fingers at the stool of a hotel bar, she approaches him without hesitation. He’s wearing the same suit he was before, except he’s discarded his jacket with all of his piloting badges and patches, leaving him in his dress pants and his white button up.

She wasted no time, walking up to him before questioning him very abruptly. He’s a bit startled at first, staring at her in surprise and blinking a few times to make sure she’s actually there.

“Y/N” He states, as a response to her question that she clearly wasn’t satisfied with.

“Are you going to answer my question?” She asks him. As far as she was concerned, sex didn’t mark her with bruises to prove she was taken. Sex didn’t call her beautiful in the midst of a moment meant to be shallow and purely physical.

“We…have sex.” He answers simply. He states what’s obvious, what was already clearly right there.

“Is that it?” She asks, not wanting to feel the flood of emotions that sends a pang to her chest. To her displeasure, though, she feels the rush of sadness hit her. Punching her right above her heart as she lets a small frown form on her lips.

“Y/N”, he turns to her on the high barstool. She stand between his legs in her blouse and skirt, hair still down from when he placed it gently on her chest and shoulders. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t.” He honestly tells her, emerald orbs burning into hers. She looks dejectedly at him, staring up at him in defeat. She doesn’t know what exactly she was expecting. She knew that with their schedules, anything even close to a relationship was practically doomed to fail, she feels stupid for asking as she grounds her gaze to the floor.

“Oh.” She stares at her feet, the paint from her pedicure chipping off from constantly walking.

“So is that all it was for you? Just sex?” She asks him. He stays quiet, and she doesn’t even let herself look at him in hopes of seeing agreeance on his face. She thinks she receives his answer though after he’s quiet for a good minute.

There’s a frown forming on her face, salty tears threatening to burn at her tired eyes. She doesn’t even know why she let herself get her hopes up. Maybe she’d figured that finding someone with an occupation similar to hers would allow them to travel together, she should’ve know that happy endings and work relationships only existed in movies and books.

“Hey, wait.” He grabs at her hand. Harry doesn’t know how to feel, either. He knows that he’s enamored by her spontaneity, and enlightened by her sense of humor. He remembers overhearing her conversations with her coworkers, laughing even though he wasn’t a part of the conversations.

But as much as he’s completely smitten for her, he understands their occupations don’t allow them to make time for personal issues. He was constantly flying all over the place, and no matter how much he liked her, he couldn’t put her through the stress of coming only to go.

She yanks her hand from his gentle grip, crossing both of her arms over her chest. Y/N knows she probably looks like a proper mess at the moment, mascara spreading under her eyes and flushed cheeks as she accepts her embarrassment.

“Just, make sure not to call your friends with benefits beautiful the next time you fuck them, okay?”

He tone is bitter, but her voice sound so soft and defeated. Harry sighs, he really wishes he hadn’t done what he just did. Throwing back the rest of what’s in his glass, he orders another one, trying to numb away the guilt of his own actions.

-

Harry misses the smell of coconut shampoo.

He remembers softly inhaling it before he drifted off into sleep, Y/N resting in his arms with her warm breath fanning across the fabric of his t-shirt. He doesn’t know what exactly it is that she uses, but he knows that every time he smells the tropical scent he’s taken back to the time he ran his fingers through her hair. Granted, it was right after she had sucked him off, and that was pretty memorable, but he thinks the best part of that night was watching her lightly smile in her slumber as Harry’s fingertips glided across her features.

He enters the hotel bathroom, stumbling in after too many drinks. He remembers the bellhop having to escort him upstairs, Harry leaning all of his weight onto the frail man as he struggled to shove him inside of his hotel room.

He enters the restroom to take a shower and wash himself off before going to bed. While he was drunk out of his mind, he wasn’t disgusting. He had a sense of basic hygiene, even when he was the polar opposite of sober.

When he enters the shower, after ridding himself of his clothes, he finds small complimentary tubes of body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. Wetting his hair, he squirts some of the shampoo ono his hands. The second he begins to fluff the liquid through his hair, however, the familiar smell of coconut fills his nostrils. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine that it’s not his drunk and lonely self in the shower alone, but that Y/N is behind him, the smell radiating off of her instead.

But she isn’t with him in the shower, and she certainly wouldn’t want to be either.

Not breaking out of his intoxicated trance, Harry washes the shampoo out of his hair. Not even bothering to condition or wash up properly, he slips on a fuzzy white robe and stumbles out into the hallway.

The floor must be reserved for members of the crew they had today, he assumes from prior experience. He’s lacking proper thought so he walks down the rest of the long hallway, shouting Y/N’s names and praying to a higher power that a door opens and she stumbles out.

A door opens behind him, and he turns around to be greeted with her beautiful face. Instead he’s met with skinny arms and lanky legs, one of the first aid people assigned to be on each plane. He blinks at the bright light, probably awoken from Harry’s constant screaming.

“Mr. Styles?” He mutters, eyes widening a bit at the rumored stuck up pilot of their plane. He’s surprised to see Harry in such a vulnerable state, looking like he’s close to both laughing and crying.

“Y/N!” He yells again, laughing as he stumbles into the wall.

“Y/n?” The medical boy questions, “She’s in the room next to mine, I think.”

And that’s all it takes for Harry to stumble-run to where the boy turns around to go back inside of his own room. Harry rapidly knocks at the door, knuckles bruising as he has no control over his own strength.

Y/N had sworn she could hear Harry’s desperate voice call out her name in the distance. But she concludes that she’s gone insane and her mind is tricking her into thinking impossible things. Then she hears a small bit of chitchat coming from outside, and the voice stops. Only after that is the unmistakable pounding of the door to her hotel room.

She opens the door.

A whoosh of coconut scented air slaps Harry in the face. He leans forward, pressing all of his body weight onto her as he practically collapses upright onto her body. She doesn’t want to forgive him, but she isn’t heartless and can clearly smell strong alcohol staining his tongue.

“I’m sorry” He whines into her shoulder. She pushed him forward a bit, struggling to reach out her arms enough to close the door to the hotel room. She eventually succeeds, kicking the door closed with the tip of her feet.

“You smell so fucking good.” His nose is practically pressed into her skin. Y/N grabs at the fluffy white robe he’s dressed in and pushes him off of her. She enjoys the contact but the water dripping from Harry’s hair as a result of his incomplete shower bothers her when it drops onto her face.

“Are you drunk?” she asks him. He grabs her hand, playing with her tiny fingers in amusement, “If I am, will you let me stay?” He bargains. She tucks her bottom lip between her two front teeth, nodding as she grabs his hand and basically drags him onto her large bed.

Five minutes later, his wet hair rests on her chest, right where her own robe opens up to show a bit of skin. She rubs circles onto his chest and he breathes in and out, sobering up just a little bit but still far from sober.

His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, and she loves how incredibly loved she feels. Harry mutters nonsense into the air, clearly having a mind of his own when he’s drunk. He’s normally very straightforward, so it’s strange to watch him all wrapped up around her, clinging onto her like a child clinging to it’s favorite toy.

“Wait!” He suddenly jumps up off of her. Looking around frantically before grabbing the hotel’s complimentary pen from the bedside table.

“What are you doing?” She asks him, trying to read his letters as he writes a note on his own wrist.

“Shhhhh, you can’t look.” He turns away from her, writing away at his soft skin. He’s sure to avoid the tattoos, afraid the pen won’t be recognizable on the dark ink of his tatted skin.

“I’m giving sober Harry instructions.” He states. After he finishes writing, mumbling a small “Ta da!” as he admires his own work, he returns to how the both of them were before. His hair is dry enough to run her fingers through now, and as she combs her hands through the fluffy strands he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Leaning over to click the lamp shut, she notices his forearm facing upwards towards the ceiling. The words she sees written sloppily from his wrist to his elbow, make her heart double up in size and warm up beyond belief.

“Get Y/N flowers in the morning. She smells like coconuts and she’s nice. -Drunk Harry”

And she thinks everything will work itself out.

Lonely Heart

Where you’re his ex-girlfriend and you see his new girlfriend wearing your t-shirt

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


.

If she closes her eyes hard enough, and just at the right moments, Y/n can feel Harry in Dan.

It’s quite peculiar, how she finds Harry in almost anything. It’s something she finds so riveting yet so dangerous at the same time. He’s everywhere, he’s in every breath she takes and in every move she makes, and it’s something that brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort yet an overbearing sense of instability.

Dan—who varies oh, so differently from Harry—can feel like him if she really tries hard enough. His arms don’t hold her quite the same, and his lips aren’t as soft and flavorful, but if she squeezes her eyes shut, and she loses herself in the memories of Harry, it’s like he’s almost back again, only in the most minuscule of ways.

Which is why now, in this moment in time, Y/n can barely keep her eyes open.

