elioslover

[elioslover]

Red Herring- Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry might just be the pettiest of assassins.] Made possible by my one and only favourite, @harrysonlylover 💞

Word Count: 2.3k.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death, angst, 3rd person.

Other Writing

🥀

Hair ruffled, tuxedo dishevelled, Harry is a sight for sore eyes. He really does look like the consequences of a mission gone awry. 

Things had gone from zero to a hundred in such a blinding commotion that as soon as it had started, it was over. He hadn’t the time to even process the fact that death had just been on his doorstep, ambushed and beaten from every which way as he did anything possible to defend the blows of at least four assailants. 

If it weren’t for Her showing up, his body already been detained, forced to his knees as a masked man pressed his forearm along Harry’s neck and squeezed it in place, choking tight, lagging his vision and causing his eyes to bulge with panic- there is almost no chance that Harry would have walked away in one piece. 

Like the holiest of angels, she had floated into his line of vision, which was now so blurry that he saw double- left eyelid threatening to swell shut- an amorous apparition beaming as if a spotlight shone from above, twinkling along with the stars, and Harry couldn’t decipher if she were another dream conjured up by his lovesick mind- definitely not out of the ordinary- it’s only as she neared and the blinding white light morphed into a satin white ballgown, wrapped around her statuesque figure, that Harry feels certain of her existence. 

And then things became a stampede of feet stomping, Harry still restricted and unable to see past the mess of curls and blood now dripping down his brows, covering almost all visibility as he was forced to stay put and hope for the best- the last thing he would ever want- whilst the group black-suited men fumbled around in defence, attempting with all might to eradicate the two problems at hand. 

Though valiant, the pack of assassins lose momentum along the way, and as Harry is finally able to twist loose of the weakened grip of the man keeping him bound in place, he quickly uses his full body force to completely free himself and immediately throws his strength into incapacitating the threat breathing beneath him. 

But the ear-shattering crack of a gun going off had Harry’s heart freezing over with fright, immediately expecting the worst. He could only chance a split second, glancing over at the attack ensuing to his right, just as one of the men hit the floor with a thud.

Increasingly impressed by the woman effortlessly holding her own, Harry returns his attention to the man unsuccessfully wriggling against his hold. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need the thin blade neatly tucked away in his inner blazer pocket. Still, as the assailant struggled and beneath him, furiously flailing, Harry knew that it had to be done, his palm reaching into the secret pocket of his blazer, drawing the weapon, aiming and thrusting it into the man's chest until the myriad of moans and gurgling slows and then silences all together, his body stiffening beneath Harry’s own.                                

Panting over the corpse, another brute hits the floor, the softest and swiftest of bullets finding a home in his skull, and Harry can’t look away as his angel hardly bats an eye, re-cocking the gun- he knows it’s not her usual choice of weaponry- as she saunters over to the last man standing, stopping his chance of charging over by tapping the trigger, watching emotionlessly as the minutest bullet thunders over and lodges into his heart.

And just like that, the threat of death has dissipated and Harry can finally take a proper breath, still panting over the man’s stiffened body. With sudden overwhelming relief, his entire body starts to ache, his head throbbing, injuries ready to render him to the floor in the hopes of recovery. 

Nothing in the world could have convinced him to move- well, nothing but the gut-punching sound of high heels wedging themselves into the scattered stones, singing like clinking marbles as they not only picked up the pace but started to patter into the distant darkness- away from Harry’s crouched figure. 

Back on his feet in a flash, patting down his clothing attire, Harry’is bowtie is long gone, his dress shirt torn and missing several buttons, his pants ripped along the thigh from a blunt blade, and his shoes are scuffed and covered in dust as he leaves the drama behind him and makes a break up the hill. Why? Well, to confront his knight in shining armour, of course. 

Harry almost trips over several dislodged rocks and snapped damp tree branches as he blindly chases her through the dark of night. He thinks back to the six-inch stilettos she’s still wearing, the same heels that pressed into an unknown assailant's pelvis mere minutes ago. How the hell is she moving so fast? 

It doesn’t help that his left knee is busted, bruising with each step. A kick to the hip results in a dull throb, and even though he has hardly caught his breath, his chest as thirsty as his brain, Harry follows after her, trying to garner her attention through his gritted teeth, 

“Hey!” He can hear the leaves rustling as her pace increases. Harry tries to do the same, calling out with all the energy left to muster, “Hey!” 

She spins on her heels, neck-snapping to meet her shoulder with such speed that it nearly results in whiplash, strands of hair wisping in the wind. Face furrowed in a frown, she wants to be anywhere but here,

“Leave me alone.” 

Harry feels such shock that he stumbles on his own steps, barely able to stop himself from falling at her feet. He thinks she’d probably love that- it would definitely have her blood rushing with dominance. But, she needs no more dominance, this ‘incident’ was more than enough to prove her power for years to come. 

She lets him wander over but doesn’t know why. His perpetual need to poke and prod was something that couldn’t be countered, let alone dismissed. She had already fucked up, majorly, what compels her to believe this would be any better? 

As Harry finally finds his footing and gets close enough that they can study one another’s rage-fueled scowls, his stomach rumbles with frustrated ruminating confusion.

The volcanic heat bound between their chest threatens to erupt and douse their companionship with raw hatred and a river of larva courses through Harry’s lungs and expels from his throat,  

“Why did you do that?”

“Save you?” 

“I had it under control.” Harry’s incredulity is so falsified that it infuriates her, and as fast as a whip, her almost bare back walks off once more, mockingly singing out,  

“Sure looked like it when you were in that headlock.” 

“I can take care of myself.” He defends. But she keeps moving, close to disappearing into vast nothingness, and once again Harry is trailing after her, “Hey!”

“What?” This time she stops for real, riddled with stress that pertains to Harry- and he just cannot help but make it worse. She needs him to leave. 

Harry needs to say something before she does. His pointer finger cast her way with confused accusation, his grassy eyes doey, and blotchy purple bruises along the bags of his bottom lashes,

“You had no business interfering with my mission.”

“Jeez, sorry I saved your life.” Her arms are flailing in surrender. 

“You really are one to talk.” He spits, taking a hearty step closer. 

“Don’t go there.”

The life in her voice has left, and a discerning shift in seriousness causes a shiver to dance up Harry’s spine. He’s so angry, though- close to furious at her choices- all of them- and still, she will hardly give him her full attention. 

Never even in his wildest of nightmares had Harry envisioned himself in this version of hell- the person he once knew better than he did himself is now the person who has the task of killing him. At the least, it’s disappointing, and at the most, his heart is so shattered that heaven itself could not heal his damage. 

“They practically did your job for you.” He’s yearning to yell, to let the whole world know how weird and wrong this all was, “You chose to stop them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Her head shakes with stubborn denial, gearing up to turn away from him.

“Oh, fuck off. It does.” He’s hot on her heels. 

She stops as quickly as she started and Harry hasn't the time to do the same, his sternum nearly bumping into her shoulder. Ignores their chests crashing together, pushing apart, pretending it means nothing to be this close to him again,

“Let me get this straight, you would have preferred it if I had let them kill you?”

“It would have saved you the bullets, no?” He’s not wrong. 

“No, Harry.” Palm pressed to her forehead with sorrow, “That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow procedure?” He cannot recall a time that they had ever played by the rules. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She shudders at the mere thought of their deep-rooted relationship; the first of many rules broken, and the only reason the two of them stand here, faces reddened and glistening under the moonlight. 

Harry swears he feels her skin prickle at the mention of their messily perfect relationship, and he can’t stop the paralysing shiver that skates up along his spine as his head stays bowed, glaring down at her, 

“Christ, at least buy a man some dinner before you take a hit out on him-” 

“I’ve bought you dinner on several occasions-” 

“And you still took out the hit.”

Stomach dropping and splatting against the gravel, all of the blushing blood drains from her features, leaving her with a loss of energy, of deep emptiness. Stepping- stumbling- back, she builds the distance with fatigued frigidity, 

“Harry, I’m warning you. Leave me alone.” 

“No.” Harry’s foot almost stops with lividity. 

This only increases the imminent eruption of fury that she so desperately wishes to spew his way, and they both know that there is hardly a way to stop Harry when he’s determined, so she walks away with dismissal, muttering just loud enough,

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

“Me? What you did was childish!” 

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘leave me alone’.” 

Harry will be damned if she thought he’d ever give up so easily- it’s not like he hadn’t been desperately trying to track her down for three weeks. Heart hurting, headache splitting, his neediness boiling over, he won’t stop until she explains herself,   

“I want to know why.” 

“The hit was set, Harry.” She howls into the void, back still turned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I took the job so nobody else would.”  

She works overtime to keep her weakened voice from wobbling with each word, and if Harry were even a smidge wiser, he would have let her explain. His wisdom is dwindling though, 

“That doesn’t-” 

“I planned to avoid you for the rest of my life.”

Harry feels sick- sicker than sick- his heart drops to his stomach, where it is swallowed whole and thuds tirelessly, nausea travelling up to his throat, bile burning and poisoning his larynx. He can only stare blankly, lips beginning to babble like a thirsty fish, his tongue sticking to his sandpaper gums. 

His cluelessness is crippling her ability to maintain calmness, each dumbfounded blink makes total destruction the only thing on her mind.

Without hesitation, she takes the largest of steps forward, her shoe-clad toes scraping against his own as her hand reaches up, and bunches a fistful of his cotton shirt collar, tugging Harry down to meet her scowl. 

He can feel her enranged, and breathy exhale fan across his features, her glare so icy that Harry worries he may turn to stone if he gazes a moment more. With sharp polished nails scraping and almost puncturing the skin protecting his jugular.

“For fucks sake, H. Be smart for a change and leave me alone.” 

“Or what?” He challenges and leans in, jaw brushing along her hairline like old times- though the compassion so true to her core is long deceased and decays the closer he comes. 

But what frightens him to the point of utter seriousness is the sudden pressure of steel pushing into his left side, settling over his organs just as the familiar click of a pistol cocking warns Harry that things are quickly crumbling into dangerous territory. Especially when she loses all love and says, 

“Let me get this through your thick skull,” The barrel pressing deeper, “If I see you again, I will shoot you on site.” 

She releases him and doesn’t bother to grant even a small glance as if he were a mere stranger who had threatened her existence. Harry doesn’t follow, she wouldn’t care if he did, and he’s smart enough to know where he stands now. 

There is a swell of staling energy that holds the place in which she once stood, vibrating vicious electricity all through his body, coursing and singeing his vitals as she slips into the forest and possibly out of his life for good- he would welcome death in exchange for seeing her once more.

The one thing he could at least do for her- think smart- was an improbability because Harry had already made a huge mistake… Massive. 

How in the hell is he gonna tell her that his heartache had gotten the best of him- that he had done the worst thing imaginable? 

What’s the best way to break the news, ‘Hey, I hope you don’t mind but my feelings were really hurt so I retaliated and took a hit out on you too’? That will go down swimmingly…

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst

[elioslover]

Red Herring- Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry might just be the pettiest of assassins.] Made possible by my one and only favourite, @harrysonlylover 💞

Word Count: 2.3k.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death, angst, 3rd person.

Other Writing

🥀

Hair ruffled, tuxedo dishevelled, Harry is a sight for sore eyes. He really does look like the consequences of a mission gone awry. 

Things had gone from zero to a hundred in such a blinding commotion that as soon as it had started, it was over. He hadn’t the time to even process the fact that death had just been on his doorstep, ambushed and beaten from every which way as he did anything possible to defend the blows of at least four assailants. 

If it weren’t for Her showing up, his body already been detained, forced to his knees as a masked man pressed his forearm along Harry’s neck and squeezed it in place, choking tight, lagging his vision and causing his eyes to bulge with panic- there is almost no chance that Harry would have walked away in one piece. 

Like the holiest of angels, she had floated into his line of vision, which was now so blurry that he saw double- left eyelid threatening to swell shut- an amorous apparition beaming as if a spotlight shone from above, twinkling along with the stars, and Harry couldn’t decipher if she were another dream conjured up by his lovesick mind- definitely not out of the ordinary- it’s only as she neared and the blinding white light morphed into a satin white ballgown, wrapped around her statuesque figure, that Harry feels certain of her existence. 

And then things became a stampede of feet stomping, Harry still restricted and unable to see past the mess of curls and blood now dripping down his brows, covering almost all visibility as he was forced to stay put and hope for the best- the last thing he would ever want- whilst the group black-suited men fumbled around in defence, attempting with all might to eradicate the two problems at hand. 

Though valiant, the pack of assassins lose momentum along the way, and as Harry is finally able to twist loose of the weakened grip of the man keeping him bound in place, he quickly uses his full body force to completely free himself and immediately throws his strength into incapacitating the threat breathing beneath him. 

But the ear-shattering crack of a gun going off had Harry’s heart freezing over with fright, immediately expecting the worst. He could only chance a split second, glancing over at the attack ensuing to his right, just as one of the men hit the floor with a thud.

Increasingly impressed by the woman effortlessly holding her own, Harry returns his attention to the man unsuccessfully wriggling against his hold. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need the thin blade neatly tucked away in his inner blazer pocket. Still, as the assailant struggled and beneath him, furiously flailing, Harry knew that it had to be done, his palm reaching into the secret pocket of his blazer, drawing the weapon, aiming and thrusting it into the man's chest until the myriad of moans and gurgling slows and then silences all together, his body stiffening beneath Harry’s own.                                

Panting over the corpse, another brute hits the floor, the softest and swiftest of bullets finding a home in his skull, and Harry can’t look away as his angel hardly bats an eye, re-cocking the gun- he knows it’s not her usual choice of weaponry- as she saunters over to the last man standing, stopping his chance of charging over by tapping the trigger, watching emotionlessly as the minutest bullet thunders over and lodges into his heart.