It’s the first time Y/n brought Dan to the house, letting him stop by to watch a film after his shift. It’s a little something he’s wanted to do for a while, and after many coffee dates and many pleas from Dan, she finally took the step of being completely alone with him.

Gabby decided to go to a friends house and insisted they take their time together. It started off wonderfully; a bottle of red wine, a box of chocolates, and a bag of popcorn while they watched Jaws.

It was all wonderful until Dan decided to make the move.

Dan is on top of her, lips connecting to hers in a lustful motion. It isn’t that Y/n doesn’t want to be in this position, but more of her being hesitant to do so. She hasn’t kissed anybody since Harry, and although Dan is one of the nicest people she’s ever met, she can’t find it within herself to keep moving any more forward.

And everything about it feels wrong.

Between all the touching, all the kissing, all the feelings within her, she can’t stop thinking about Harry. She can’t stop thinking about how much she misses him and how much she wants him back. She’s still in love with him, so much so that doing this with someone else makes her feel dirty—makes her feel like she’s betraying him.

And it’s all too much, because no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to feel him, he’s not there, and she can’t help but seem to think that he never will be—not anymore.

“No, no, stop.” She whimpers, shaking her head in an attempt to reject Dan’s restless lips.

He doesn’t stop, however, too engaged in the moment to really understand the words stuttering from her mouth. He continues kissing her, instead, moving down to her collarbones.

At this point, Y/n starts to hyperventilate. Between the sobs daring to escape her chest and the lack of air from her previous activities, everything is straining against her. She doesn’t fully understand how she was able to get this far without it being with Harry.

“Stop!”

Her arms push Dan off of her until she’s alone on the couch as he’s panting on the floor. She can’t breathe. Her chest is tightening and her cries are so harsh that her lungs are collapsing inside of her.

She reaches her hands up to the roots of her hair, pulling back on them as she tries to gather all the oxygen she can. At this point, her head feels light and her sight is completely blurred by the tears flowing out of them—ones that she doesn’t even try to stop.

“I’m s—so sor—ry.” She hiccups, her head falling to her hands.

Dan gulps as he tentatively stands from his spot on the floor, his hands up in front of him as if in a panic, trying desperately to figure out how to fix the mess being made in front of him.

He looks around the room, as if in search for something to guide him through this situation, but there’s nothing. All the room occupies is a Y/n sobbing breathlessly on a couch in front of him, muttering incoherent phrases under her breath.

“Okay,” he huffs out, nodding his head to himself, “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?”

He occupies the empty spot next to her, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. In all honesty, Dan is complete shit at helping people during emotional breakdowns, and considering this one had happened so suddenly, he had absolutely no warning that he would be put in this position.

Y/n feels bad, she does, considering Dan doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s given him and surely doesn’t deserve what was once an innocent date to end up a complete disaster. But she can’t help it, and she can’t stop now, no matter how hard she tries.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

His voice is nothing but a whisper, and the words that spoke out from his lips nearly brings every movement in Y/n’s body to a halt. She never told him that it was Harry who broke her heart, and to be honest, she doesn’t even find the strength within her to begin to question how he even knows of Harry—especially his relationship with her.

Of course, their relationship has been publicized for years, but Dan is a very closed-off type of person. He’s not much into music, either—another part of him that differs so drastically from Harry—and spends a majority of his time working or spending time outside rather than succumbing himself in social media.

He looks down at the rose ring wrapped around his pointer finger, twirling it around with the hand that was once wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders.

He knew the moment he saw Harry’s reaction that this ring very much belonged to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she sacrificed it so mindlessly—why it seemed to have no story behind it. But between everything Gabby’s told him and everything he’s gathered from her previous relationship, she wanted nothing more than to get rid of every reminder she had of him.

He doesn’t feel worthy enough for it, though. If Y/n and Harry don’t find their way back to each other, he feels she should at least give it to somebody that she loves, not somebody she needs to help her get over her heartbreak.

He slides it off his finger, placing it gently on the palm of his hand before closing his fingers into a fist.

“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n. Not if you can’t talk to me.” He mutters softly, “Not if you’re still in love with him, we’ll be getting nowhere.”

This makes her cry harder. She still doesn’t have the audacity to look up at him, no, how could she? After everything she’s done?

This is why she always ends up alone. No matter how in love she is, no matter how much effort she puts into a relationship, they always end up leaving her. It’s happened long before Harry, and she was so convinced he’d stay when he came around. She was so dead set on him being her forever, but the same thing happened again. He left, just like everyone else.

And now, Dan is leaving her, and although she can’t exactly blame him for doing so, it’s another wound to her heart—it’s another pain in her chest that only seems to increase with pain.

He sighs sadly at the sight in front of him, upset with himself that he’s probably a partial reason for her soul-shaking sobs and lack of air, but he has no other choice. If he stays with her, he’d be forcing her to love someone she doesn’t. He has to let her go if it means to possibly make amends with her happiness again.

He takes one of her shaking hands away from her face and bringing it towards his lap, spreading her fingers away from her palm so that he can set the ring softly against it.

She sobs at the sight, bringing her opposite hand to her mouth as she tries to quiet herself down.

“This was Harry’s, it always was. This belongs to you, Y/n, not me.”

She nods, trying her best to smile at him as a form of appreciation, but it fails miserably. He understands, though, that she cares, and doesn’t ask her any questions.

“I’ll let Gabby know to come home now, okay?”

He kisses the top of her head, the way he always does, before removing himself from the couch and toward the front door.

“Take care of yourself, Y/n. I mean it.”

And then, he’s gone, leaving Y/n alone in an empty house and her haunting thoughts. She feels the world is closing in on her, only giving her a restricted amount of air and a limited amount of light to see what’s in front of her.

She’s alone—she’s left by herself in a dark room that’s only being illuminated by the television light, where nobody can hear her, where nobody can touch her, where nobody can see her; in a place where she just can’t trust herself.

She’s left alone, as she’s always left, and she just can’t take it anymore.

Her emotions become so strong that her body collapses onto the floor, her head throbbing and throat burning from all the tears and cries. She can’t breathe, her lungs failing to take in oxygen and her chest is pounding.

It’s so bad that if Gabby doesn’t come home soon, she actually believes she’s going to die. She feels the tug on her heart and feels how hard it is for it to do its job properly—she practically feels it overworking itself.

“Oh, God.”

Gabby finds her on the floor, making her immediately drop her purse and run to her collapsed body. Y/n is a withering mess underneath her, completely drenched in sweat as violent sobs erupt from her body.

She’s quick to sit her up properly onto the floor before lifting her back onto the couch, running a comforting hand down the side of her neck as she begins to shush her down to a calm state. However, her attempt falters when Y/n shakes her head to remove Gabby’s touch from her neck.

“I can’t—I can’t—“

She tries to find words to explain what’s happening to her right now. Between the pain in her body and the feeling in her head, her brain is scrambling with so many fearful thoughts that the only thing she can truly comprehend is being saved from this horrifying feeling.

“Hospital.”

Gabby is taken aback when she says it, completely astonished by just how serious this all is. She realizes this isn’t a situation that she can fix on her own, and it makes her feel like such a bad friend that she can’t give her what she needs.

Tears fall from her eyes in panic, well aware that her friend is undergoing something far worse than a mental breakdown, but also knows that the hospital won’t be able to help her.

Only Harry can.

“Let me call for help, okay?“ She asks softly. “I’m gonna send help.”

When Harry sees Gabby’s contact light up his phone, something inside of him instantly fills with worry. He knows, without a doubt, that Gabby hates him more than anybody ever since what happened. And knowing her so well, she would never reach out to him, especially when her negative feelings toward him were so strong, unless it’s serious.

“Gabby?” He gulps.

“You have to do something, Harry.” She cries through the phone, peaking over her shoulder to look over Y/n from her location in the kitchen.

She’s still a mess, holding her hand over her heart as if it were going to mend the pain. Her head is thrown over the back of the couch, her other hand running over her face continuously. Her sobs haven’t settled, only seeming to increase with panic over the unfamiliar reaction occurring over her body.

“She thinks you don’t want her and—Harry she thinks she’s dying. Her heart is so broken. She keeps saying her heart is going to fail her and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. She—she was trying so hard. Harry, please, you have to—you have to—“

Harry leans on his elbows over the kitchen counter, huffing out a shaky breath when he hears both Gabby and Y/n’s cries through the phone. He rubs his hand over his face, doing anything to prevent the tears nearly pooling out from his eyes.

He’d be lying if he said that guilt isn’t eating him alive in this moment. And it’s not that he hasn’t felt any remorse or any guilt since he’d broken Y/n’s heart, but he’s now fully aware that he has to look at the damage he’s done. He’ll have to witness all the pain, all the heartbreak he’s put her through, and nothing makes him feel worse.