And just like that, the threat of death has dissipated and Harry can finally take a proper breath, still panting over the man’s stiffened body. With sudden overwhelming relief, his entire body starts to ache, his head throbbing, injuries ready to render him to the floor in the hopes of recovery. 

Nothing in the world could have convinced him to move- well, nothing but the gut-punching sound of high heels wedging themselves into the scattered stones, singing like clinking marbles as they not only picked up the pace but started to patter into the distant darkness- away from Harry’s crouched figure. 

Back on his feet in a flash, patting down his clothing attire, Harry’is bowtie is long gone, his dress shirt torn and missing several buttons, his pants ripped along the thigh from a blunt blade, and his shoes are scuffed and covered in dust as he leaves the drama behind him and makes a break up the hill. Why? Well, to confront his knight in shining armour, of course. 

Harry almost trips over several dislodged rocks and snapped damp tree branches as he blindly chases her through the dark of night. He thinks back to the six-inch stilettos she’s still wearing, the same heels that pressed into an unknown assailant's pelvis mere minutes ago. How the hell is she moving so fast? 

It doesn’t help that his left knee is busted, bruising with each step. A kick to the hip results in a dull throb, and even though he has hardly caught his breath, his chest as thirsty as his brain, Harry follows after her, trying to garner her attention through his gritted teeth, 

“Hey!” He can hear the leaves rustling as her pace increases. Harry tries to do the same, calling out with all the energy left to muster, “Hey!” 

She spins on her heels, neck-snapping to meet her shoulder with such speed that it nearly results in whiplash, strands of hair wisping in the wind. Face furrowed in a frown, she wants to be anywhere but here,

“Leave me alone.” 

Harry feels such shock that he stumbles on his own steps, barely able to stop himself from falling at her feet. He thinks she’d probably love that- it would definitely have her blood rushing with dominance. But, she needs no more dominance, this ‘incident’ was more than enough to prove her power for years to come. 

She lets him wander over but doesn’t know why. His perpetual need to poke and prod was something that couldn’t be countered, let alone dismissed. She had already fucked up, majorly, what compels her to believe this would be any better? 

As Harry finally finds his footing and gets close enough that they can study one another’s rage-fueled scowls, his stomach rumbles with frustrated ruminating confusion.

The volcanic heat bound between their chest threatens to erupt and douse their companionship with raw hatred and a river of larva courses through Harry’s lungs and expels from his throat,  

“Why did you do that?”

“Save you?” 

“I had it under control.” Harry’s incredulity is so falsified that it infuriates her, and as fast as a whip, her almost bare back walks off once more, mockingly singing out,  

“Sure looked like it when you were in that headlock.” 

“I can take care of myself.” He defends. But she keeps moving, close to disappearing into vast nothingness, and once again Harry is trailing after her, “Hey!”

“What?” This time she stops for real, riddled with stress that pertains to Harry- and he just cannot help but make it worse. She needs him to leave. 

Harry needs to say something before she does. His pointer finger cast her way with confused accusation, his grassy eyes doey, and blotchy purple bruises along the bags of his bottom lashes,

“You had no business interfering with my mission.”

“Jeez, sorry I saved your life.” Her arms are flailing in surrender. 

“You really are one to talk.” He spits, taking a hearty step closer. 

“Don’t go there.”

The life in her voice has left, and a discerning shift in seriousness causes a shiver to dance up Harry’s spine. He’s so angry, though- close to furious at her choices- all of them- and still, she will hardly give him her full attention. 

Never even in his wildest of nightmares had Harry envisioned himself in this version of hell- the person he once knew better than he did himself is now the person who has the task of killing him. At the least, it’s disappointing, and at the most, his heart is so shattered that heaven itself could not heal his damage. 

“They practically did your job for you.” He’s yearning to yell, to let the whole world know how weird and wrong this all was, “You chose to stop them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Her head shakes with stubborn denial, gearing up to turn away from him.

“Oh, fuck off. It does.” He’s hot on her heels. 

She stops as quickly as she started and Harry hasn't the time to do the same, his sternum nearly bumping into her shoulder. Ignores their chests crashing together, pushing apart, pretending it means nothing to be this close to him again,

“Let me get this straight, you would have preferred it if I had let them kill you?”

“It would have saved you the bullets, no?” He’s not wrong. 

“No, Harry.” Palm pressed to her forehead with sorrow, “That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow procedure?” He cannot recall a time that they had ever played by the rules. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She shudders at the mere thought of their deep-rooted relationship; the first of many rules broken, and the only reason the two of them stand here, faces reddened and glistening under the moonlight. 

Harry swears he feels her skin prickle at the mention of their messily perfect relationship, and he can’t stop the paralysing shiver that skates up along his spine as his head stays bowed, glaring down at her, 

“Christ, at least buy a man some dinner before you take a hit out on him-” 

“I’ve bought you dinner on several occasions-” 

“And you still took out the hit.”

Stomach dropping and splatting against the gravel, all of the blushing blood drains from her features, leaving her with a loss of energy, of deep emptiness. Stepping- stumbling- back, she builds the distance with fatigued frigidity, 

“Harry, I’m warning you. Leave me alone.” 

“No.” Harry’s foot almost stops with lividity. 

This only increases the imminent eruption of fury that she so desperately wishes to spew his way, and they both know that there is hardly a way to stop Harry when he’s determined, so she walks away with dismissal, muttering just loud enough,

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

“Me? What you did was childish!” 

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘leave me alone’.” 

Harry will be damned if she thought he’d ever give up so easily- it’s not like he hadn’t been desperately trying to track her down for three weeks. Heart hurting, headache splitting, his neediness boiling over, he won’t stop until she explains herself,   

“I want to know why.” 

“The hit was set, Harry.” She howls into the void, back still turned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I took the job so nobody else would.”  

She works overtime to keep her weakened voice from wobbling with each word, and if Harry were even a smidge wiser, he would have let her explain. His wisdom is dwindling though, 

“That doesn’t-” 

“I planned to avoid you for the rest of my life.”

Harry feels sick- sicker than sick- his heart drops to his stomach, where it is swallowed whole and thuds tirelessly, nausea travelling up to his throat, bile burning and poisoning his larynx. He can only stare blankly, lips beginning to babble like a thirsty fish, his tongue sticking to his sandpaper gums. 

His cluelessness is crippling her ability to maintain calmness, each dumbfounded blink makes total destruction the only thing on her mind.

Without hesitation, she takes the largest of steps forward, her shoe-clad toes scraping against his own as her hand reaches up, and bunches a fistful of his cotton shirt collar, tugging Harry down to meet her scowl. 

He can feel her enranged, and breathy exhale fan across his features, her glare so icy that Harry worries he may turn to stone if he gazes a moment more. With sharp polished nails scraping and almost puncturing the skin protecting his jugular.

“For fucks sake, H. Be smart for a change and leave me alone.” 

“Or what?” He challenges and leans in, jaw brushing along her hairline like old times- though the compassion so true to her core is long deceased and decays the closer he comes. 

But what frightens him to the point of utter seriousness is the sudden pressure of steel pushing into his left side, settling over his organs just as the familiar click of a pistol cocking warns Harry that things are quickly crumbling into dangerous territory. Especially when she loses all love and says, 

“Let me get this through your thick skull,” The barrel pressing deeper, “If I see you again, I will shoot you on site.” 

She releases him and doesn’t bother to grant even a small glance as if he were a mere stranger who had threatened her existence. Harry doesn’t follow, she wouldn’t care if he did, and he’s smart enough to know where he stands now. 

There is a swell of staling energy that holds the place in which she once stood, vibrating vicious electricity all through his body, coursing and singeing his vitals as she slips into the forest and possibly out of his life for good- he would welcome death in exchange for seeing her once more.

The one thing he could at least do for her- think smart- was an improbability because Harry had already made a huge mistake… Massive. 

How in the hell is he gonna tell her that his heartache had gotten the best of him- that he had done the worst thing imaginable? 

What’s the best way to break the news, ‘Hey, I hope you don’t mind but my feelings were really hurt so I retaliated and took a hit out on you too’? That will go down swimmingly…

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x oc

[elioslover]

Baby Daddy- Harry blurb in honour of him becoming an uncle!

More Dadrry / Other Writing

Harry just got back from spending the day meeting his new, teeny tiny niece, and he'd hardly been able to look away- absolutely besotted by her wide and curious eyes, soft hair, and total newness to the world. His heart feels so full it could burst and all he wants is to sprinkle this overwhelming love with those most important to him.

Even on the drive home and for a good hour after arriving home, Harry can't shake the stirring of paternal possibility- especially in the presence of his wife, so lovingly and endearingly sharing supper with him. He's so infatuated with the wholesomeness swelling within, fascinated with these sudden fantasies of bringing home his own baby- a teeny, breathing product of a love so strong- being blessed by the gift of his wife, whom herself, was enough of a gift as it was.

She notices Harry's struggle to focus long before he- chalking it up to the overwhelming excitement of the day, certain that her husband was just as giddy at the arrival of his niece as she always predicted he would be. It was hard enough walking past a cute toddler without his desire to stop and coo taking over.

When asked about it, Harry sighs out contently and simply reassures, "'M just thinkin'..."

Oh, but this type of thinking isn't so easy to shake and follows Harry all the way to bed, burying itself beneath the covers beside him, tugging at his heartstrings with sweet scenarios where he cradles a sleepy infant to his chest, soothed by the softest of snores, watching his wife giggle along to incoherent baby babbles, celebrating milestones, watching them grow, and growing alongside.

Even as the next three days drone on, Harry feels like the universe had 100% overheard his secret daydreams- taunting him with anything and everything resembling children- every where he goes, every thing he does is sidelined by the aching feeling of starting a family.

After what must have been the fourth stroller rolls past, Harry cuts his run short. Realisation that this stirring within will not be going anywhere, solidifying into the desire to say it out loud, to announce and welcome this want- need- to start the next chapter of his life.

He practically bounds through the front door, sneakers squeaking along the hardwood as he urgently calls out in search of his wife., though by the time she sings back a greeting and says "In the nook" Harry has already found her- the same place she usually hides- a book balanced between her fingers, wedding ring flickering from the rays of sunset, luring him closer until he's standing right before her.

Harry drops to his knees before she has the chance to give him a proper greeting, his palms splaying out atop her thighs, and though his eyes are aflame with desperation, a hopeful smile continues to creep up and spread along his lips until his cute dimples are on full display.

Discarding her book to the side, his wife's hands find a home in his curls, gently kneading stray tufts of his silky curls, and Harry's head dips on instinct, forehead resting against her exposed leg, pressing his cheek into her fleshy skin- this only evokes a soft chuckle that slips past her lip as she smiles at him with enamoured curiosity, "What's gotten into you, huh?"

He mumbles against her skin, breath tickling and pricking goosebumps along her thighs, his hand reaching on and wrapping loosely around her calf- thumb stroking circles into her skin.

"Speak up, sweet boy," she coaxes and even after he projects, his words are still muttered into incoherence, her legs bouncing along with her chuckling chest, waiting for him to find the words.

Harry wallows in her patience for as long as it takes to just build up the confidence to match his certainty, unable to soothe all of his nerves, even by the time the rest of him has conjured up enough bravery, his statement is so soft, so vulnerable,

"Wanna have a baby." He still can't muster the courage to look her in the eye.

"Is that so?" The giddiness coursing through her is present in her tone, hiccupping her sentence, hands continuing to play with his curls, "You wanna be a daddy?"

His face feels flush with bashful excitement at the mere sound of 'you' and 'dad' in the same sentence. Harry enthusiastically nods once more against the expanse of her thigh before his face finally tilts back up to meet her fond gaze, she's beaming down at him with newfound hopefulness.

"I wanna be a dad," he finally admits aloud, and it feels so fucking good to say it, "really really wanna have a baby with you."

The sweetest smile creeps well past his wife's lips and crinkles the corner of her eyes as they twinkle back at his own with wonderment. Her nails massage along the nape of his neck before her palm gently cradles his blushy cheek and she hums contently, "Well, that's the best idea you've ever had."

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles concept #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles masterlist #elioslover #dadrry #dad!harry #dad!harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles dad #harry styles uncle #harry styles baby #harry styles family

[elioslover]

Baby Fever- Harry blurb in honour of him becoming an uncle!

More Dadrry / Other Writing

Harry just got back from spending the day meeting his new, teeny tiny niece, and he'd hardly been able to look away- absolutely besotted by her wide and curious eyes, soft hair, and total newness to the world. His heart feels so full it could burst and all he wants is to sprinkle this overwhelming love with those most important to him.

Even on the drive home and for a good hour after arriving home, Harry can't shake the stirring of paternal possibility- especially in the presence of his wife, so lovingly and endearingly sharing supper with him. He's so infatuated with the wholesomeness swelling within, fascinated with these sudden fantasies of bringing home his own baby- a teeny, breathing product of a love so strong- being blessed by the gift of his wife, whom herself, was enough of a gift as it was.

She notices Harry's struggle to focus long before he- chalking it up to the overwhelming excitement of the day, certain that her husband was just as giddy at the arrival of his niece as she always predicted he would be. It was hard enough walking past a cute toddler without his desire to stop and coo taking over.

When asked about it, Harry sighs out contently and simply reassures, "'M just thinkin'..."

Oh, but this type of thinking isn't so easy to shake and follows Harry all the way to bed, burying itself beneath the covers beside him, tugging at his heartstrings with sweet scenarios where he cradles a sleepy infant to his chest, soothed by the softest of snores, watching his wife giggle along to incoherent baby babbles, celebrating milestones, watching them grow, and growing alongside.

Even as the next three days drone on, Harry feels like the universe had 100% overheard his secret daydreams- taunting him with anything and everything resembling children- every where he goes, every thing he does is sidelined by the aching feeling of starting a family.

After what must have been the fourth stroller rolls past, Harry cuts his run short. Realisation that this stirring within will not be going anywhere, solidifying into the desire to say it out loud, to announce and welcome this want- need- to start the next chapter of his life.

He practically bounds through the front door, sneakers squeaking along the hardwood as he urgently calls out in search of his wife., though by the time she sings back a greeting and says "In the nook" Harry has already found her- the same place she usually hides- a book balanced between her fingers, wedding ring flickering from the rays of sunset, luring him closer until he's standing right before her.

Harry drops to his knees before she has the chance to give him a proper greeting, his palms splaying out atop her thighs, and though his eyes are aflame with desperation, a hopeful smile continues to creep up and spread along his lips until his cute dimples are on full display.

Discarding her book to the side, his wife's hands find a home in his curls, gently kneading stray tufts of his silky curls, and Harry's head dips on instinct, forehead resting against her exposed leg, pressing his cheek into her fleshy skin- this only evokes a soft chuckle that slips past her lip as she smiles at him with enamoured curiosity, "What's gotten into you, huh?"

He mumbles against her skin, breath tickling and pricking goosebumps along her thighs, his hand reaching on and wrapping loosely around her calf- thumb stroking circles into her skin.

"Speak up, sweet boy," she coaxes and even after he projects, his words are still muttered into incoherence, her legs bouncing along with her chuckling chest, waiting for him to find the words.

Harry wallows in her patience for as long as it takes to just build up the confidence to match his certainty, unable to soothe all of his nerves, even by the time the rest of him has conjured up enough bravery, his statement is so soft, so vulnerable,

"Wanna have a baby." He still can't muster the courage to look her in the eye.

"Is that so?" The giddiness coursing through her is present in her tone, hiccupping her sentence, hands continuing to play with his curls, "You wanna be a daddy?"

His face feels flush with bashful excitement at the mere sound of 'you' and 'dad' in the same sentence. Harry enthusiastically nods once more against the expanse of her thigh before his face finally tilts back up to meet her fond gaze, she's beaming down at him with newfound hopefulness.

"I wanna be a dad," he finally admits aloud, and it feels so fucking good to say it, "really really wanna have a baby with you."

The sweetest smile creeps well past his wife's lips and crinkles the corner of her eyes as they twinkle back at his own with wonderment. Her nails massage along the nape of his neck before her palm gently cradles his blushy cheek and she hums contently, "Well, that's the best idea you've ever had."

#So... do I write what happens next?? #breeding kink?? #i think i have to do it guys #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry fic #harry styles concept #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles masterlist #elioslover #dadrry #dad!harry #dad!harry styles #harry styles fluff

[elioslover]

Masks On (Harry Styles x reader x smut).

Premise: Harry finally visits a sex club and what are the chances, you just so happen to be doing the same thing.

Word Count: 8k+ / Other Writing

Warnings: Smut from start to finish. P in V, Unprotected sex, literally all the sex things, just pure FILTH. Afab 2nd person (minimal OC description).

Also, shout-out to @justmeinatree for the encouragement and @caramello-styles for being such a sweetheart!

🍒

Harry feels the energy shift as soon as he steps out from the mass of thick, velvet curtain that worked to shield the utter filth that lay just beyond. The club- as referred to, looks more like a converted condo, with walls dyed with deep hues, ultraviolet lights instead of harsh bulbs, and purple and red bounce across the room- the floors, the ceilings.

Though the room is busy, everyone is scattered, and it feels spacious enough. Harry observes the array of beds and sofa’s instead of tables and chairs; people are going at it, moans mixing in with the deep bass emitted from nearby speakers.

Patrons- dressed in only bowties and Grecian inspired masks, carrying trays of beverages and sex toys with a formality that seemed foolish for a play like this. The pretty penny Harry had paid to be here was clearly being put to good use.

The entire thing screamed ‘filthy rich fun’, which, even for Harry, seemed almost awestriking; it was the type of elite secrecy one would never dream of, and if he had any doubt about joining this evening, it was erased the minute a waiter appeared before him, offering up a glass of whisky he wasn’t even sure he had ordered.

To be fair, after such an effort to simply enter this place, plenty of hoops to jump through and many questions to be answered and confirmed, it only made sense that the owners would ensure it was more than worth it.

Harry put the crystal to his lips, downing its contents in an anxious bid for comfortability. Instead, it burned at his chest and sent a long shiver down his spine; he shuddered, his skin sprinkled with goosebumps.

Ridding himself of his blazer, white tank top, leather loafers, and other personal belongings when he arrived, assured they would stay safe in his absence, Harry now stands in only a pair of black briefs. They cling to his thighs, pinching at the meaty expanse of his soft skin, diffing into and trapping a few of the hairs growing at the base of his pelvis.

But Harry could be fully nude for all he cares- the platinum, Phantom of the Opera mask that covers the top half of his face and stops at the bridge of his nose has him feeling invincible and fucking frisky. He feels like the god he impersonates, ready to delve into the mass of bodies stroking and loving on one another, his cock twitching against the restricting cotton as confirmation.

The beds are king-sized, holding space for at least four, and a few are evidently occupied by many more than that. Sheer material is draped across the ceilings like a canopy, creating a cosy and inviting atmosphere. Harry heads over to an empty velvet green chaise lounge, plopping down lazily, his legs spread out, thighs splayed, his one arm resting on the armchair, his other palm laying out across his lower stomach.

He turns his attention to the nearest bed, only a meter away, and begins watching as a throuple of two males and a female are switching positions. The girl lays on her stomach, flat against the bed, ass up, as the first man crawls up, spreads her ass cheeks apart and rubs his cock against her once before thrusting himself up into her. They reach a smooth rhythm, skin slapping as the second man lines up behind them, wrapping his arm around the torse of the first man; with a loud moan, the first man bucks forward, only moaning louder as the second man falls into position and starts fucking into him.

Harry hasn’t noticed the way his hand has lowered, palming himself through his briefs, his body shifting to get more comfortable. On the same bed, another couple goes at it, a woman vigorously bouncing atop the cock of a man donned in a lion mask.

In the midst of it all, bodies thrusting and shifting- you are resting sweetly, sitting atop your folded legs, disguised by a black, sequined silver mask, stopping above the nose, your eyes so sharp that Harry spots them immediately, hooked on the way the fluorescent lights flicker the reflection of filth he has succumbed to. His first thought is about who you are, his second is why you’re currently here, and the third is the only one that really matters; how the hell can he get his hands on you?

Dressed in only your underwear, you have had your gaze set on Harry from the moment the curtains had pulled back and revealed him in all of his glory. He was a mass of chocolate curls and tattoos decorating a chiselled and muscular figure that had you wishing you could get your hands on.

For a while, he had seemed nervous, and that only had your curiosity blowing through the roof, your body aching to wrap around any part of him up for grabs. As he made his way over, your heart was in your throat, attention completely thrown from the couple you had intended to participate with just moments prior. They were going at it regardless, bumping up against you, but your focus would be unwavering, your mouth watering at the view of his thighs, thick and spread out just for you.

He seems to be looking your way- maybe just observing the other couples, but something tells you by the way his body shifts, his eyes hidden but holding your own gaze, makes you feel like he might want you just as you want him.

A woman, her hair long and auburn, hidden behind a green dragon mask, drops onto the bed beside you, her knees softly hitting the mattress as she whispers suggestively into the shell of your ear. Cheeks flushed, your gaze remains on Harry, with the way he managed to stir such wanting in you, all by just sitting across the room.

His intrigue seems to pique, waiting to see what your plan was- were you going to entertain the woman next to you? Her cool fingers tickling their way up your spine, your body an eruption of goosebumps.

And you wish he would just come over or that you had the confidence to greet him yourself, but he seems comfortable and unwavering, leaving you to turn your attention back to something actually tangible; the woman currently pressing her lips to the nape of your neck.

Shifting your body to greet her own, you sit up on your knees and boldly wrap your hands like a chain around the back of her neck. She leans into your touch, anticipating your next move, a soft gasp escaping her lips as yours pressed on firmly, tongue licking into her own.

Your eyes have fluttered shut, your body soothed into the sultry kisses sucking at your bottom lip, but your thoughts wander over to the man on the couch, hoping to some god that he might be watching, that he might be regretting the choice to stay put.

Lips parting for deep inhalation, the woman’s hands are soft and static as they trail the soft mounds of your skin, and when your eyes finally open in the hopeful search of the man, you are more than surprised to find him much closer now, standing at the end of the bed.

His gaze is certainly set on your own, and you want to feel bashful at the circumstances, but the erotic stimulation happening all around you and the way Harry is looking at you hungrily, his muscles flexing involuntarily, only dampens your panties further, has your thighs clenching tighter.

He must notice because his pupils are blown, and he is crawling over now, slowly stalking out his prey, happily trapped in the arms of an auburn woman. He is more than welcome, though, your back pressing into the woman's chest, her lips still tickling at your throat, and when he comes to a halt at the base of your knees, you feel zero embarrassment as they part as a welcoming gift, offering him anything he desires.

“Well, hello pretty girl.” He greets, his cock throbbing as your chest raises and you take a sharp inhale, blinking at him in a way that has him feeling like a sinner- and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Hi handsome.” You respond, doing your best to keep your voice from cracking, almost completely distracted by the look of arousal in his eyes that seems to be increasing at just the sound of your voice, like a siren song only luring him further into the ocean in which you resided.

Harry can hardly stop himself from sighing out, from snatching you up and fucking you into submission, instead taking his time in luring you closer, his cock pleased at the ease with which you opened up for him, mind a mess of where to start.

He taps your thigh as an instruction, satisfaction shivering at his spine as you comply, spreading your legs, bum pressed flat to the mattress. Harry can't stop himself from wrapping his palms around your ankles, tugging you forward with enough force to have you exhaling a squeak, the woman’s grip tightening around your chest.

He looks at you like you are supper, his hands trailing their way up your calves, stroking slowly; as he reaches your thighs, he gives them a selfish squeeze, crawling his way over until he is almost face-to-face with the white lace of your panties.

His breath is cool as it fans over the heat of your lower abdomen, legs threatening to quake, and his grip only tightens, his stern stare never wavering, watching your every breath, the way your chest rises and falls in anticipation.

With the gentlest of kisses to your panty-clad crotch, you cannot withhold the deep sigh that slips past your lips, a keen whine whistling its way over to him, his stomach clenching, blood rushing to his cock. Harry’s tongue slips past his plump lips, licking a firm strip up your damp lace, his mouth watering in synch.

His left hand finds a firm home on your hip, helping to keep you pinned between the bed and his touch; his right-hand trails tauntingly along your sternum, fingers dancing into the dip of your belly button, playing your hipbones and pelvis like a harp before a sudden gush of coolness catches you off guard and his thumb hooking into the slit of your panties, tugging them aside in one firm go.

Your eyes widen with lust, unable to look anywhere but at the holy sight below you; the woman cradling your torso presses her lips wherever space omits, travelling in search of the mounds of your breasts, and your entirety is begging to turn to mush in the arms of pleasure as Harry leans forward and gives your pussy the gentlest of kisses, your eyes fluttering shut as he presses another, then another, his tongue joining in to lap at you, dipping into you.

He holds you in place with ease- where the hell would you rather be right now? And as the auburn woman latches her teeth around your pebbled nipple, your leg’s part even further- if possible- prompting Harry to release you from his prior grip, to hold you at the waist, his body pressed into the mattress, his cock flush and swollen from even the slightest of friction.

He can't stop from thrusting forward as a soft mewl slips past the gaps in your teeth, tongue pressing into you, gliding up your slit, flicking at your clit before his free hand cannot help but join the mix, massaging at your inner thigh, teasing at you as you buck your hips up in anticipation. 

It's difficult to keep from sighing out in pleasure, but you try your best, harshly capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, tugging harder as Harry continues licking into you, flattening his tongue, flicking it against your clit, dipping into your entrance. 

He has died and gone to heaven; his chin is coated in you, glistening under the neon lights, and with one hand still stroking and squeezing at your inner thigh, Harry uses the other to hook into the bands of your panties, hastily guiding them down the hills and valleys of your body and you assist, ass raising from the mattress, balancing on one leg as he slides the material along and off of your skin. 

Discarded and dismissed, you are bare and spread for him, a sight Harry will be committing to memory, and he looks at you hungrily- you’re ready to be ravished.

Your pussy is practically dripping, and Harry’s hand must be possessed because it reaches out, and his finger glides through your slit, quickly dampening. The sigh you release is almost sinister, and Harry has his face buried between your thighs in an instant. 

With his tongue licking at you, the almost forgotten auburn woman is still trailing kisses along your neck, her fingers tweaking and squeezing at the skin of your breasts. You are officially a mess of pleasure, ready to beg for more- anything- all of him. 

It’s like he reads your mind as his fingers start to tease at your pussy, rubbing back and forth, his tongue focusing on your clit, swirling circles, his middle finger slipping past your entrance with such ease that Harry mutters, “fuck me” and lets it slide all the way in, curling upward. With such positive reception from yours truly, he keeps at it, all of his focus dedicated to pleasing you. 

With the way his one finger becomes two, pumping into you with such vigour, you are writhing beneath him, thighs threatening to clamp around his head like earmuffs, blocked by his one hand keeping you put. 