“I’ll do anything.” He whimpers. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I promise I won’t keep doing this to her, you have to believe me. Just—“ he lets out a broken breath, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping, “just tell me what to do.”

Gabby wipes the tears from her cheeks, yet again peering over to watch over Y/n on the couch. To her dismay, there is absolutely no improvement.

“Come here, pick her up, and bring her home. Just talk to her, please. Nothing makes her feel worse than believing you don’t want her anymore. Hell, even if you don’t—I don’t know with you anymore—just give her something. You’re the only one that can fix this.”

He sighs, nodding his head before making his way out of his house without much of a response to her. He’s only concerned for Y/n, and is so focused on getting to her so that he can prove to her that he’s changed—that he’s not the same Harry he was and is going to be there for her for as long as his life lasts, even if she doesn’t allow it.

But it’s upon arrival he realizes how much more serious this is than he thought. She’s completely breaking down, every inch of her shaking and fear struck on her face. She’s a complete and utter mess, a completely wrecked version of such a beautiful, unbroken woman who had so much love in her heart and surrounded by so much love in the air.

And even though Harry knows she believes she’s going to die, apart of him believes she already has. The life inside of her has burned out and is now just a product of what once was. The Y/n he has always known is long gone—so far gone he almost doesn’t believe it’s her.

He looks at her with the most distraught and sympathetic look Gabby has ever seen. She has never seen so much guilt in somebody before that—no matter how much she hates him—she can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.

“Baby, hey. Hey now, it’s alright.” He whispers, kneeling in front of Y/n’s shaking figure and tentatively reaching for her hair so that he can attempt to calm her down. “I’m here now, I’m right here.”

A pitiful sound leaves her lips when she looks up at him; something between a whine, a sob, and a groan. It’s messy from her throat being raw from all the screaming and cries, and it leaves an indescribable pain that only makes her cries stronger.

She can’t even think properly, everything in her body overworking itself. It’s something she’s never experienced before, and all the fears of it being a permanent start to rush through her veins—leaving her with an overwhelming amount of anxiety.

“She’s having a panic attack.” Harry mumbles to Gabby, making sure to rub gently over the back of Y/n’s neck. Although panic attacks weren’t common for her, whenever she was overwhelmed and stressed, this gesture always seemed calmed her down.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive with her like this I—Gabby, how do I focus with her like this?” He cries, the situation in front of him making his body turn to shambles, “Especially when it’s my fault? How do I—do I keep her here until she’s calm? I don’t—I don’t know—”

Gabby shakes her head, reaching her hand over to graze his tense shoulder. She squeezes the muscle softly, almost as a sort of reassurance.

“She needs home, Harry—” she whispers, “she needs you.

He nods, choking back sobs as he brushes the hair out of Y/n’s face. The skin of her face is red and completely soaked, but this is the first time he’s seen her since the morning in the grocery store, and she’s never looked so beautiful.

“I’m going to take you home with me, Y/n. But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” He asks, holding her face delicately between his hands, “Breathe with me.”

Y/n sucks in a deep breath when Harry inhales deeply, attempting to rid all the anxiety and pain settling inside of her. Her inhale is broken between hiccups and cries, but as she keeps eye contact with him as she tries to calm down, a little part of her feels revived.

“It hurts.” She whimpers between sobs, referring to the pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head that just can’t seem to heal.

She watches as Harry’s face scrunches with an agonizing cry, and she knows he’s aware of exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been brokenhearted for so long, she doesn’t even think he’s the least bit shocked when she tells him her heart is hurting.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he kisses her forehead gently. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Make you feel better?”

And as much as she wants to hate him, or yell at him for everything he’s done to her and make him understand just how much of her life he’s ruined, she genuinely feels like her body is going to collapse at any given moment. She needs him, even if it’s just for right now, she has to just focus on everything happening in the now. Harry’s come back to her and she’s about to go back home.

Because if she doesn’t think about the present moment—Harry holding her, Harry kissing her, Harry about to take the both of them back to their house—she’ll never find a way to fix herself. She’ll be stuck in this anxiety and pain for far too long—so long that it could actually kill her.

So she closes her eyes, only focusing on his touch and his breath fanning over her wet face. She forgets the t-shirt, she forgets all the times he’s ignored her after declaring them to take a break, and she forgets about Jessica. At least for right now, she can focus on all that tomorrow.

She nods, and it’s then Harry notices how much more calm she is. Although she’s still crying and still incapable of speaking much from the aching in her throat, she’s breathing properly again and her once undying sobs have turned into soft whimpers.

He leans in so that he can properly wrap his arms around her, hooking one hand on her back and the other under her knees. There’s no way in hell she’s capable of walking—not like this, and in all honesty, he would much rather hold her now than leave her side for another second.

It’s when Y/n is being held so close to him again that the aching in her chest seems to almost vanish completely. And although there is still a weight on top of her lungs, and still a slight uncomfortableness in her heart, she’s finally able to breathe again.

“I’m gonna make this all better, okay? I promise you, gonna fix this.” He mumbles with his lips against her hairline, making sure to keep rubbing the back of her neck softly.

It’s a promise he intends on keeping—a promise he never plans on breaking again. He could never live with himself if he were to keep putting her through all of this pain. She’s the most undeserving person—he knows that—and he knows she’s too pure to go through all that she’s been through the past couple of months.

The car ride is completely silent, only Y/n’s cries and small sniffles filling the empty space. Although she still isn’t completely calm, she’s improved so much since he first came to pick her up and it is able to keep his mind at ease. At least while he drives.

And he doesn’t miss her hand sneaking over the console to intertwine her fingers with his. He doesn’t expect it but he also doesn’t mind it. If anything, it makes him feel better just as much as it does her.

When they pull up to the driveway of their once shared house, every bit of composure she’s withheld in her body is breaking down by the second. Her strength is wearing thin, and knowing she’ll be reuniting in the house where Y/n and Harry once had everything makes her more afraid than ever.

Harry notices her sudden shift in mood and doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle himself from his seat and walk around the car to where her exhausted figure is sobbing, slumped against the passenger seat. He sighs meekly before unbuckling her, as well, and lifting her against him the way he had before.

“Hey there, s’alright, I’m here. We’ll work this out, but you need to sleep first, yeah? Looking very pale and I know you well enough to see you’ve been lacking sleep.”

Although they both know Y/n isn’t going to respond, she wants to continue listening to him speak. It’s something she hasn’t heard in so long, and she wouldn’t even care if he was talking about the goddamn weather, she just wants to hear him again.

He keeps talking, too, because he notices the effects of his voice on her anxiety and how the muscles in her body relax under his words. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure she’s okay again, even if it means having a one-sided conversation.

“You know how you are, too—grumpy and sensitive when you’re tired. Almost take my head off if you don’t get more than seven hours. Remember that one time at my mum’s Christmas dinner party? Barely slept the night before from wrapping so many gifts that you genuinely got upset with me for not knowing your favorite alcoholic beverage.” He chuckles softly. “Funny lil thing.“

Through the nonstop crying and the frown that hasn’t left Y/n’s lips in what feels like an eternity, the first smile stretches from her lips. It’s the smallest closed mouth smile he’s ever seen, but it’s there, and it’s the most genuine feeling of happiness she’s had in so long.

When Harry unlocks the door, he wastes no time making his way over to their couch. He knows very well that she wouldn’t want to sleep on their bed, considering she’s well aware of what he did with Jessica on that bed and he wants no reason to upset her any further.

He sets her down in front of the couch, petting the top of her head softly before gathering a blanket and a pillow for her to sleep on.

He sets it up like a bed, almost, before turning to leave so that she can have her privacy. He doesn’t think she’d want to sleep with him, so he decides to sleep in the guest bedroom since he knows she’d always pick the living room couch over that room.

But before he gets too far, Y/n weakly captures his fingers in hers, pulling him back towards her.

His head snaps down to her finger, noticing the rose ring being worn beautifully on her middle finger. He almost chokes when he sees it on her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in half confusion and half in awe.

“Please,” she whimpers, “stay.”

He snaps out of his trance at her words, slowly nodding his head as a small “of course” falls from his lips.

He lays comfortably on the couch, looking up at her when he finds a position where she can lay beside him.

“If you want you can take the—alright” he huffs.

His eyes narrow as he watches her lay on top of him—fully on top of him; her cheek nesting right where his shoulder meets his neck as her arms slither around his sides until her hands meet under his back. Her legs tangle perfectly in between his, and in any other circumstance, this probably wouldn’t have been an ideal sleeping position for the either of them. But Y/n is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she feels this is the only position she can sleep.

Harry doesn’t mind and easily ignores the subtle uncomfortableness in his back as he wraps his arms securely around her frame.