Your head starts to lull back into the auburn woman’s lap, but Harry is quick to correct this, pulling out his fingers completely, sticky and wet, his mouth changing from loving on you to scolding, 

“Uh, uh.” He taunts, his brows furrowed, “Eyes on me, princess.” 

You do everything in your power to comply, staring at him with all your might as he gets back to work, a satisfied smile still lingering on his lips as his tongue laps at your pussy, his fingers fucking back into you, curling, picking up the pace. 

His fingers are in complete rhythm with his tongue- they are on a mission. And by the sounds currently escaping your lips, chest rising and falling needily, Harry is certainly succeeding.

But each moment that passes is becoming agonizing for him, desperate to substitute his fingers for his cock, currently aching to bury itself inside you. 

Harry tries to pacify his cock by grinding up against the mattress, but this only has him moaning against your pussy, which in turn has you doing the same, your hands fisting the sheets. 

He can no longer hold on, flattening his tongue to give you one last good licking before he removes his fingers and then himself, leaving you in absolute awe and confusion- a spark of panic flashing across your features. 

Harry doesn’t want to startle you, but you can't stop the yelp that escapes you as his hands wrap around your ankles, and with one tug, you are before him, his face aligned with your torso. 

He stands, holding out his hand to assist you in doing the same. You do, and once your feet are safely planted on the floor, Harry’s hands are kneading at your waist and hips. He permits you a moment to stabilise before his hands find the back of your thighs, and he hoists you up into your arms, legs wrapping around his waist. 

Pussy bare and pressed against his torso, the five-step walk over to the sofa feels endless, so when he finally sits, safely cradling your back, you lower with him, coming to a rest atop his cool thighs, knowing he will be slick with wet by the time you’re finished with him.

Arms wrapped loosely across his shoulders, your fingers play with the loose curls at the base of his neck, and you lean, the outline of your mask bumping up against his own as you finally retrieve what you’ve been after all along, pressing your lips to his, tongue taking out all of your prior frustrations as it tangles with his own, scrapes along his teeth, traps and tugs his bottom lip until he is left begging for breath, lips plump and freshly-stung.

Going in for more, your palms find the sides of his face, sandwiching him between lustrous kisses, your chest pressing to his own, a whine bubbling at your throat when his grip tightens, holding you hostage and creating a gap just small enough for his hands to slip from their place on your back and to cup your breasts, squeezing and palming them as his tongue continues to lap at your own.

With the feeling of your nipples perking up so nicely beneath his thumbs, Harry cannot resist the urge to start trailing sloppy kisses along the nape of your neck, your clavicle, his open mouth leaving a trail as it makes its way down your chest, his tongue licking at the valley of your breasts before his lips finally catch your nipple, flicking at it, your body arching back desperately, pleading for more.

With a harsh nip, his tongue soothes your swollen skin, his hands squeezing at the mounds of your breasts, and your body has a mind of its own now, jutting up against him, your pussy sad to be met with only the friction of his briefs, desperate to grind your wetness across his cock, feel him slipping between your folds.

After the third time, your body glides down into contact with his own, a frustrated sigh slipping past your lips; Harry seems to catch on and woefully unlatches his mouth from your skin, but with more than just happiness, he shifts beneath you- and you also shift to allow him better access- his fingers hooking into the bands of his briefs, tugging them down in one swift motion to settle around his mid-thighs.

His cock springs up, swollen with relief and flush with freedom. Your gaze never wavers, hyper-focused on how pretty the man sitting beneath yours truly is- all of him is just too good to be true at this point.

You want to spend eternity, or at least a moment, marvelling and taking him all in, but he is closer than ever, and your pussy is clenching at just the sight of him- practically screeching to have him buried deep inside you.

With that, you reach out and give him one mandatory stroke, to soothe both him and yourself, and by the way his mouth parts, his eyes hooded, body jolting and then relaxing back into your touch, you sling your leg over his lap to straddle him, his face level with your chest, his hands instinctively coming to a rest on the pillows of your hips.

Your arms become a noodle around his neck like in preparation for dancing the salsa, your hips rocking forward without hesitation, pussy skating along the length of his shaft, leaving him slick with just one stroke.

Harry doesn’t even try to stop the string of mutters he sings out into the crevasse of your breasts, breath fanning chills all along your skin just as your hips buck again, sliding up against him, squeaking out as the tip of his cock rubs up against your clit.

You push on into an agonisingly slow rhythm, dragging out each stroke until Harry is so frustrated that he works extra hard to avoid rutting up into you- oddly satisfied letting you take the lead- so his mouth begins leaving sloppy kisses along your chest, your shoulders, the creases of your neck. And whilst the idea of holding onto this sense of control was something you really wanted to indulge in, you cannot stop your body from picking up speed, ever so slightly upping the rhythm.

Harry is struggling to keep himself from turning the two of you over and fucking you into the sofa cushions, taking out his agitation by unexpectedly spitting on your chest, and both of your gazes drop to watch as the dribble of spit travels like a delicate stream down the valley of your breasts, meandering towards your bellybutton.

You rut up against him with force now, pupils swelled and hungry. At the last minute, Harry commands his pelvis not to thrust, taking a section of skin on your breast between his front teeth, nipping and sucking at it until it stings, giving you one last tug before pulling back, his tongue slipping out to softly lap at the blooming bruise. Tiny and speckled with red and purple, this mark will serve as a reminder of the scandalous events of this evening.

More so, this mark is the last straw, your lips angrily finding his own, tongues arguing for domination- Harry’s succumbs the second one of your hands reaches down between your laps, grabbing at his cock and guiding him into you without a second thought.

You take him in with ease, but he is a stretch the further you slide down on him, your belly feeling full as your body finally comes to a sitting on his cock. Harry’s head has tilted back, his eyes fluttering open and shut.

He wants to thrust up, he wants to watch your breasts and body bounce about atop of his cock, needs to see the way your skin jiggles and stretches for him, the way your face crinkles up in pleasure and satisfaction… but Harry lets you do anything you want, lets himself be at your mercy.

And fuck, you make the idea of losing control feel really good, raising your body until only his tip remains inside of you, threatening to leave him out in the cold, but at the last moment, you grind back down, letting him fill you up gluttonously, easily finding a groove, your backside slapping against his thighs, skin-to-skin creating the beat of a drum, and with each smack, you only want to go faster, harder, unable to resist the need to tease and drag things out.

Harry is a mess of moans, only making you feel like you are being cheered on during a marathon, encouraging you to up your stamina and reach the finish line in record time. His hands are all over you, tugging you closer, one hand wrapping tighter around your waist, guiding you up and down his cock, desperate to hear you whine louder, to let others know how good it felt to be riding him. And you want everyone to know, too; you want them to know that they could all leave, and you would be more than happy to just let Harry spend the rest of the evening fucking you into a semi-permanent coma.

Harry shifts, spreading his legs to offer you a new angle, ready to drool as a dragged-out sigh slips out from deep within you, and he knows he’s just hit a good spot.

So, as any good boy would, Harry bucks up into you again and again, motivated by each moan, putting his all into making you sing for him, your hand digging into his biceps, then his back, down his torso, squeezing at his thighs as your stomach starts to clench, heart rate picking up and when you start to feel lightheaded, you welcome the wave of euphoria threatening to wash over- you hear nothing but the soft praises Harry mutters for your pleasure, your body grinding down on his pelvis desperately chasing your high, whining out as his hand spreads your cheeks, guiding you through a long-anticipated orgasm.

Coming down, your head slumps against his damp shoulder, cheek pressing into his warm, soft skin. You can hear his heartbeat; it’s as fast as your own- if not faster; his breaths are scattered, and Harry wonders what will happen next.

He wants to revel in the moment but is hit with disappointment as you slowly and carefully guide him out of you, and he wants to hiss out at the cruel loss of contact.

Your leg swings over and off of his lap, standing tall and gazing down at him with a curious brow furrow that has Harry ready to question his entire existence, but when your arm extends out to him, offering to wrap his hand in your own, Harry feels butterflies beating at his belly, and he accepts in an instant, ridding himself of his briefs, tossing them aside with little to no regard before grabbing your hand, feeling fuzzy at the visual of how small it looks cradled in his own.

Trailing behind you, willing to let you drag him just about anywhere, it seems you have targeted a bed sitting empty in a quaint corner of the room.

But your ass is bouncing with each step you take, and with gravity offering him such a gracious gift, Harry's hand reaches out with the need to grab, settling with a soft slap to your left cheek, a chuckle slipping past his lips as you let out a little whimper of surprise, body jolting forward, thighs jiggling for his absolute pleasure, and all thoughts of the bed are forgotten as Harry pushes your bodies into the nearest pillars. The look in your eyes adjusts from surprise to arousal at the newfound feeling of your body being backed up into the icy marble, turning into a tornado as Harry's simmering skin keeps you mounted like a shiny trophy.

Harry thinks he's really got you now, your skin so silky, your muscles contracting against his own, keening into his hold, lashes batting up at him like he holds the keys to the garden of Eden; with softness, he presses a breathy kiss to your own parted lips, and now that he has you so perfect and patient, he hasn't the faintest clue where to start.

It would be polite to give him a moment to gather his thoughts, perhaps plot his next move, but you know exactly what you want- no, need- next, and with Harry's head so preoccupied with the idea of you that his hold isn't strong enough to stop you from slipping out from his trap, turning around, your palms pressing flat to your chest as you gift him a gentle, but firm push, his back smacking into the same marble you had just escaped.

Harry feels awestruck, unsure what to think, but his cock is certainly pleased, throbbing at the unfamiliar shift in dynamic, desperate to see what you might do next. And when his eyes, swollen with lust, focus on your own, there is a glimmer of certainty that has him almost keeling over; the need to get on his knees and beg for you is killing him.

But it seems that you are the one who will be on your knees as you keep one palm against his chest, unsure of whether he's willing to stay put, and your body drops to the floor, knees happily greeting the tiles.

With your left hand still holding him in place and your right hand coming to a rest on his waist, fingers squeezing into his fleshy cheeks, Harry's head lulls black in bliss, throat bobbing, both of his hands casting a shadow over your own, wrapping around your wrists like pretty bracelets.

Leaning forward ever so sweetly, your lips pucker and place a polite kiss on the tip of his cock. Harry's hips buck forward without his consent, and your hand leaves his chest, gliding lazily down his torso until it comes to rest on his shaft.

Thoughts of how perfectly he fits between your fingers are blurring your vision, but at the sound of Harry pathetically hissing from above, your grip tightens, body shuffling closer, his own hand settling like a scarf around the back of your neck. His hand stays statuesque, unsure of pushing your boundaries and frightened of catching your hair in one of his many rings. But when you reassuringly nuzzle your crown into his palm, Harry finally relaxes, his fingers- still carefully- slip into and massage the hair at the base of your neck.

You’ve got him right where you want him, and there’s no time to waste as you close the last of any remaining space, bowing forward and closing in like at communion, mouth opening, ready for the catholic wafer but instead closing your lips over the tip of his cock, your tongue darting out to swirl at his head and loving the way he tries to resist bucking into you, stop himself from hitting the back of your throat. 

Just the idea has you dripping, fulfilling the desire to take him further in your mouth, your free hand slowly pumping his cock, holding him in place as you suck him, slowly taking in as much as you can manage before slowly pulling back, letting your tongue trail along his shaft in your wake. 

Right as Harry begins to fear that you might release and leave him high and dry, you swallow him again, bobbing and creating a rhythm, a small sliver of spit slipping past your lips as you take him as far as your mouth will permit, tongue lapping at him, your hand pumping the base of him as Harry huffs and puffs above you. 

And when you can’t help but glance up at him from beneath hooded lashes, the way Harry cusses out and rolls his head back against the pillar is enough to have you picking up the pace, swallowing him with vigour, desperately trying to fit as much of him possible into the hollows of your cheeks.

Slowly, your head begins to bob, taking all of his cock in before pulling back, then again, and again, your hand still pumping him, spit gliding along his shaft and soaking your fingers. 

You release his cock from your mouth, still gliding your hand back and forth, pumping him and peering up at him with doe-like eyes.

“Fuck.” Harry whines, the back of his head bumping against the pillar, “Y’gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

With a mischievous grin, you place a gentle but menacing kiss on the tip of his cock before flattening your tongue and licking his shaft from base to tip before taking all of him in your mouth once more, creating the perfect rhythm, your other hand leaving his thigh and cupping around his balls, massaging him, head grooving up and down his cock. Harry is a complete mess, his muscles flexing with each suck and release. 

You guide his cock to the hollow of your left cheek, brushing him against your mouth before ever-so-softly gliding his head along your bottom teeth and rubbing him against your right cheek. He is still moaning above you, and when you suddenly tilt forward and take him so deep that his cock brushes the back of your throat, Harry is cussing out, his hand tightening around the base of your neck. 

You lean your head back into his palm as a form of encouragement, and Harry thinks you may be the most perfect creature of planet Earth itself. He cautiously begins guiding your head, testing the waters as he becomes a guide for his cock, sliding into your mouth. 

Happy to oblige, you try to remain as still as possible, your pussy throbbing each time he brushes against your throat, and when you almost gag, Harry has officially died and gone to heaven. His pace quickens, forcefully- but so carefully- bucking into you, loving how soft and plump your lips are, how well you take him- how deep. 

The thought of his cum dripping down your chin has him in utter shambles, and that is not how he wants this evening to go- yet. So, with one last thrust and grunt, he ruefully removes himself, hissing at the rush of cool air that greets his tip and almost crying at the sight of the string of spit connecting from your lips and his cock. 

Using the back of your hand to dismiss the spit, you peer up at him curiously, rather proud of your work but still hoping to have more of him.

Harry guides your head as a gesture, hissing at the rush of air that greets the tip of his cock, and this only causes his impulses to increase- so, as soon as you have found your feet and are looking up at him with blown-out pupils and puffy pink lips, Harry finally reclaims control, his hands wrapping you up and spinning you around in one swift motion and you are now facing the pillar, your palms pressing flat against the cool surface. 

His hands find your hips, thumbs pressing into your fleshy skin and, on instinct, your back arches, ass desperate to press up against him. Harry releases his right hand from your hip, wrapping it around his stiff shaft and guiding it towards your entrance. Ass up, spine curved, your breasts press into the icy pillar, your body scooting up against the pelvis, and when the head of his cock glides along your pussy, just stopping short of your entrance, you moan out enthusiastically. 

Harry gives you one last tease, his tip slipping into you before pulling back out, but before you have the opportunity to whine out, he thrusts into you, and instead, you arch out for him even more, sighing out, breasts squishing into the pillar. 

He guides his cock in and out, painfully persevering, taking his damn time, but after a third deep and forceful thrust, you shuffle back into him impatiently, and Harry wants to chuckle aloud at your lack of patience now that he has you pressed up against him. 

But your neediness is too tantalising to resist; Harry can’t stop his hips from bucking up into you, almost drooling at the hum of satisfaction you reward him with as he thrusts again, this time harder, his arm reaching around to rest his palm on your stomach, keeping you pinned as he proceeds to fuck into you. 

Harry keeps going, huffing in sync with each thrust, his stomach clenching as you mewl against him, your palms pressing into the pillar and holding on for dear life. His hand slides down from your stomach to the back of your right thigh, raising it until your knee bumps up against the marble, and when he’s certain you plan on keeping it there, he releases your leg and proceeds to pound into you, his hand snaking around until it finds your pussy, fingers gliding along your wetness, seeking out louder moans, desperate whines. 

And you are- unable to hold yourself back any longer, overcome with the electric current coursing through you with each thrust, each time his thumb brushes against your clit. You are chasing another orgasm, pushing your palms against the pillar in an attempt to get closer to him.

Harry kindly obliges, pressing his chest into your back, pulling you flush against his damp and flexed torso as he keeps at it, bucking up into you with all of his willpower, hands grabbing at you, adamant to have you as near as possible. 

Right as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge for a second time in just minutes, Harry interrupts by pulling out and wrapping you up in his arms and hastily turning you around to face him. Concern flashes across his features as your back bumps up against the pillar, but when you only whine out, your left leg lifting up, calf wrapping around his waist, Harry guides his cock back into you, bucking up with commitment and determination to have you come unravelled against him once more. 

And you are unravelling, chemistry at play as your body becomes a mix of ecstasy and euphoria. You are grabbing at every part of him, never wavering for too long, tugging at his hair, squeezing at his biceps, pressing your pelvis up against his own. Harry is doing the same, feeding off of your needy whines, unsaid pleas for him to keep going, and when you can’t help but turn them into verbal pleas, asking him so sweetly to fuck you “just like that”, he is in an absolute state, 

“Yeah?” He confirms- only for the sake of hearing you speak up again, 

“Yeah.” You stutter out, nails digging into the nape of his neck, scraping along his shoulder. 

Harry is enamoured, you’re being such a good girl for him, and he wants to reward you for being so. But he also wants to be a little testy and has the urge to see how much nicer you’re willing to be for him, so he deems it necessary to hold out on you a tad longer.

He wraps his arm around the middle of your back, pressing you into him, and he bows his head and leans in as close to your ear as possible, his warm breath fanning over the nook of your neck and clavicle, ensuring you hear him loud and clear, 

“Ask me nicely.” 

Your head snaps up, looking at him with incredulity, but too desperate to do anything other than give him what he wants. One of your hands finds his torso, palms trailing along his chest as your other hand tightens around his neck in physical protest, which is the last thing that would ever slip past your lips. Trying your best to give him your politest plea, your mouth plump and puckered, mousey eyes flickering playfully up at him, 

“Pretty please.”

And that’s all Harry needs, thrusting into you with repayment, revelling in the way your body accepts his reward so enthusiastically. He picks up the pace, pounding into you and making certain that you are more than welcome to come undone all over him, 

“Such a good girl for me.”

You’re nodding at him desperately, body crumbling with each praise he is granting you, and when his palm slips down between your bodies, landing on your pussy and lazily swirling loops atop your clit, you are a shaking mess- in a frenzy and falling over the edge, coming all over his cock, softly chanting, “yes, yes.”

“So, so good.” He reminds you, holding onto you, keeping you secure and satisfied. He can feel the familiar stirring in his stomach, his cock twitching and tempted to come all over you.

But there’s no way he’s done with you, and he cannot fathom finishing now. 

Your bucking has slowed, head lulling into the crook of his neck, trying to steady your breathing, and instead of giving in to an impending orgasm, Harry pats your bum firmly, wrapping an arm around your thigh, encouraging you to jump up into his arms. 

He is still fully inside you and doesn’t plan on changing that, effortlessly guiding you up into his arms, one of his hands still on your backside, the other cradling your back. With great care, Harry starts to walk, staying slow and peering over his shoulder to make sure he’s going in the right direction. 

Thankfully, the pillar was already the halfway point to the bed you had targeted earlier, and with your lips lazily trailing kisses along his torso, your nails digging into his back, Harry was overjoyed when his feet bumped into the base of the bed. 

Impressively, he bows forward- your bodies still bound- his knees denting the mattress, lowering your bodies onto the bed until your back is pressed into the sheets and Harry is hovering over you, balancing on his forearms, his forehead brushing against your own.

“Ready to go again, princess?” His cool breath fans across your features, and you are nodding as if your life depends on it, your pelvis bucking up against him.

Harry’s brows furrow in amusement, his head bowing, lips brushing up against the shell of your ear, “Use your words, lovely.” 

“Fuck.” You huff out, your right leg tightening around his waist, one of your hands digging into his bicep and the other tugs at his hair, “Please.” And just so he really gets the message, you add, “I want you.” 

“Want me to what?” He drawls, tongue tickling your neck as one of his hands massages your breast. 

“Fuck me.” Your reply is emotionless, stern and impatient, “Want you to fuck me.”

“Sassy little one, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles, squeezing your thigh endearingly. 

You roll your eyes as if he hasn’t just stated the obvious, lifting your pelvis up to rub against him. His pupils are blown, and you want him inside of you- now. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ponder, nails dragging along his shoulder, “Or do I need to find someone else?” there is nobody alive that you could want more than him; he should know this from the way you are so eager to please him, but the mere suggestion has Harry thrusting into you mercilessly.

You whine out in both stupor and ecstasy, your back arching off of the bed, your breasts pressing into his chest. With one of his arms still holding him in place, Harry’s free hand comes up to cradle your face, your foreheads slick with sweat and sticking together. 

His hands are about as big as your head, and that alone contributes to the next sigh you release, bucking up into him, meeting his thrusts in the middle, your pelvises slapping into one another. 

Harry marvels at the way your bodies seem to so easily find a rhythm each time like you were made for him, and he for you. His thrusts are deep and with intention, stretching your pussy with satisfaction. 

“Christ.” He huffs in astonishment, “Y’ feel so fuckin’ good.” 

You can only moan out in agreement, at a complete loss for words. The only thing you feel is satisfaction sparking throughout your wholeness, and the only other thing you can think about is how badly you wish you knew his name- hoping to call it out to him as he pounds into you, desperate to reward him for doing such a good job. 

Harry can't remember ever feeling so engaged in fucking someone- was there a time? Nothing before or after this moment matters; he could now die a happy man. You feel so warm and worked-up, pressed into him, grabbing at any part of him available for the taking. 

He wants to let you, doesn’t mind if you spend hours or even days exploring him, poking and prodding his limbs and skin for reactions, having him like putty in your hands- all yours. 

“More.” You huff out when it seems that Harry is getting caught up in his thoughts, and he thrusts into you so generously that your head lulls back to greet the mattress. 

But now you are too far away for Harry’s liking; he needs to see those pretty eyes and pretty flushed cheeks, needs to see how good of a job he’s doing at pleasing you. His hand cradles the back of your neck, guiding your head back up, his lips waiting to latch onto your own. 

Breathy kisses become open-mouthed ones. Harry’s tongue is dancing all along your mouth, biting on your lip and sucking on your tongue. Still, in a battle of kisses, Harry’s hand sweeps along your face and his pointer finger slips into your mouth. You suck on him like you were born solely for this purpose, and it’s Harry’s turn to stop his head from rolling back. 

He keeps on at it, licking into your mouth while his cock rams into you relentlessly, each thrust accompanied by skin slapping, deep moans, hums of satisfaction and a stirring in your chest that only increases as Harry bends your leg and pins it to your chest, fucking into you from an angle that feels so good that you begin slipping away into a realm of pure pleasure. 

“Like that?” Harry pants out, each thrust more purposeful than the last. 

“Just like that.” You nod vigorously with gratefulness. 

“Good girl.” He praises with a sloppy kiss, “Look so good like this.” 

Harry keeps thrusting, and it’s not long before the look on your face starts morphing with frustrated delight, your eyes threatening to squeeze shut. But you don’t want to look away, instead glancing between your grooving bodies, in awe of the sight of his cock coated with all of you, pumping in and out so gracefully. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He is kissing your neck, tongue wet and trailing along your skin. 

And that is all you need to guide you back into another orgasm, your hips raised off of the bed and grinding up against his pelvis in a circular motion, hands holding onto him for dear life. 

Harry groans, almost growls out, pushing into you, trying to pull you closer than physically possible, “Just like that, sweetheart.” You are definitely a sucker for his praises, desperate for more, and he obliges, “So good for me.” 

With a surprising twist, Harry is forced to confront his impending orgasm as you pose a rather prolonged request, “Want you to cum for me.” 

He wants to panic, the thought of this being over is simply heinous, but you only chuckle at the obvious distress beginning to warp his features and reassure him, “I still have plenty in store for you.” And for good measure, you add, “Unless you can’t… keep up.”

Harry knows you’re only taunting him for the fun of it, but the suggestion is obscene, and he seeks to prove you wrong. You are still grinding up against him, whimpering at the sensitivity, nevertheless needy for more, so he picks up the pace, ramming into you with everything he has to offer, his arm bending further into the bed to get closer, and your arms wrap around him to assist, tugging him flush against you, teeth nipping at his neck. 

“Gonna let me swallow you, pretty boy?” You blink up at him innocently, “Wanna taste you so badly.”

His thrusts are getting sloppier, slower and more determined. Now that the offer of an orgasm is on the table, lying beneath him, so pretty and so tasty, Harry can’t resist pushing into you harder, deeper, grunting and huffing along, skin shivering at the feel of your nails tickling at his torso. 

And when you tilt your head and aim your teeth for his ear, nipping his earlobe only to soothe it with the flick of your tongue, you ask one more time, “Pretty please.” 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Is all Harry can muster in between a mess of moans, struggling to keep his weight from coming down on you, his free hand wrapping around your waist to hold you still, his cock wailing for release.

And he gets exactly what he’s been searching for, thrusting into you once more, treasuring it as he pulls out, stroking at his cock as the two of you shuffle around and you are quickly on your knees, mouth spread wide, tongue flat and pushing past your lips. 

Harry doesn’t think he has ever seen something- someone- so beautiful, and he doesn’t stop thinking this as he starts to cum, spilling onto your tongue, his cock throbbing at the sight of you swallowing him so kindly, at the glistening of your swollen lips, the bobbing of your throat. 

You wear your satisfaction with pride, and for the first time, you wonder if Harry actually can keep up. He hadn’t said so, in words, at least. But he is still close and starts edging closer, desperate to have his hands back on you. He gets what he wants, and you shuffle closer, following his gaze as it shifts to the nearest patron, using his free hand to gesture for their attention. 

Before you get the chance to get too confused, the patron steps closer, and you can now clearly see the contents of his silver platter. Staring up at you is an array of toys, small and large, feathered or leather or even metal. You don’t even need to glance over at Harry to tell him you are definitely game, instead reaching out with an item already in mind. 

Harry watches as you select your weapon of choice, turning back to him with satisfaction and a cheeky smile, the chosen toy on display is just begging to be played with, and it seems that both of you are ready to oblige. 

🍒

Forgive me for I am a sinner and I feel zero regrets. Hell can have me because I am DONE. I hope you guys enjoy this one! It's been a while since I've blessed the children with smut and I hope I have succeeded lmao. - Emmy. xo 💞

#harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #elioslover #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #I'll fix it tomorrow I swear #harry styles fic rec #harry smut

[elioslover]

It's a good thing part 4 is gonna be filled with filthy filthy smut !! - em xo

Grapejuice Masterlist

[elioslover]

Grapejuice Masterlist

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles poll #tumblr poll

[elioslover]

hey love, do you have a masterlist ? i just stumbled upon grapejuice and it was amazing !! i’d love to read more of your writings ♥️

ELIOSLOVER MASTERLIST

Hi my darling! Thank you so much! I'm also gonna link all of the Harry writing I published back on my old account 💞

Masterlist (2015 - ).

🤭🍒 newest to oldest 🐞🌻

smut [💋] fluff [🌷] angst [❤️‍🔥] mix [🫧]

[Other Masterlists] Grapejuice 🍷 Dad!Harry 🧸 Trophy Series 🏆

✨Series:

Grapejuice - Part One / Part Two / Part Three (ongoing.) 🍷

Extras: Flashback (Halloween) / Green-eyed Monster (Prompts)🍷

In which Harry is Y/n's younger brother's best friend and she refuses to see him as anything other than a child.