Although Y/n is already fast asleep on top of it, he’s unsure how he can close his eyes for longer than a blink. This could be the last chance he has to be with her in this way. He’s unsure what tomorrow holds for the both of them and their relationship—it could end entirely or create an entirely new beginning.

With the possibilities almost endless against their favor, he doesn’t want to miss a second of what could be the last of her in his life. So, he embraces the feeling of her tight hold, the little puddle of drool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and the tickle on his chin from her loose strands of hair, because this could be the last time he feels all of that.

But he also can’t help but feel that small bit of hope still latching onto him. That somewhere—deep down—he knows they belong to each other for the rest of their lives. And that, maybe, if the universe decides that their relationship should end tomorrow, he knows destiny will find a way for the both of them again.

So, he holds her a little tighter, breathes her in a little harsher, and soaks up all the extra warmth in her body, and prays that everything will be okay.

Need (blurb)

I have no idea where this came out of.

WARNINGS: Its just pure… filth

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anonymous asked:

What if Harry went really rough on YN last night and she keeps saying she's fine but the wobbles and marks say otherwise

Harry would be so fucking smug about it.

The next morning she swings her legs off the bed, rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands and stifling a huge yawn, thumbing over the deep purple bite marks scattered across her thighs and smoothing her fingertips over the bruises on her hips, remembering how hard he’d gripped them.

There’s a dull, satisfying throbbing in between Y/N’s legs, pulsing so deep it laps at the pit of her stomach. It’s like he’s still balls deep inside her, tucked up into her tummy with his sweaty hips spreading her fleshy thighs open, slamming her into another dimension. It paints a small, fulfilled smile across her tinted lips, making her feel all warm and bubbly inside.

“Y'look hot like that.”

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Harry is a Bossy Lawyer, and Y/N is his intern


Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT

Word Count: 8K

Smut, angst and fluff.

Hope this is everything you wanted and more

-

Harry Styles was an extremely professional man.

He was the type of man who just looked like money. If he entered a room, you would feel his presence. You would smell the expensive Tom Ford radiating off of him, look at the intricate suit he wore that was no doubt made specifically for him, and you would get out of his way. He would then proceed to command the attention of everyone in the room, without even muttering a word or giving a single smile.

He had reportedly been this way since he first moved to New York, as well. His old college classmates stated that he never spoke in class but aced every exam. He’d never lost a case, always managed to turn in everything on time, and despite his quiet nature, every single law professor would nearly get on their knees to get him to join their own firms .

It was no surprise to anyone, then, when Harry Styles made the decision to start his own firm. Instead of working for anyone else, he simply chose to be his own boss. Every year he picked out a little less than a handful of interns from a high pile of applicants - specifically 2. They were mainly to do his dirty work, to snoop around and boringly comb through files for hours so he wouldn’t have to, but regardless it was a golden seal on any law student’s resume so every star student applied.

This year, he accepted 2 additional interns on top of the two he had from the previous year.

An aspiring lawyer from somewhere across the seas in Europe named Liam, and some girl from a small town who moved to New York to pursue her dreams, Y/N.

Mr. Styles was easily irritated. Well, it wasn’t visible irritation as much as it was just complete silence. Every morning Y/N had the chore of giving him his coffee, and since no one at the office had the hint to invest in sugar packets, she was always forced to attempt to measure out how much “4 Packets of sugar” was in large spoonfuls.

Sometimes, he’d take a sip and shrug with a small lift in his eyebrows before turning around and burrowing himself inside of his office again. And others, he would take a sip and stay silent for a moment before handing it back to her, a gesture to which Y/N would promptly turn around in embarrassment and remake his coffee until he approved.

Today, however, was different.

The entire office environment was tense, getting even tenser by the moment as rustling papers and groans filled the room. Usually mornings were full of small talks between Y/N and Liam, and the nice boy who was interning from the year before named Michael. The girl, Rachel, who had also been interning for Styles & Associates always showed disdain towards Y/N, making snarky remarks about how incorrect she was (even when she was, in fact, correct).

“Why is it so tense in here?” she tries to whisper to Liam. But because no one else was speaking and nothing was playing in the background on the TV like it usually was, the other two interns glance at her before staring back at their files.

“You seriously didn’t hear?” Liam whispers back to her. He places the tip of his thumb in a yellow manilla folder to keep his place, turning to face her. Y/N hears a scoff coming from Rachel, she promptly ignores the sound and keeps her gaze locked on Liam’s expectantly.

“That one CEO, Jared Laughlin - he owns that huge department store in the upper east side with the same models in the window every month - he’s convicted of first degree murder.” Liam tells her. Her eyes widen, jaw suddenly halting from chewing her bubble gum.

She knew the store, the one where every rich person would walk in and out with multiple shopping bags. Her and Liam would often make fun of the ugly flowers glued onto the thousand dollar dresses in the display when they were picking up Mr. Styles’ sushi from an expensive buffet. She’d never expected to first-handedly be this close to the owner of the damn place.

“Holy shit.” Y/N says a little too loudly. Rachel loudly mutters a “Shhhh!”, her finger plucked over her lip as her spit flies onto the papers in front of her.

“Sorry, damn” Y/N jokingly raises her hands as if surrendering. Michaels stifles a laugh as he combs through more files.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Y/N grabs a large box, identical to the ones situated in front of the other interns, and begins reading through each little paper in each manilla folder.

“We’re defending him, is what’s so damn hard. And well, the person who was murdered was his wife. She was 30 years younger than him, and rumored to be having an affair with another man.”

“Shit.” Y/N cuts him off, surprised at how unrealistic it sounds. It’s like something straight out of a lifetime movie, or some crazy crime show where everyone is secretly related or something.

“Shit, indeed.” Liam replies, pausing as he tries to multitask and thinks back to what her original question was, “Oh yeah, we’re looking through his marriage records and his wife’s files to find anyone with considerable cause.”

She nods after that, beginning to comb through her own set of files just like everyone else was. In the corner of the room was a box of her belongings, just books and things that she left behind, and she gets the odd feeling that she may want to look through them later.

“Hey Li, have you looked through those yet?” She points to the clear plastic box, it’s lid nowhere to be found because it probably couldn’t fit over the jagged edges of the objects.

“Yeah, we searched through them but they’re mostly just junk. Some copy of a poetry book and some makeup, rich person shit you know?”

With skepticism and the need to look through the box herself, she just accepts his answer and gets to work.

-

It’s currently 12 AM. Every other intern tapped out hours ago, Michael leaving at 5 PM sharp to be with his girlfriend, Liam leaving two hours after that because he forgot he needed to feed his poor fish that ‘Just wouldn’t die’, and Rachel staying until ten without actually doing much except for pretending to look at things just to prove that she was a harder worker than Y/N.

Eventually, she taps out, and Y/N is alone in the spacy and messy office, the only other person in the establishment being Mr. Styles, who hasn’t left his room since the morning. She wonders if he always stays this late, because honestly Y/N had never seen him leave before. Her and her fellow interns were always quick to leave.

Y/N had a good reason for her aggressive working though, she’d looked through Mrs. Laughlin’s belongings, and whilst flipping through a page of her book, had stumbled across a page with indents from writing. She assumed that someone had written something on a separate piece of paper while using the book as a hard surface, resulting in curves in the soft thin pages of the book.

She took out a pencil, a piece of paper, and lightly traced the curves to find a sweet note and a name written below it, stating,

“As always, thinking of you my lovely Vivian.

Xx

Marvin Johnson”

Y/N hadn’t wasted a minute, hopping onto her computer to look up different Marvin Johnson’s in the New York area. She finds a variety of men - and one woman - one of them being a 43 year old telemarketer who’s 5’2 and calls himself ‘MJ like Michael’, a few being college students, one who had an obituary from his death ten years prior, and finally one that she assumes is most likely the one who is responsible for the letter.

He’s an Exotic dancer at a male strip club in the richer districts of the upper east side. From a brief look at his instagram, she can make out a quote he posted in one of his captions as being a quote directly from the book sitting next to her on the desk. But just as she’s about to determine probable cause, the door next to her creaks open.

She’s never really seen him like this before. His dress shirt is crumpled, suit jacket resting in his hand instead of adorning his body. His hair, instead of stiffly gelled up, is now fluffy and bouncy everywhere and his cheeks are flushed from being so tired.

“Y/N?” his eyes widen. He clearly wasn’t expecting his intern, his junior intern at that, to be typing away at her laptop at midnight as he finally gave himself a break.

“Uh, Mr. Styles” She quickly hops up out of her chair, hoping he didn’t see her slouched position. They both try to fixed their professionality, running fingers through their hair to fix up their appearances.

“Sorry i’m here.” She blurts out, and immediately wants to slap herself because of how stupid she sounds but is too late to stop herself, “I just…well, I found a lead and-”

He cuts her off, eyes bulging out of his head as he snaps out of his tired state. And for the first time since she’s ever met him, she sees a small smile forming onto his face.