Unrequited Love - Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four (fin.) ❤️‍🔥

In which Y/n has been in love with Harry for as long as she can remember- he just happens to be thicker than a batter of pancakes.

Worst Wingman 🫧

✨Main Writing:

Red Herring ❤️‍🔥

In which Harry is an extremely petty assassin.

In which Harry seems to love sabotaging dates.

Newborns [Dad!harry] 🌷

In which Harry has underestimated how much his life is about to change.

Ray of Sunshine [Grumpy!H] ❤️‍🔥

In which a very grumpy Harry meets Y/n and she seems unwilling to humour his attitude.

Friday Nights [Dad!harry] 🌷

In which Harry cannot wait home to see his two favourite girls.

Silver Screen (Film Festival) 🫧

In which Harry finds out he isn't the only one who hates mingling.

Routines [Dad!harry] 🌷

In which harry wakes up to the sweetest surprise.

Afterparties on Tour [Italy!Harry] 🌷

In which Love on Tour is ending and Harry really needs to tell Y/n how he feels.

Masks On 💋

In which Harry visits a fancy sex club where everyone is wearing masks and zero clothing... and then he meets Y/n.

Run-Ins 🌷

In which Harry tries to brave a heat wave, and Y/n's dog knows just the thing to help him.

Bronze is Better (BRITS) 🫧

In which Y/n tries to thank Harry for his kind gesture, but he's a tad preoccupied.

Going for Gold (GRAMMYS) 🫧

In which Harry and Y/n have a meet-cute on the red carpet.

Slow Motion (Song Request) 🌷

In which Harry has been patiently waiting for Y/n to accept her feelings for him.

Teasing Tactics 💋

In which Harry has marvellous hands, and Y/n can only resist so much.

All I Want ❤️‍🔥

In which Harry and Y/n had a hasty break-up, but drunk Harry can't quite keep away, and sober Y/n seems to feel the same.

Heart Out 💋

In which Harry and Y/n are friends with benefits but she desperately needs a date to her ex-boyfriend's wedding.

Counting the Minutes 🫧

In which Harry walks in on his best friend naked hehe.

Eighteen 🌷

In which Harry has literally been in love with Y/n since they were eighteen years old.

Medicine 🫧

In which Harry and Y/n have an interesting relationship; this is what happens when they reunite.

She Way Out 🫧

In which Harry is the lead singer of grungy-band White Eskimo, and Y/n shows up at the local bar.

Nobody Compares 💋

In which Harry and Y/n have been flirting the entire tour and things get heated at the release party.

Sex Toys 💋

In which Harry and Y/n are best friends and he happens to stumble upon her drawer of goodies.

✨Blurbs / Suggestions:

#24 - Ballroom Dancing 🌷

#1 - Seated at a Wedding 🌷

#37 - It's not what it looks like 🫧

#60 - Marry me 🌷

Neighbour Harry 💋

Sex With Harry 💋

✨Coming Soon:

Grapejuice Pt4- Harry.

Bad Neighbours (series)- Harry.

💕 All writing published on this blog @elioslover [as well as on my other blog @cheap-packof-cigarettes] are of my own creation. I do not give permission for any of my work/pieces to be copied, reposted to this or other sites (AO3, Wattpad etc.), or copied and pasted into AI generators (ChatGpt, etc.) My pieces are also protected, and copyrighted under my Wix blog [The Online Archives ©]. All images are not mine unless stated otherwise- credit to the rightful owners. Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy, lovelies! 💕

#harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles one shot #harry masterlist #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles rec #harry styles oneshot #harry styles request #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagines #harry styles edit

[elioslover]

Red Herring- Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry might just be the pettiest of assassins.] Made possible by my one and only favourite, @harrysonlylover 💞

Word Count: 2.3k.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death, angst, 3rd person.

Other Writing

🥀

Hair ruffled, tuxedo dishevelled, Harry is a sight for sore eyes. He really does look like the consequences of a mission gone awry. 

Things had gone from zero to a hundred in such a blinding commotion that as soon as it had started, it was over. He hadn’t the time to even process the fact that death had just been on his doorstep, ambushed and beaten from every which way as he did anything possible to defend the blows of at least four assailants. 

If it weren’t for Her showing up, his body already been detained, forced to his knees as a masked man pressed his forearm along Harry’s neck and squeezed it in place, choking tight, lagging his vision and causing his eyes to bulge with panic- there is almost no chance that Harry would have walked away in one piece. 

Like the holiest of angels, she had floated into his line of vision, which was now so blurry that he saw double- left eyelid threatening to swell shut- an amorous apparition beaming as if a spotlight shone from above, twinkling along with the stars, and Harry couldn’t decipher if she were another dream conjured up by his lovesick mind- definitely not out of the ordinary- it’s only as she neared and the blinding white light morphed into a satin white ballgown, wrapped around her statuesque figure, that Harry feels certain of her existence. 

And then things became a stampede of feet stomping, Harry still restricted and unable to see past the mess of curls and blood now dripping down his brows, covering almost all visibility as he was forced to stay put and hope for the best- the last thing he would ever want- whilst the group black-suited men fumbled around in defence, attempting with all might to eradicate the two problems at hand. 

Though valiant, the pack of assassins lose momentum along the way, and as Harry is finally able to twist loose of the weakened grip of the man keeping him bound in place, he quickly uses his full body force to completely free himself and immediately throws his strength into incapacitating the threat breathing beneath him. 

But the ear-shattering crack of a gun going off had Harry’s heart freezing over with fright, immediately expecting the worst. He could only chance a split second, glancing over at the attack ensuing to his right, just as one of the men hit the floor with a thud.

Increasingly impressed by the woman effortlessly holding her own, Harry returns his attention to the man unsuccessfully wriggling against his hold. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need the thin blade neatly tucked away in his inner blazer pocket. Still, as the assailant struggled and beneath him, furiously flailing, Harry knew that it had to be done, his palm reaching into the secret pocket of his blazer, drawing the weapon, aiming and thrusting it into the man's chest until the myriad of moans and gurgling slows and then silences all together, his body stiffening beneath Harry’s own.                                

Panting over the corpse, another brute hits the floor, the softest and swiftest of bullets finding a home in his skull, and Harry can’t look away as his angel hardly bats an eye, re-cocking the gun- he knows it’s not her usual choice of weaponry- as she saunters over to the last man standing, stopping his chance of charging over by tapping the trigger, watching emotionlessly as the minutest bullet thunders over and lodges into his heart.

And just like that, the threat of death has dissipated and Harry can finally take a proper breath, still panting over the man’s stiffened body. With sudden overwhelming relief, his entire body starts to ache, his head throbbing, injuries ready to render him to the floor in the hopes of recovery. 

Nothing in the world could have convinced him to move- well, nothing but the gut-punching sound of high heels wedging themselves into the scattered stones, singing like clinking marbles as they not only picked up the pace but started to patter into the distant darkness- away from Harry’s crouched figure. 

Back on his feet in a flash, patting down his clothing attire, Harry’is bowtie is long gone, his dress shirt torn and missing several buttons, his pants ripped along the thigh from a blunt blade, and his shoes are scuffed and covered in dust as he leaves the drama behind him and makes a break up the hill. Why? Well, to confront his knight in shining armour, of course. 

Harry almost trips over several dislodged rocks and snapped damp tree branches as he blindly chases her through the dark of night. He thinks back to the six-inch stilettos she’s still wearing, the same heels that pressed into an unknown assailant's pelvis mere minutes ago. How the hell is she moving so fast? 

It doesn’t help that his left knee is busted, bruising with each step. A kick to the hip results in a dull throb, and even though he has hardly caught his breath, his chest as thirsty as his brain, Harry follows after her, trying to garner her attention through his gritted teeth, 

“Hey!” He can hear the leaves rustling as her pace increases. Harry tries to do the same, calling out with all the energy left to muster, “Hey!” 

She spins on her heels, neck-snapping to meet her shoulder with such speed that it nearly results in whiplash, strands of hair wisping in the wind. Face furrowed in a frown, she wants to be anywhere but here,

“Leave me alone.” 

Harry feels such shock that he stumbles on his own steps, barely able to stop himself from falling at her feet. He thinks she’d probably love that- it would definitely have her blood rushing with dominance. But, she needs no more dominance, this ‘incident’ was more than enough to prove her power for years to come. 

She lets him wander over but doesn’t know why. His perpetual need to poke and prod was something that couldn’t be countered, let alone dismissed. She had already fucked up, majorly, what compels her to believe this would be any better? 

As Harry finally finds his footing and gets close enough that they can study one another’s rage-fueled scowls, his stomach rumbles with frustrated ruminating confusion.

The volcanic heat bound between their chest threatens to erupt and douse their companionship with raw hatred and a river of larva courses through Harry’s lungs and expels from his throat,  

“Why did you do that?”

“Save you?” 

“I had it under control.” Harry’s incredulity is so falsified that it infuriates her, and as fast as a whip, her almost bare back walks off once more, mockingly singing out,  

“Sure looked like it when you were in that headlock.” 

“I can take care of myself.” He defends. But she keeps moving, close to disappearing into vast nothingness, and once again Harry is trailing after her, “Hey!”

“What?” This time she stops for real, riddled with stress that pertains to Harry- and he just cannot help but make it worse. She needs him to leave. 

Harry needs to say something before she does. His pointer finger cast her way with confused accusation, his grassy eyes doey, and blotchy purple bruises along the bags of his bottom lashes,

“You had no business interfering with my mission.”

“Jeez, sorry I saved your life.” Her arms are flailing in surrender. 

“You really are one to talk.” He spits, taking a hearty step closer. 

“Don’t go there.”

The life in her voice has left, and a discerning shift in seriousness causes a shiver to dance up Harry’s spine. He’s so angry, though- close to furious at her choices- all of them- and still, she will hardly give him her full attention. 

Never even in his wildest of nightmares had Harry envisioned himself in this version of hell- the person he once knew better than he did himself is now the person who has the task of killing him. At the least, it’s disappointing, and at the most, his heart is so shattered that heaven itself could not heal his damage. 

“They practically did your job for you.” He’s yearning to yell, to let the whole world know how weird and wrong this all was, “You chose to stop them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Her head shakes with stubborn denial, gearing up to turn away from him.

“Oh, fuck off. It does.” He’s hot on her heels. 

She stops as quickly as she started and Harry hasn't the time to do the same, his sternum nearly bumping into her shoulder. Ignores their chests crashing together, pushing apart, pretending it means nothing to be this close to him again,

“Let me get this straight, you would have preferred it if I had let them kill you?”

“It would have saved you the bullets, no?” He’s not wrong. 

“No, Harry.” Palm pressed to her forehead with sorrow, “That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow procedure?” He cannot recall a time that they had ever played by the rules. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She shudders at the mere thought of their deep-rooted relationship; the first of many rules broken, and the only reason the two of them stand here, faces reddened and glistening under the moonlight. 

Harry swears he feels her skin prickle at the mention of their messily perfect relationship, and he can’t stop the paralysing shiver that skates up along his spine as his head stays bowed, glaring down at her, 

“Christ, at least buy a man some dinner before you take a hit out on him-” 

“I’ve bought you dinner on several occasions-” 

“And you still took out the hit.”

Stomach dropping and splatting against the gravel, all of the blushing blood drains from her features, leaving her with a loss of energy, of deep emptiness. Stepping- stumbling- back, she builds the distance with fatigued frigidity, 

“Harry, I’m warning you. Leave me alone.” 

“No.” Harry’s foot almost stops with lividity. 

This only increases the imminent eruption of fury that she so desperately wishes to spew his way, and they both know that there is hardly a way to stop Harry when he’s determined, so she walks away with dismissal, muttering just loud enough,

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

“Me? What you did was childish!” 

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘leave me alone’.” 

Harry will be damned if she thought he’d ever give up so easily- it’s not like he hadn’t been desperately trying to track her down for three weeks. Heart hurting, headache splitting, his neediness boiling over, he won’t stop until she explains herself,   

“I want to know why.” 

“The hit was set, Harry.” She howls into the void, back still turned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I took the job so nobody else would.”  

She works overtime to keep her weakened voice from wobbling with each word, and if Harry were even a smidge wiser, he would have let her explain. His wisdom is dwindling though, 

“That doesn’t-” 

“I planned to avoid you for the rest of my life.”

Harry feels sick- sicker than sick- his heart drops to his stomach, where it is swallowed whole and thuds tirelessly, nausea travelling up to his throat, bile burning and poisoning his larynx. He can only stare blankly, lips beginning to babble like a thirsty fish, his tongue sticking to his sandpaper gums. 

His cluelessness is crippling her ability to maintain calmness, each dumbfounded blink makes total destruction the only thing on her mind.

Without hesitation, she takes the largest of steps forward, her shoe-clad toes scraping against his own as her hand reaches up, and bunches a fistful of his cotton shirt collar, tugging Harry down to meet her scowl. 

He can feel her enranged, and breathy exhale fan across his features, her glare so icy that Harry worries he may turn to stone if he gazes a moment more. With sharp polished nails scraping and almost puncturing the skin protecting his jugular.

“For fucks sake, H. Be smart for a change and leave me alone.” 

“Or what?” He challenges and leans in, jaw brushing along her hairline like old times- though the compassion so true to her core is long deceased and decays the closer he comes. 

But what frightens him to the point of utter seriousness is the sudden pressure of steel pushing into his left side, settling over his organs just as the familiar click of a pistol cocking warns Harry that things are quickly crumbling into dangerous territory. Especially when she loses all love and says, 

“Let me get this through your thick skull,” The barrel pressing deeper, “If I see you again, I will shoot you on site.” 