It starts with his eyes, a little crinkle forming on the outer edges. His puffy pink lips point towards the ceiling more and more, little pools of darkness showing up in his dimpled cheeks. She sees a crack of white from where his teeth show.

Harry’s close to jumping up and squishing her into a bear hug at this point. He’d spent the entire day waiting for an intern to knock at his door and tell him that they’d got a lead, or waiting to stumble upon one himself if it were possible. After tugging at his hair and groaning for hours straight (and sneaking out the cognac beneath his desk for a little sip even though no one needs to know that), he’d finally become tired enough to retire to go home. He always did have a problem with falling asleep, so locking up alone and leaving wasn’t uncommon for him.

“What’s the lead?” He eagerly asks her, Y/N looks around her desk, papers strewn all across it before pulling out the book and the slip of paper she’d shaded to read the preexisting message.

“I saw this little indent of handwriting in one of Mrs. Laughlin’s books. I traced it to find a name, and after looking it up I zeroed in on a Marvin Johnson, who works as a high class dancer and lives on 4th.”

She switches through the tabs, showing him all of the evidence she has stacked up against him.

“But, wasn’t the guy she was cheating with someone else? I was told he was a rival CEO.” Harry points out in confusion.

“Exactly, that leads to probable cause. She has two affairs, one of the men find out about the other, they get mad, and one of them kills her in aggression. Meanwhile Jared has no idea, and-”

He cuts her off, finishing her thought, “He’s blamed for the murder of his wife.”

Y/N raises her hand, stretching to yawn as she’s extremely tired and she wants to drown herself into a nice rose-scented bath at home. She’s half awake, and she uses that fact as an excuse for oggling his tattoos she can see through his dress shirt for a little too long.

But Harry seems to get the wrong hint, and when she stretches her hand up he promptly reaches out and slaps it playfully. She stares at him in confusion for a moment before realizing he’s just falsely high fived her.

Harry automatically widens his eyes too. And no matter how fucking blessed he thinks he is to have her at the moment, he has to snap back into the real world and acknowledge that he is her boss, and that that was extremely unprofessional.

She just looked so soft, he thinks, with little prints from her glasses pressing into the spine of her nose, and her cushy full lips pushing her minty breath towards him every time she speaks. He just can’t believe the fact that someone so cute, and so intelligent and so amazing somehow landed in the same office as him due to her mutual interest for law.

“I’m s’-” He sighs, “I’m really sorry, Y/N. That was very unprofessional. It’s s’just been a really long day and m’very tired and you just- you just saved my ass right now and-”

She cuts his flustered confession off with a giggle.

“It’s okay. Mr. Styles. I want to ask though, do you stay here this late every night?” Her eyebrows furrow a little as she awaits his response, and he has to restrain himself from reaching out and flattening the adorable crease forming between her eye’s as he clears his throat.

“Yeah, I don’t really - I’m not the best at falling asleep.”

Y/N purses her lips in thought, a small smirk playing at her lips as she nods. They both agree to go home for the night, given how incredibly late it is, before continuing the investigation the next day based off of the lead she’s discovered.

And when Y/N finally packs her purse into the passenger’s seat, popping her back after she closes the door ad yawning once again, she pulls the driver’s door open and hops inside of her small car. And from the corner of her eye she swears she sees a certain curly haired, green eyed man, leaning on his grey Audi, staring from afar to make sure she gets inside of her car safely.

-

The next morning, Harry is less tired than he normally is. Although he ends up going to bed an hour later than he usually does and awakens at the same time to the annoying sound of his phone alarm, he feels strangely giddy at going to his office. He convinces himself that it’s because he’s going to win his face. But he’s always won his cases and he’s never felt this amazing at just a lead.

He brushes the feeling aside.

When Y/N knocks on the think oak door of Harry’s office, she stands with his coffee in one hand and a small gift in the other. He opens the door, a small grin playing on the ends of his lips.

“Well if it isn’t my star lawyer.” He states, feeding her ego a little too much. She hears Rachel scoffing from the other side of the room, but Harry dismisses it as she hands him his coffee.

“Mr. Styles, I know you told me that you have trouble sleeping, so I got you these chocolates with melatonin. They’re really good and they help you sleep and it’s really not much but I mean you’ve done so much for me so I just figured you’d like them” She finishes her ramble and he doesn’t reply, and she suddenly becomes really nervous and insecure about her gift. He was a multi millionaire lawyer who drove a sports car worth more than the home she grew up in, some crappy chocolates to knock him out weren’t going to change that.

“I-I’m really sorry if it’s inappropriate, I just thought-”

“No, no really, love, it’s fine. Been looking for a way to help me sleep.”

Her cheeks heat up at the nicknames he throws on her. She hands him his coffee without another word, and instead of tasting it to critique, he simply smiles and closes the door behind him when he walks back into his office.

Harry’s heart warms up when their fingers touch as she passes the box of chocolates over to him. He watches her nervously fiddle with the hem of her skirt, and he takes her coffee before closing the heavy door and sitting down on his organized desk. He sips a taste of the coffee, and it tastes just right, but maybe even better because of the girl who served it to him.

-

The next few days, Y/N and Harry are more public with their new and unusual friendship.

It starts when Y/N’s car won’t start up, so she calls Liam who has to pick up some extra pet food before going to work because the store won’t be open at the time work ends. She then calls her best friend, only to realize that she’s gone to the other side of the US to meet her boyfriend’s parents. So then she calls Harry, who rolls up to her tiny apartment building in Brooklyn in sunglasses and driving gloves (He says they aid with driving safety).

Then, it’s little things. How she says that his office looks so neat that it’s unhomely, in a playful way, so he stops by the late night street mall with her before he drops her off at her house - because her car wasn’t fixed yet - to help him decide what objects could possibly make his office more homely.

It’s him ordering her an extra box of lo mein from the Thai food place down the street from their office when they’re working late at night just to see if she’d want some too, it’s leaving his office door open from now on so that he can look at her when he’s feeling a bit down, and it’s checking his appearance in the mirror of his sports car before walking into the office to see if he looks alright.

Y/N isn’t expecting to be confronted with ludicrous accusations today.

But the second she walks into the doors of Styles and Associates, she hears four words that make her freeze, and her blood boil.

“Bet she’s fucking him.” It’s Rachel.

Who is she kidding, of course it’s Rachel. Liam wouldn’t say that, Michael would never, and Harry doesn’t speak to the other interns about gossip.

“Rachel…” Liam trails off.

“No. How else do you think that she’s getting all these offers. He offered to give her a raise, even told her he’d write her letters of recommendation in advance just because. They’re more than just coworkers and you know it!” She bangs the wooden table. Harry’s door is shut, strangely enough, and Y/N clears her throat.

Rachel turns around, and instead of looking apologetic or embarrassed, she stares at Y/N with a devious look on her face.

Y/N shrugs it off, heading to the small coffee maker in the other room to make Mr. Styles’ coffee for him. She pulls out four packets of sugar, ones she stole from the Mcdonalds across the street from her complex, out of her pocket. She empties them into the dark brown liquid, smiling as she swirls the small black coffee straw around his coffee and blends the two flavors together.

She knocks on the door to his office. She looks around the workspace, Liam and Michael typing away on their computers, but she doesn’t see Rachel.

The door opens a moment later. Rachel stands in front of the door, Harry directly behind her with a stern look on his face. Rachel stomps past her and she reluctantly hands the coffee to him, careful not to disturb his already foul mood.

“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Styles” She tells him. While she would usually just enter into his open-doored office, set his coffee down, and walk away, she felt as if the past few weeks hadn’t even occurred. She felt like the same intern who was deathly intimidated by him, and disappointedly felt like they had taken ten steps in the opposite direction they were going in.

He takes it from her hands, gripping it tightly. He nearly yanks it from her and she stumbles a bit as the brown liquid almost tips over the rim of the cup and spills out.

Bringing it up to his lips, he takes a microscopic sip of the coffee, and Y/N really, really doesn’t expect what he’s about to do next.

He throws the mug to the ground, it shatters into little glass pieces and some of the hot liquid sloshes onto the carpets beneath them. Y/N lets out a little whimper at the hostile action, flinching completely in surprise. Liam and Michael’s stares burn into Y/N’s back, she widens her eyes as she looks up at her boss.

His green eyes are blazing into her own, a vein sticking out of his neck as he heats up with anger more and more by the second.

“I- Mr. Styles-”

“It tastes bloody horrible. God Y/N, you’re working for a fucking PhD and you can’t even brew a coffee correctly?” He pinches at the bridge of his nose, eyes closing in anger as Y/N stares at him with owl like eyes, glazing over more and more by the second.