She releases him and doesn’t bother to grant even a small glance as if he were a mere stranger who had threatened her existence. Harry doesn’t follow, she wouldn’t care if he did, and he’s smart enough to know where he stands now. 

There is a swell of staling energy that holds the place in which she once stood, vibrating vicious electricity all through his body, coursing and singeing his vitals as she slips into the forest and possibly out of his life for good- he would welcome death in exchange for seeing her once more.

The one thing he could at least do for her- think smart- was an improbability because Harry had already made a huge mistake… Massive. 

How in the hell is he gonna tell her that his heartache had gotten the best of him- that he had done the worst thing imaginable? 

What’s the best way to break the news, ‘Hey, I hope you don’t mind but my feelings were really hurt so I retaliated and took a hit out on you too’? That will go down swimmingly…

#part two?? #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x oc

[elioslover]

absolutely love reading such a well-written story and falling a bit in love with the author based solely on the way they write. like baby the way you italicize words makes my heartbeat quicken.

[elioslover]

Taking a breather from the prompts in favour of writing a little assassin piece (I've been scheming about for YEARS) especially for @harrysonlylover who has been writing the most amazing assassin fic atm and has revived my love for this trope and actually just writing in general!

So yeah, keep a look out for Harry who manages to have a hit put out on him! - em. Xo 💞

#harry styles x reader #elioslover writing #harry styles x y/n

[elioslover]

Green-Eyed Monster- Harry Styles x Reader (kiss prompt).

[Premise: Harry has been pining over his best friend's older sister for as long as he can recall. Here's some angst when the band goes on hiatus].

Prompts: "You're jealous, just admit it, you want to be the one kissing me." // “If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” 

Word count: 2.6k.

More Grapejuice / Other Writing

🍷 the guest 🍷

There is no reason for you to feel as bent out of shape as you are in this very moment, zoned out of a conversation with an old friend because standing behind her is the man himself- leaning against the balcony with a collection of adoring guests gathering near, Harry Styles. 

Harry Styles; whose boyband had just announced a hiatus. Harry Styles; is properly back in his hometown for the first time in half a decade. Acting- as you deem- far too nonchalant for someone as global as he seemed to be. He had simply slipped back into his old groove as if no time had passed at all. 

But all you can think about is how much time has passed. Harry seems almost unrecognizable- hair and tattoos only increasing in length and number. It’s only when his face takes intervals to crinkle with glee- smile cheesing, eyes squinting with joy- that you see the Harry you’ve known so long it feels as if life never existed before him. 

Even as his life is about to change completely- a whole new chapter challenging his past and now his future- Harry seems to have little reservation about embracing happiness. Perhaps his nonchalance is the reason your observation stirs into frustration and confusion, causing a sort of panic you were sure to have never felt prior. Who is Harry Styles now? 

Then again, your sudden distaste may also be attributed to the adoring attention he has been receiving all night- particularly that of the beautiful people who were visibly blessed with the chance to praise and pet him… And they were indulgently taking advantage of the opportunity. 

Harry, by the looks of it was eagerly lapping it up, happily reciprocating touches and even looking at some of them with a gaze you had once noticed when it was dedicated to yours truly. 

He definitely isn't a teenager anymore, and it dawns on you how impactful and influential his introduction to stardom had been. 

Where were these thoughts even coming from? Your mind never wavered to the thought of Harry unless a One Direction song came on in public or Jack dropped him in conversation. 

All the questions you had never pondered were causing your brain to swell, your body stuck in a frozen frenzy of how much has changed- for all of you- starting with the obscene and sudden assessment of his features- had you ever considered him as anything other than just… Harry? Has he always been so pretty? 

All of those thoughts shatter as you raise your glass for a sip and across the room, Harry’s arm wraps around an unknown auburn-headed woman’s waist- which, at the least, makes your stomach clench and at the most, has you tilting your head back to empty the glass in one desperate swallow. 

Without consideration, you hastily dismiss the person still animatedly engaging in a one-sided conversation and turn your back on the oddly upsetting scene happening against the balcony railings. 

Ignoring the high possibility of tripping, agitation carries you to the kitchen- abandoned and almost silent in contrast to the party vibing merely meters away- and you immediately get ahold of the nearest bottle of chilled champagne, filling your flute to the brim and have a hearty sip before finally settling, taking a deep breath, trying to untangle your thoughts- hopefully rid yourself of them for good. 

A couple minutes- what sounds like the length of a song- pass before you feel grounded and sane enough to rejoin the festivities. So, with a deep breath and a final sip for good luck, your faithful docs exit the kitchen and trail into the chatty confinements of the living room.

Lo and behold, Harry Styles is everywhere you go, practically blocking your path with his body pressing up against Auburn from outside, and he looks mere moments away from engaging her in a kiss. 

That silly sickly feeling threatens to return if you stay a moment longer, so your stare meets the floor and your feet pick up their pace, heading directly for the barricade that is Harry. 

His eyes bore into your own with a fervour that you will never forget and for a moment he has you pondering how such a magnificent emerald forest, framed by the wispiest of lashes, could have gone unnoticed for so long- how had you granted his adoring gaze such little attention? 

🍷 the host 🍷

Harry is in two minds about this evening- he can’t help but indulge in the praises and doting that showers him from each and every direction, his pulse is racing with ecstatic at the relief of finally being home again. 

His fears of everything changing have long passed, leaving his worries at the door as he is embraced with excited and excessive welcomes from anyone and everyone who looks his way. 

With his oldest and best friend, Jack, by his side once more, Harry feels no different than he did at that farewell party at least five years prior, enthusiastically greeting familiar faces, accepting each praise with a gracious humbleness. 

But Harry can’t tell if humble is even an accurate definition anymore and it isn't long before he feels his social battery starting to stutter and it’s clearly time for a drink. 

By the end of drink number two, his body is as relaxed as his mind, and Harry is now encouraging the constant vying for his attention- his supposed importance- especially when it includes an array of beautiful people stroking his extremely inflated ego. 

Leaning against the balcony railing, Harry cradles a whisky in one hand and the waist of a dazzling woman in his other. He hasn't actually been listening to a word said around him, nodding every so often as the small group around him eagerly bantered on. 

He’s just happy to be here and doesn't think it could get any better until he spots the only thing on earth that could permanently put him on cloud nine- his greatest dream all wrapped up in the gorgeous physical being that is yours truly- and suddenly Harry feels as if all of the happiness he currently feels is merely an appetizer to the type of joy he could be feeling if he were only across the room staring into your eyes. 

Oddly enough, your eyes are already set on him, suspiciously staring him down with an unreadable gaze that fills his stomach with an odd sense of unease. You look older- the same, but older- and something about that freaks Harry out and reminds him of his own age, how different things actually are now, even if it doesn't feel that way. 

And as if he were seeing you for the very first time, Harry cannot stop staring with bewildered admiration- his eyes darting from your trusty Docs to the extremely fashionable clothing you donned, sternly studying the dips and curves of your body before settling back on your grumpy, but heinously beautiful face. 

He felt it unreasonable- borderline evil- how much better you seemed to get with each interaction, how the hell was he to garner your attention now when he was already hardly capable of doing so for the last decade?

After you disappear into the sanctuary of the kitchen, Harry is too antsy to keep it together any longer and he finds his legs blindly following after you. 

He’s hardly in the hallway by the time his female company comes from outside- he didn’t bother learning her name. Her auburn hair was identification enough- and she caught up and captured his bicep between her cold hand. 

She ascends to her tippy toes, puckered lips finding their place just below Harry’s earlobe, her breath fanning over his sharp jawline as she seductively slips sensual suggestions his way, her free hand trailing up along his torso, fingernails tapping his chest. 

For a good moment, Harry truly does start to forget what he had gone on the hunt for, easily distracted by the shower of affection drizzling all along his body by the unknown woman. 

But, with a sudden shock, the kitchen door violently swings open to reveal your rigid figure, eyes furrowed and lips trapped fearfully between your gritted teeth.  

You are the spitting image of a deer in headlights, staring up at Harry with a look that has him stopping in his tracks, realizing that fate has struck again and he has his elusive person right where he wants you. 

Except, his plan to finally confront you had not included a third party and Harry could feel his face swelling with red blotches of blushy embarrassment. 

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, shame creeps its way into the pit of his stomach, fists clenched as his body turns to brick, and Auburn, still semi-latched on, is becoming so suffocating he feels like a lobster about to boil inside out. 

Rudely, and far too obviously, Harry disarms himself, shrugging his body from beneath Auburn’s grip and muttering some dismissive promise of meeting up with her later on- praying that his words are muffled enough that you don’t hear them. 

You aren't stupid though, and by the height your brow manages to raise in suspicion, Harry confirms that his words did not go unnoticed. 

His dismissal of Auburn seems fine by her as she smiles hopefully, giving him a swift kiss on his cheek before slipping past Harry and disappearing back into the party. 

Unfortunately, he isn’t surprised as you attempt to pretend this interaction was even occurring by disconnecting your shared stares, glancing your focus to the living room, and planning an escape route. But there is no choice other than to pass Harry and there is zero chance he will let you get away with it. 

Harry steps and then tilts his body closer, hoping to encourage you to do the same, but you stay put and only glare up at him expectantly and impatiently. He ignores your frigidity as if it were just a farce- it is- instead his smile turns to a full-on grin, reaching his eyes and crinkling cutely at the corners, and it spreads along his features with a fondness so fierce that you find yourself working overtime to avoid your face from breaking out into the same smile. 

“Avoiding me, hm?” He muses with a precious pout, “Y’know that hurts my feelings, klutz.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You do it every single time.”

Arms folding across your chest, face frowning with the preparation of upping your defensiveness in the name of dismissing Harry- just like old times,

“I see you enjoy lying for fun now.” 

Harry nearly scoffs but it projects as a sly smirk and points it at your painful scowl, 

“Y’do. Dipping in and out of patios… kitchens… Yet you always meet me in the hallway.” 

The stomach-knotting realisation that this is factual- how many times had this happened before? How many times would it happen again? Have it your way, and this will be the last time,

“Meeting and cornering are not the same thing.” 

“Stop tryna be smart.” Harry slightly, but softly snaps as his lips smack together.

“You’re ruder than I remember.” 

All snippiness leaves as soon as it comes, Harry sinks back into a swell of adoring amusement, 

“You rate?” 

“Ignoring your guests is a party fowl.” Definite diversion on your part. 

“Avoiding the host is a party fowl.” He counters. 

Weakly attempting to walk past him, only renders your back pressed up against the red abstract wallpaper. He remains put- which, to you, is rather unnerving- and upset is racing along your prickling skin, 

“I told you, I’m not avoiding you.” 

“Why don’t I believe you?” He edges closer with curiosity. 

“Just because you’re used to people throwing themselves at you doesn't mean I'm avoidant." You spit and suddenly, he’s so close. 

“They don’t all do that.” 

“Sure, Harry.” 

Have you two ever been this near before? Most certainly, but you could always chalk that up to intoxicated confusion- at least on your end had it ever felt this… intense? Is there any worldly justification for the suspicious stirring of curiosity now that he has so calmly and tenderly crossed the threshold of your personal space. 

Harry knows he has never felt as satisfied as he does whenever your bodies threaten to blend into one, but for perhaps the first time, he thinks you may consider this palpitating chemistry as something more than a silly game. 

But, he does so fondly enjoy the game, and if he pushes even a moment longer, Harry knows your patience will wither and guide you away from him for good. He uses a tried and true tactic,

“I like your hair.” He does. 

“Yours is like longer than mine.” It is.

“D’you like it?” Harry is deep within your space. 

“It’s alright.” You shrug, lying through your damn teeth. And you could leave it at that, but the bitterness has clearly taken over, “I’m sure the groupies are creaming, though.”

Hell, Harry has missed the pleasure of being in your preference, how electric and alive his body expels excitement and the anticipatory flames you will surely attack him with. He loves it- hates how much he does, can’t help but prod and provoke, 

“I can tell you’re agitated.” 

“Does that make you feel special?” 

“Can’t put my finger on why…” He ponders- Harry’s missing context, the type you are unwilling to confess- the only evidence he has is your pointed stare flickering with fury- wait, envy? “Oh.” 

“Oh, what?” 

“Oh, you’re jealous.” 

Your throat chokes on your stomach as you croak out a spluttered, “What?” as Harry’s chest brushes your shoulder blade and his spearmint-scented breath fans across your neck, 

 “I think you heard me just fine.” 

“You are delusional.” 

Is he, though? Has jealousy been the reason for your distaste and discomfort this evening? Are you as delusional as you believe Harry to be? He seriously thinks so, skin tickling your own,  

“Maybe… Still think I’m right.” 

“Fuck off, Harry.” 

He won’t though. Hand coming up to play with a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger as his righteous gaze bores into your own- frozen and wide with bewilderment- and finally, his lips threaten to brush the back of your ear, 

 "You're jealous. Just admit it. You want to be the one kissing me."

“No-” 

“Never looked at me like this before..”

You know, and you hate that he kdoes too. You should leave. Now. But with a compulsion too fierce to fight off, a culmination of fascination that ignores your conviction of moving away,

“I don’t-”

“If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” 

Harry says it so matter-of-factly that it shocks your body, and brain, into returning to reality and those succulent tingles swirling in your stomach twist sourly, threatening to suffocate you inside out. 

With disappointment that is mostly directed at yourself, your sudden enamourment switches to the act of pressing your palm to Harry’s sternum and pushing sternly until he stumbles back in surprise. You cannot risk leaving without gifting him a cruel and crushing tongue-lashing, 

“You’re a frat boy in the body of a former pop star. I would never want to kiss someone like you.” 