And she really didn’t know what she’d done. He had had bad days before,but none were every like this. And worst of all was that she even considered him a good friend at this point, and now she was back to being reminded he was a genus high and mighty lawyer, and she was merely an intern trying to make it to half of where he was.

“This, just, clean this up.” He points to the puddle of coffee and shattered glass on the ground, turning around and throwing the door behind him to slam shut on his own. Y/N swears she’s never felt lower as she sinks to her knees and picks up the shards of glass into her hands carefully. She sniffles, wiping away a few stray tears every once in a while.

Her parents had always told her that law wasn’t a good job choice. She’d continuously objected, telling them that it was her life and she believed in herself enough to be successful. Y/N never thought sleepless nights of study would lead up to this, to her on her hands and knees being laughed at by her female coworker as she sweeps up crushed glass from a dirty carpet.

Soon, though, she sees a brown towel lay on top of the coffee in front of her. Liam’s large hands reach out to help her in cleaning the carpet faster. He smiles at her reassuringly, but she ducks her puffy eyes, not wanting to stare at him any longer.

After they’re finished cleaning up the mess, Y/N rushes to grab her purse, stuffing her journals and binders into it before she has the time to fully break down.

“Y/N?” Liam mutters just as he sits down, hands still placed on the arms of his chairs as he pulls himself closer to the table, “Where are you going?” He asks her.

“Home.” She simply croaks out, not wanting to look at him - or anyone for that matter.

“Hey, I know that was a proper dick move on Styles’ part but if you leave right now he might just take his anger out on you more the next time he sees you.” Liam tells her honestly. No one had ever left early for no good reason before, and while Y/N knows he’s right, she feels so hurt that she’s willing to take that chance.

So she walks out of the office building and drives home in her own car.

-

Harry walks out of his office, he needs the overview of Mrs. Laughlin’s inheritance, but when he walks out he realizes that Y/N isn’t there.

He checks his expensive watch, seeing that it’s merely 2 PM and she had no reason not to be there. Then he assumes she’s in the restroom, but the door to it is wide open and there’s still no trace of her.

“Where’s Y/N” he mutters sternly to everyone in the office. Michael looks horrified, Rachel just sips her coffee, and Liam looks irritated as he replies.

“Left hours ago, Mr. Styles.” Liam tells him honestly, “Right after she cleaned up the coffee you threw. Didn’t look too well.” And everyone is back to sifting through files and typing away. But Harry can’t help but feel a little tight knot in his tummy.

Of fucking course she would leave, he’d practically treated her like property. Throwing her perfectly fine coffee onto the floor and then making her clean it.

He was just so, so angry. Because Rachel had told him right before he threw his coffee that Y/N had been bragging around the office, talking about how she was close to having Harry smitten for the benefit of her own career. How she would soon be successful and rich by using Harry as leverage.

And he assumes it’s true, because well - he’d been used so many times before. Like when he was in college and the girl he’d liked for so long had only agreed to go out with him so that he’d help her with the criminology homework they were assigned. Like when he’d taken a supermodel out for a drink, only to realize her real husband was imprisoned on drug charges and she needed help more than anything else. But he shouldn’t have even thought of imagining Y/N would actually say something like that, not after she turned down his raise and rejected his offers because it wasn’t fair to the other interns.

And Harry feels like he’s going to puke, because this girl that he’d been admiring from afar had finally enjoyed his company enough to spend time with him and feel comfortable with him. He may have just ruined weeks of progress for some ridiculous assumption.

Y/N was easily the most hardworking intern at the firm, they really can’t bear to lose her knowledge in this case. Harry knows exactly what he has to do.

-

“I’m bear-y sorry” Y/N stands with puffy eyes, in a large men’s t-shirt from the sales section at some fast fashion store, with her forearm resting with all of her weight onto the doorframe of her apartment. She’s just made a batch of cookies, brownies, and a cherry pie (She’s a stress baker) and she’s not expecting for him to be there.

Harry’s holding a stuffed bear as large as he is, one he remembers that she pointed at when they passed by a street game at the small mall they went to. She told him about how she’d never been able to win a large stuffed animal when she was younger, and how she’d always wanted one someday.

She doesn’t expect for him to bring it to her apartment though, especially after what he said the last time they talked.

With a sad frown on her face, and droopy cheeks, she moves to swing the door shut to pretend like she didn’t see him there. She wants to pretend like he never came by, and like he’s just her boss and nothing more, no feelings attached.

He’s quick to shove the door back to where it was.

“Y/N” He sighs, lips frowning and posture slouched, “I’m sorry.”

And she’s a bit surprised, because Harry Styles isn’t the type of man to say he’s sorry. He’s the type of man to never smile, never apologize, and never bring large stuffed bears to his intern’s apartment. But it looks like he’s broken all three assumptions made about himself.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you, or said that to you.”

At these words, she’s taken back to the incident that occured, and she’s automatically afraid of him again.

Sniffling, a few tears fog up her eyes. She feels a salty taste in her mouth, and Harry reads her expression. He looks extremely worried as he reaches out and pets his thumb against her cheek, preparing to swipe away any salty liquid that comes out.

“Please don’t cry, pet.” Normally her heart would’ve welled up in adoration of the pet name, but tonight she can’t help but cry instead. Her tears soak the expensive and stupidly soft material on his chest, and she’s overwhelmed by how good he smells, even when she’s sobbing.

“G’na make me sad. I can’t believe I made you feel like this.”

He rubs her back soothingly, rings running across her spine and leaving goosebumps on her arms. He’s not sure of how to hold girls when they cry, or how to hold girls at all. Harry had only ever had strings of one night stands, he’d never been attracted to a girl and then not slept with her before. Then again, he’d never met girls with interesting stories about how they’d had unfulfilled their wishes of winning large stuffed bears.

She sniffles a bit before detaching her messy face from his shirt and staring up at him, glossy bambi eyes looking at him pleadingly.

“Thank you for the bear.” She grabs it by it’s large stuffed paw, dragging it into her apartment. Harry takes that as his cue to come in, following behind her desperately before she changes her mind. He’s not used to it, following girls around and feeling sorry for them and rubbing their backs while they cry into his chest.

Her apartment is far smaller than his, looking homely though because it smells like freshly baked desserts and there are books and blankets scattered over the old but homely furniture. He feels the strange new feeling that he’s the one who needs to pay her back, for just being such a nice and genuine person.

But Harry figures that new experiences are always alright, and gratefully accepts a brownie on a small glass plate that Y/N hands to him with a cup of milk.

-

“Are you ready for the trial?”

Harry nervously pops his fingers, pulling on them one by one as they individually crunch. He doesn’t normally get nervous, but this client could potentially open his career up to various new demographics of rich people. In other words, he’d be making even more money than he currently did.

Y/N stands in front of him, straightening out his tie one last time while staring up at him. He grins down at her, and they hold eye contact for a few moments, the colors of their eyes seemingly mixing the more they stare.

“I’m always ready, love.” Y/N doesn’t know whether to scoff at him and give him a hard time over his cocky nature, or blush at the nickname he’s permanently deemed upon her. She lets go of his tie, slowly dragging her hand down his torso before patting the sides of his jacket.

“I’m so excited to see such a big trial in person. How exhilarating.” She stares in awe at the number of people in the courtroom, and notably how expensive they all look. She knows Harry will command all of the attention once he goes out to the room, but for now she lets her eyes scan over all of the intricate patterns on everyone’s clothing.

“It’s not as exhilarating when you realize most of them are judging you, that’s why you have to be charismatic. To be appealing to the jury.” He tells her. She makes a mental note of his free advice, snarkily replying with an, “I guess you’ll need tons of good luck then.”

The hallways are clear of any people as most have filed into the courtroom, and they stand speaking to each other alone. He laughs at her sassy remark.

“Luck doesn’t win cases, pet, knowledge does.”

Everything he says seems to be some sort of lecture. It makes Y/N want to punch him in the face for being so obnoxiously knowledgeable, laugh because of how serious he always is, and jump his bones all at the same time.

“That sucks, Mr. Styles.” She pulls the sides of his blazer together, “I was going to give you something for good luck.” Harry doesn’t think much of it, holding his hand out to see what exactly she puts in it. He’d well rested the night before thanks to her weird insomnia curing chocolates, and if the rest of her gifts are as useful as the last, he doesn’t mind taking them.

Instead of placing something in his hands as he stands smiling, dimples lightly shallowing into his cushy cheeks, with his eyes teasingly closed in expectance, she leans up onto her tippy toes in her heels, and softly molds her mouth against him. There’s light stubble on his upper lip, and he opens his eyes in surprise. His mind is racked, but his body seems to respond to kissing her back. When she lightly pulls his lower lip into her mouth to suck on it, he closes his eyes and enjoys their heated moment a bit longer.

She’s the first to pull away, just as she was the first to initiate. She spins him around while his cheeks are still pink and his lips are still swollen, lightly shoving him towards the courtroom. She leans up onto her toes again, resting her forehead against his shoulder and saying, “Good luck, Mr. Styles.”

-

“Winning the biggest case of the year, not bad.”

They’re all in the office now. Well, all of them except for Rachel. She didn’t really do much ever since the incident that occured. Harry had told her she was walking on thin ice, so she never really stayed longer than she needed to in hopes of not breaking it.

Now they have paper cups they borrowed from the water machine, Harry’s expensive cognac in each of their hands as they make a toast to the  success following the trial. Not only had Mr. Laughlin been proven innocent, he also had the opportunity to receive extra money for defamation and received full property rights to all of his wife’s belongings.

And for a few hours, that’s all they do. They sit, and they laugh, and they talk about all of the hard work that contributed to the ultimate ruling and how incredibly worth it, it all was. Well - it’s mostly the three interns, Harry’s admiring something other than the case he’s won. Specifically the girl standing beside him.

Michael taps out first so that his girlfriend won’t go to sleep alone in their shared apartment, Liam leaves to mourn his fish that passed away because he was feeding it the wrong food, and Harry and Y/N are left behind.

They’re in Harry’s office, lighting one of the nice smelling candles they bought to make his office more homely. Y/N sits on his desk, something he wouldn’t have ever expected himself to let a girl do. But a month seems to work wonders, because he does nothing but smile while staring at Y/N’s dangling legs and cheery smile.

She sighs.

“I think my favorite thing this year was when you showed at my door with a teddy bear.” Giggling, she pushes back more onto the desk. Her skirt hikes up a bit, but she doesn’t pay any mind to it.

“I think my favorite thing was hiring you.” He tells her. He’s awfully affectionate, rubbing the skin on her leg as his hand lays gently on her knee.

“I like that too.” She smiles, leaning into him so that their faces are closer together, ”You’re amazing. You’ve taught me everything I needed to know.”

His other hand grips the side of his face, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. He rests his thumb right between her cupid’s bow and the edge of her bottom lip, his own lips parting a little to reply.

“I think there are a few more things I could teach you.”

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s because she’s over ecstatic from them winning the case she’s been working on so hard, or because she just wants him so badly, but she finds herself sliding her tongue out between her full lips, lightly grazing the damp tip over where Harry’s thumb lies on her bottom lip, before moving her lips to lightly engulf the tip of his thumb.

She sucks at his finger, a very simple gesture, but one that makes Harry’s cock twitch inside of his briefs. His lips part as he watches hers around his finger and he shudders a bit.

The hand on her knee hikes up quickly, sliding up her thin skirt. He eyes her lace underwear, wetness seeping out between the small gaps of the lace.

“Oh, Pet.” He lightly grazes her fingertips against her thin underwear as she lets out a shattered breath, “How long have you been this wet?”

It’s more of a genuine question than a teasing one. His fingers are more pressured now, pressing up and down the slick material of her underwear as she softly mewls with his finger still in her mouth. He feels the vibrations on his digit, cock spurting out some precum as it dampens his boxers further.

“Use your words” He scolds her. She forces out words, wanting him to continue what he’s started, “M’always wet for you, Mr. Styles.”

He uses his fingers to push her underwear aside, and one handedly presses his slender finger straight into her dripping core. She’s so warm, and soft, and he wonders what part of hr isn’t soft as he takes in how heavenly she feels.

“Feel’s so good pet.” His fingers curve up and down inside of her, urging her further into the long groan she lets out.

“Can’t wait to be inside you.” Y/N whimpers at his words, taking his thumb out of her mouth with a pop before lowering his other hand between her thighs as well. She presses the damp thumb that was once in her mouth right onto her clit, moving his large hand with her own.

“Mmmm darling, you can’t tell me to do things.” And he tears his hand away from her clit, moving it to start buttoning the button down shirt she has on top. He can see the outline of her black lace bra underneath the cheap material, and his cock presses even further against the uncomfortable metal of her zipper.

She begins to slip her own hand down to her clit. But just as Harry sees her slyly worming her fingers down to where she needs them most, he growls a low “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/N frowns in her sensitive state, she didn’t want to be scolded but she just couldn’t help herself. She wants to cry at how badly she wants to cum, how badly she wants him to just get on with it.

His fingers pump in and out just as he removes her blouse. She lets out a small cry, furrowing her eyebrows as she sighs and leans her head back afterwards. She sees the painful bump in his dress pants, and takes in just how large it is. Her mouth waters and she reaches out with both hands to grab the buckle of his belt, pulling him closer while he continues to pleasure her.

He twists his fingers, swirling a feeling in her lower abdomen that makes her slick even more around him. She can tell she’s dripping around his fingers, and although she knows she’ll be embarrassed when this is all over, Harry seems completely fucked at the moment.

His dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to where his forearm meets his upper arm, tattoos she didn’t even know he had peeking out of the small gap. She sees milky fluid oozing down his arm, close to staining his blue dress shirt.

“Mr. Styles, no.” she cries out, eyes glued to where she’s about to ruin his clothes with her messiness. She wants to tell him to stop but it feels so fucking good, so she meets is eyes and then stares down at where she’s dripping, trying to tell him without words as she’s consumed in her own pleasure.

“S’alright darling, s’just a shirt. I can buy tons, just trying to make you feel good.” And after his sweet words she rests her head forward so that her forehead is just below his collarbone.

“Mr. Styles!” She cries once more before she’s coming. And her head is in the clouds as she twitches, his arm pulsing and his veins popping out beautifully when he continues to pump in and out of her slowly.

She doesn’t give herself time to recover, though, because she immediately remembers how hard he is. She grabs the buckle of his belt, undoing it quickly before sliding it out and throwing it aside in one fast motion.

His suit pants fall the second she unbuttons the expensive buttons, hands immediately reaching out to clutch the bulge in his pants. Harry hisses, her cool hands feeling around his burning length just to take him in for a bit.

Her eyes widen when she moves her hand up more and more, still not feeling where he ends. She lets out a genuine gasp, breathing heavily before telling him, “You’re so big, Mr’ Styles.” To which his cock involuntarily twitches and she smiles.

“What do you want?” She asks him teasingly slowly sliding his tight briefs down his hips.

“Mr. Styles, i’m your intern. You’re supposed.” He pulls her into him, her bra clad breasts pressing up to his dress shirt. She gasps, her mouth suddenly right next to his red tipped ears, “To tell me what to do.” She finishes. He groans at the thought of telling her everything he wants to do, but he figures he’ll save some of it for another time.

Her tiny hand slides down more, and he finally springs up, the tip of him already leaking with fluid. Y/N moves her fingers between her thighs, slicking some of her own wetness onto her fingers before grasping Harry’s cock. She quickly begins to jerk up and down, staring as he parts his lips and moans in a raspy tone.

“Need to be inside of you, love” He tells her. She quickly changes her angle from rubbing him up and down, to pointing him towards her entrance. She can’t wait to feel him - all of him - inside of her.

It had been a year since Y/N had last had sex. She hadn’t had time since her ex boyfriend, so she knew she’d be extremely tight around him, especially when he was that thick.

She pushes the soft tip into herself, holding the rest of him from entering her with her tight fingers. Harry involuntarily juts his hips forward, trying to feel more of her tight around him before she stops him.

“I haven’t done this in a while, Mr. Styles.” And for a moment in this time of lust, his heart softens a bit at her shy confession. He allows her to adjust to just his tip, moving to unclip her bra and then slide it off of her.

He leans forwards, sucking at her nipples while waiting for her to take more of him in. He’s enjoying palming and squeezing at her breasts, so he doesn’t expect it when Y/N all of a sudden takes all of him in at once, pulling him into her.

He leans forward involuntarily, and they press their forwards together, lips smacking for a split second, before she lays back onto his desk. Her skirt is still bunched around her upper thighs, legs thrown up farther so that he can hold onto the when he fucks into her.

“Shit, you like that?” He asks when Y/N purrs softly against the wood on the desk, with her head tilted to the side. She nods violently, opening and closing her mouth to speak.

Harry’s pressing into her harder and harder now, one hand gripping her breast and toying with it while the other one rests against.

“Mr-, you feel so good” She tells him honestly. She can feel herself so tightly around him, can feel every little vein in his cock pulsing inside of her as he draws her into her high. Everytime he draws back and pushes back in she fills up all over again, moaning when she hears him slap against her skin.

Harry begins to rub his thumb against her clit, right above where he’s pressing in and out of her quickly. She lets out a loud moan, tightening around him at the new sensation.

“Been waiting for this for so fucking long, pet.” He tells her honestly. His hands begin to shake, thrusts becoming a little less rhythmic and more uncoordinated. She can tell he’s close to cumming, so she rubs herself against his thumb a little more as she prepares to feel full with him.

“Fuck, are you - are you close?” he moans out, looking down at her desperately. He looks so different like this, with his bossy persona out of the way, pleadingly asking her to come so that he can as well.

Y/N nods, not being able to make out any words as she focuses on the feeling. She’s so close to falling over the edge when he begins rubbing his thumb faster against her clit.

“C’mon” He mutters to her, with more frustration at himself than her.

She shakily grabs the forearm thats flexing as he rubs against her rapidly, “Mr. Styles.” He groans at the name she calls him, he’d always wondered what it would feel like falling out of her lips while he was fucking her senselessly. And now that he got to hear it in person, it was a bit too much for him. Without another word, he groans loudly and tips over the edge.

Y/N moans when she feels him fill her up with his hot cum, thumb still half-heartedly rubbing at her. It’s just moments after he finishes that she follows right after, cummig around his pulsing cock as he grips one hand onto the desk for support.

“Holy shit” He moans in awe, cock twitching one more time inside of her when he sees what a mess they’d both made. Harry liked order, but ever since he’d met Y/N he wasn’t even sure what he liked anymore.

He presses his fingers underneath his member, waiting to catch the mixture of both his cum and hers that falls out when he pulls out of her slowly. When it drips out onto his fingers while he removes his softening member from inside of her, he brings them up to his chest, looking around for a tissue or a towel.

Y/N is sitting up at this point, hair a proper mess from its usual neat state and legs still parted. She knows her thighs will be sore in the morning, and thanks her lucky stars she doesn’t have work the next day.

Without hesitation, she grabs Harry’s wrist to the hand where his fingers look messy from the both of them, bringing it up to her lips to take into her mouth. He groans at the gesture, becoming hard again after cumming so intensely just moments before. He doesn’t hesitate, connecting his lips with hers as he leans in after she gulps down. It’s the naughtiest yet hottest thing he’s ever seen any girl do, and even more because it comes from sweet little Y/N.

The next few minutes they dress up, neither of them speaking but both of them wanting to stay near each other. Y/N was shy and embarrassed after what just occurred, and Harry wasn’t one to ask people to stay at his place after sex just because he enjoyed their company.

But he also wasn’t one to have sex with his interns on his office desk, or become smitten with tiny stress bakers and get them teddy bears, so he figures firsts are good this time around.

He grabs her hand just as she finishes buttoning the last button on her crumpled shirt, pulling it into his chest. She stares up at him with wide eyes.

“Come, home with me. V’been missing your brownies.” He mutters shyly, becuse he’s never really done anything like this before.

And he just looks so soft and fucked out, and Y/N can’t wait to make him watch Pretty Woman with her as they munch on desserts (He’d never seen it because he wasn’t a big movie enthusiast) so she nods and grabs his hand, slotting his fingers through hers as they smile at each other like they’re doing it for the first time.

Broken Promises

- The one where Harry misses the most important night of Y/n’s life. 

Masterlist


“Hey, pretty girl.”

Y/n turns her head to the voice whispered delicately beside her, a fond smile stretching on her lips as her boyfriend presses a chaste kiss to her temple. He’s holding a mug of her favorite tea with the softest look in his eyes, observing her in her most natural territory.

She’s in their study room, her bare legs crossed beneath her and her hair tied lazily on the top of her head. She’s got papers and various assortments of writing utensils laid out in front of her, some of the pieces crumbled and a majority of the pencils used to almost nothing.

She’s glad Harry came in because she was starting to lose track of time. In all honesty, she even started to forget what the hell she was even trying to accomplish. Overworking herself never did her any good, especially when she forgets to look after herself while she does so.

“Hmm..” Y/n hums in contentment at the feel of his lips. “Hello, handsome.“

She reaches her hand to his over her shoulder, loosely intertwining his fingers with her own as she presses the side of her head deeper against his mouth.

“I know you’re working hard on writing your speech so I figured you needed something to keep you focused. Brought you some chai tea and a few vanilla wafers.”

He sets everything down beside her, his mouth still grazing her temple with each passing word. “And also came to remind you that it’s almost our bedtime. Don’t know if I could sleep knowing you’re down here and not with me.”

Her cheeks flush and she giggles quietly, nodding her head to reassure him that she’ll be there. But when silence falls between them and Y/n is finally able to take a breather from the stress, a sudden type fear settles in her bones.

She just found out two days ago that her poetry book Yours, Truly has won one of the biggest literary awards in London. It came as a shock considering this was her debut publish and was competing against hundreds of well-known authors.

Keep reading

10

Houston, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta, Nashville, Hershey, Philadelphia, Toronto, Boston, New York City (one), New York City (two), 

Live on Tour.

x

xx

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

___________________________

Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

Keep reading

Just imagine waking up to this one on a beautiful morning, light little snores coming from his mouth, looking so comfortable and he would have a small smile on his lips and would sleep talk some weird stuff.

An Unofficial Recommendation Masterlist of Harry Styles Smut by @pretty-hazza

aka the only things getting me through the hrought 

@harryforvogue | Masterlist

Needy Baby | In which where Harry’s back from tour and his girl really just needs to feel him.

This Relationship of Ours I + II | In which Harry’s an ex-dominant and everyone’s really miserable.

Or anything under this tag

@honeyharrybaby | Masterlist

You Taste Like Art | It could never get old , the way his face fits perfectly in the dip of wetness between her legs, and her moans, don’t get him started on her fucking innocent little moans for him.

Oh, Baby Honey I + II | Her swollen bud is like honey to his tastebuds, and he can’t stop sucking on his very own never ending honeysuckle.

@beautiful—-disasters | Masterlist

Dangerous Games I + II | Y/N and Harry play a simple game of pool together, with a dangerous twist.

Distractions | Harry finds an interesting way to distract you.

Saint | In which y/n misbehaves and has to deal with the consequences.

@smokeinherperfume | Masterlist

Breakpoint | In which you say something you never thought you’d need to.

Fashion | In which you get something new, and Harry takes notice.

Fixation | In which you’re feeling a little mouthy and Harry knows just what to do.

@haaarry | Masterlist

Harry and Niall Invite Y/N Over for a Threesome

Harry is Mean to Y/N and she Doesn’t Really Understand why

Harry Teaches Y/N About Self Love

@harryandmesohappily | Masterlist

Take em Off | In which Harry wants his favorite shirt back. When he makes Y/N take it off, things sorta escalate from there.

Peanut Butter & Apples & Daddy Kink | In which Harry likes to jokingly call himself “daddy” and it gets a little too real one night with Y/N.

@carolina-writings | Masterlist

Good Vibrations 

The toy

@harrysbaebyhoney | Masterlist

In Which Y/N is Needy Before Harry’s Concert

@haroldloverboy | Masterlist

In Which Harry has Really Nice Thighs and Y/N is Needy

In Which Harry Doesn’t Like Bratty Girls and Y/N can be Quite the Beggar

In Which Y/N has a Sugar High and Harry Hates not Being in Control

@smugzayn | Masterlist

I’ll Be Good for you, Daddy I II + III

Harry’s Feeling Playful and You’re his Favorite toy

@stylesbabygirls | Masterlist

Literally everything on her masterlist is pure smut it’s amazing

@trulymadlysydney | Masterlist

Giving in | In which Harry and Y/N are too impatient to wait until Valentines Day…

Soaking wet | In which you’ve had a horrible day, and Harry just wants to make you feel better.

Praise Kink I + II | In which Harry is incredibly nervous and y/n knows just how to calm him down.

@hazzlot | Masterlist

Bratty | A small piece where Y/N can’t get Harry’s attention, so she pouts and decides exactly how to grab his attention.

Mouthy I + II | A little piece where Harry isn’t going to take Y/N’s bratty attitude.

Childish | A piece where Y/N gets a tad jealous, and Harry has to show her she’s the only one he wants.

@adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy | Masterlist

No Control | Harry likes to play by his rules, and when you decide to break them, punishment is definitely on his To-Do list. If there is one thing you find out is that when it comes to sex with Harry, you have no control.

Pre Show Snack | Doctors recommend eating five times a day– three meals and two snacks inbetween. Harry gets a bit hungry before a show, and you look really appetizing at the moment.

Sorry | He’s tired, but not as tired as you think.

@jawllines | Masterlist

Harry is a Porn Star and Y/N is new

Harry is Y/N’s Dominant

Y/N is Stressed and Sick and Harry is her Nurse

Harry Thinks Y/N is Just Adorable I II III IV V

oof that took like a whole hour to make

oh and of course i also have smut but none of it is as good as the people listed above so check them out first!!

ps feel free to give me more to add to the list

pps i’m sorry if i didn’t include you / forgot about you! i mostly tried to include imagines rather than blurbs but who knows what actually ended up on here by the time i’ve published it