You slip past him with zero resistance, no consideration for confirming his reaction as your back turns to Harry. 

Well, Harry thinks he’s glad you grant him some privacy because the guttural disappointment melting his face into a frown is shameful enough.

He doesn’t understand the sudden stinging of his tear ducts, the shrill ringing in his ears. Suddenly, Harry doesn’t quite feel like celebrating his return. 

Head bows as he carries his hurt and frustration to the confinements of the kitchen. It’s about time to spiral. 

🍷

You can send me a couple numbers and a trope/dynamic to write about! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35,) em. Xo 💞

#sorry if you don't like grapejuice #but I love the anon who requested GJ vibes #grapejuice fic #grapejuice masterlist #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry fic #harry smut #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles prompt

[elioslover]

Elioslover- Blurbs & Requests Masterpost

Requests:

Newborns [Dad!harry]

In which Harry has underestimated how much his life is about to change.

Friday Nights [Dad!harry]

In which Harry cannot wait home to see his two favourite girls.

Songs:

Slow Motion

Meet-Cutes:

#24 - Ballroom Dancing

#1 - Seated at a Wedding

Kisses:

#18/31 - Worst Wingman

#32/35 - Green-eyed Monster (LhH! Grapejuice)

Confessions:

#37 - It's not what it looks like

#60 - Marry me

Concepts/Lists:

Neighbour Harry

Sex With Harry

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines

[elioslover]

Worst Wingman - Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry is a shite wingman... or is he?]

Prompt Requests- send a couple numbers and a trope or dynamic! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35).

"No goodnight kiss for me? " // "Are you daring me to kiss you?"

Main Writing

Word Count: 2.3k.

🫧

Harry doesn't even have a chance to pull up the handbrake before she has the door open, clutching onto her bag and stepping out into the brisk autumn air, her shoes swiftly scraping against the concrete, hardly caring if the door shut (or if Harry was following) behind her. 

She is aggressively rummaging through a cluster of items in pursuit of house keys, huffing at the incredulity of the man she can almost guarantee is hot on her heels, ready to grovel his way back into her good books. 

By the time she comes to a stop at her door, it’s difficult to ignore the sudden invasion of Harry’s presence nearing her own. 

He keeps a small space available in favour of her comfort, but his confident energy is so palpable that she feels he might as well have his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, it felt as if his hands were already ghosting around her waist, holding her with soothing security. 

The key takes far too long jingling as she repeatedly misses the lock, her hands start to subtly shake with nervous frustration, and though Harry- already peering over her shoulder- wants to chuckle, he pretends not to notice, and that’s an easy feat when his gaze dips to observe the divets of her collarbone and shoulders- almost bare of materials- dedicating his attention to the scatter of sunspots and freckles along her skin.

On the third and final attempt, the keys twist with triumph and the front door clicks, unlocking, and instantly she turns the knob and pushes the door ajar- just enough to slide a shoe- perhaps a leg- through. 

Harry waits in anticipation as she readjusts her bag and slants the door wider, making sure not to leave any space for Harry to follow her through. 

He softly chuckles at her petulant stubbornness, staying put as she slips through the cracks and peers back at him from behind the wooden barrier with a stern frown, secretly living for the feelings of empowerment that surge up her spine. 

But, Harry is only amused, and it only increases the longer he studies the dramatism painting her wide eyes, blushed cheeks, and bushy eyebrows with adorable misplaced anger. Well, he seems to think it’s misplaced. 

She does not. She and Harry have had a simple and seamless relationship up until the past couple of months when he suddenly started acting up. 

An agreement of ‘we’re thirty, time is running out, we should be each other's wingmen’ has turned into a blurred line of kisses and touches behind closed doors, and her focus is now wavering from setting Harry up with someone else in favour of keeping him all to herself. 

The entire agreement hinges on the fact that they're both looking for different things and as far as she’s aware, Harry’s mind hasn't changed, even though they have evidently adjusted the rules- romance definitely wasn’t initially part of the deal- her fears of rejected reciprocity help refrain her from fully indulging in the fantasy of what life could look like if they just chucked the plan and chose each other. 

But Harry thinks he’s made himself quite clear- at least he thinks it’s quite obvious after the numerous times he has interrupted or completely compromised any of her recent romantic prospects. 

He couldn’t recall the exact moment or reason why, but this little ‘agreement’ between the two had rapidly turned into something more for him, and he hoped that she felt it too. 

Sometimes he’s sure she does- that she enjoys each touch and giggle with as much endearment as he does- but then moments like this have him questioning it all as she works her hardest to create distance, visibly frazzled and very disappointed. 

Harry doesn't challenge her defence, he doesn't make any attempts to step forward or push back, only leaning his shoulder comfortably against the wall, cheekily smiling in light of her next move. 

Naturally, her chest tightens at his borderline childish nonchalance, but, resisting the temptation to chide him for every single thing he does that irritates the life out of her, she takes a deep breath and puts on a sickly sweet smile,

“Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

As quick as the words leave her mouth, she uses her palm to weakly attempt to shut the door, hoping to leave Harry as confused as she currently is. 

But he’s been expecting it- actually amused that it took her this long to formally dismiss him- and as gently as he possibly can, Harry uses his own palm to stop the door from swinging shut, ensuring her grouchy face remains on full display. 

She is in no mood for games, and they both know it, but Harry cannot resist the electric currents of endearment surging through him as she scowls and scoffs with impatience, foot tapping in anticipation for his next- and sure to be audacious- action. 

His chosen tactic is to smirk lazily, leaning further- if possible- into the wall, his arm still extended, holding the door ajar, head tilting, eyes enamoured and practically pouting along with his plump lips as he ponders, 

“No goodnight kiss for me?” 

“You’re incredulous!” Her voice raises, mortified, as she makes a final attempt to shut the door. 

Without even confirming, she turns on her heels- ironically immediately starting to rid herself of this evening’s chosen stilettos- but by the sounds of it, Harry has followed after her, just barely standing in the entrance hall, his eyes like a magnet to her bent body as he mutters,  

“You like that about me.”

Levelling on the ground, she whips back around to face him, arms angrily folded across her chest, and currently she has to crane her neck to address him directly, 

“Right now, I don't like you at all.” 

“Don’t be mean.” He whines. 

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to be mean to me?” She huffs. 

Harry feels slightly stumped by that one, his arms absentmindedly straying up his chest, crossing sternly with sudden defensiveness, frowning, 

“When have I been mean to you?” 

“When you kiss me!” 

Her arms flail, brows furrowed with such frustration that Harry feels a new level of confusion, mostly focused on her plump, peachy lips as he asks,

“Are you daring me to kiss you?” 

“Are you daring me to punch you?” She threatens. 

“Ooh, kinky.” He mewls. 

“You make my blood boil!” She all but tosses flames his way, pairing her verbal threat with a hearty step forward, entering his personal space.

“You make me happy.” He takes a mirroring step, meeting her in the middle, his features slowly sinking from jovial into a clusterfuck of perplexion.

But this only seems to make things worse, she seems close to fuming and Harry swears he can see steam spewing from her ears and nostrils. 

And she only creeps nearer, one arm collapsing to her side, the other raising to press a stressed palm to her flaming forehead. 

After what feels like an eternity, she has soothed her twisted stomach and the thumping in her chest has lulled enough for her to huff with unmistakable disappointment,

“What the hell are we doing, Harry?” 

Harry’s stare swells and steals his confident security as he tries to sort through the clues she so sternly requires, 

“Well right now I’m trying-”

“Not right now. In general.” She demands. 

“What do you mean?” Harry- definitely discouraged- concedes and asks for her aid. 

It’s a sting to his heart when her face only surges with what he sees as sorrowful hatred. 

“I mean,” Her tone has lost all patience as she gestures wildly at him, “What the hell is this?” and then her body slumps sadly, “Us.” 

“I dunno. Guess I thought we were having fun.” 

Harry’s head bows, his heart has a headache, and all he really wants is to reach out and smooth out the furrow in her brows, rid her frown with reassurance.

But as soon as he attempts to get nearer, she furthers the distance,

“My wingman constantly kissing me and ruining my dates is not fun… For me, at least.” She hopes the severity of her hurt stays hidden. 

“I haven't been ruining your dates.” Harry pouts, still puzzled. 

“Oh c’mon. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes roll at his ridiculousness.  

“I don’t!” He hadn’t consciously considered it until this current crisis, and… she’s right. He’s been actively sabotaging the same opportunities he so sweetly sent her direction. He concedes, “Okay, I do, but-” 

“But?” 

“I thought you liked kissing me.” With honesty, Harry shrugs weakly. 

“I do! That’s the problem.” She can hardly stay still, dragging herself deeper into the depths of suffocating frustration. 

“Okay, now I’m really confused.” He can’t conceive of what she’s trying to communicate.  

Suddenly, she’s the one closing the gap, walking straight for him until the only thing separating their chests is an arm's length, peering up at Harry with a gaze he recognizes from brief moments in between the sheets, his head resting in her lap, and after midnight goodbye kisses.  

“I like kissing you. And I like spending time with you.” She announces with certainty, “But I don’t think you want us to be more than… whatever this is.” Her shoulders slump as she weakly gestures once more, “The least you could do is be the wingman you promised to be.” 

“Then I don’t want to be your wingman anymore.”

Harry says it with such simplicity that it seems like a total throwaway comment- like none of this meant anything more than a verbal agreement- like this whole thing was nothing to him from the very start. She feels a lot of things, but the shame of it all is sickening.

“Okay, fine! You could have just said that!” Her voice, booming- cracking on impact, “Didn’t have to pity me.” 

Teary eyes trail down to stare at her shimmering toenails, blinking at a rapid rate to avoid any falls, she hopes to the heavens above that a miraculously giant bird would just swoop down and carry Harry away from this catastrophic nightmare so she can cry in peace.

He doesn’t wish for the same- in fact, he just wishes she would look at him- he needs her gaze to reassure his entire existence, for her eyes to confirm the words slipping past her lips. 

So, with the softness of a summer breeze, Harry nears her and though she still won’t look up, he feels it okay to assert,

“I’ve never pitied you, and you know it.” He tries to sound void of accusation,  “Just wanted to help you out.” 

“Well, no need to worry, your job is done.” She spits, finally looking up. Harry almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Fine.” He scoffs.

“Fine.” She mocks.

They stay locked in a stare-off of lust and maybe love all wrapped up in a bow of a fiery gift box about to blow open and burst their bubble. 

Harry’s chest huffs and his next exhale is as childish as the last, 

“Good.”

“Great.” She grits through a sarcastic thin-lipped smile. 

Harry loves the little strands of hair that have stuck to her skin with sweaty fervour, the promising taste of her peachy plump lips, chubby flared and blotchy cheeks.

Her eyes- tinted red and swooping lashes slightly damp- are as comforting as always and they give Harry the last little push he so clearly needs,

“So, can I finally ask you on a date now?”  

“Excuse me?” She actually wants to ask, ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“I like kissing you. I like spending time with you.” His voice is as certain as his words, “I’d really like to take you out, properly, and I’d love to be yours completely.” 

Timidly, she peers up at him and after a moment of glancing his gaze to seek out any reason for Harry to be lying. But, there’s nothing more than the glimmer of adoration swirling around amorously in the forest of green. 

Then, shyly conceding with insurmountable relief, she somewhat cautiously asks, 

“... Really?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Okay…” It’s becoming impossible to hide the smile creeping at the corners of her mouth, “I’d like- love- to go on a date with you.”

Harry sighs out and releases so much untended pressure that he feels momentarily lightheaded, or it has something to do with the words- he had unknowingly deemed a necessity- coming out in a silky ribbon of a sentence, sung like a prayer from the prettiest of lips from the prettiest of people. 

He ignores how silly and giddy he must seem as he eagerly removes the remaining distance between them, shoes gently bumping against her toes. One hand makes a home on her lower back,

“How does tomorrow sound? Pick you up around 7?” 

“Sounds good…” 

“Good.” 

Harry concludes as her palms tentatively press to his torso, lashes batting lusciously as his face boldly leans closer, mouth glistening, garnering full attention as his free hand comes up to cup her jaw. 

She can feel her toes trying to leave the floor, ankles stretching to get closer, hand leaving his chest in favour of the nape of his neck, her fingers faintly brushing the base of his hair. 

Harry’s thumb slowly strokes at her cheek, then trails along her chin and lingers along the pillows of her lips, 

“Now, would it be cruel to ask for that goodnight kiss?” 

💞

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

[elioslover]

Send! Me! More! Requests! I'm writing a few but let's do more guys!! Send a couple numbers (no limit!) and a vibe/trope 💞

kiss prompts

feel free to use any of these. ♥

"Kiss me." "What?"

"Of course I want to kiss you."

"What if I kissed you right now?"

"If you didn’t want things to change, you shouldn’t have kissed me."

"I really, really want to kiss you right now."

"Can I kiss you?"

"On a scale of one to ten...how mad would you be if I kissed you right now?"

"I never said I didn't want to kiss you."

"I think I deserve a kiss."

"I can't stop thinking about the last time we kissed."

"I've been waiting for this kiss since the moment I laid eyes on you."

"You kissed me! You kissed me, how's that not a big deal?"

"You kissed me, remember?"

"I'll give you a kiss if you can guess what I'm thinking right now."

"You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay."

"Just one kiss, that's all I'm asking for."

"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they kiss."

"Are you daring me to kiss you?"

"What's stopping us from just kissing right now?"

"I can't believe you kissed me like that."

"I can't stop thinking about that kiss."

"Don't look at me like that if you don't want me to kiss you."

"It's just a kiss, what's the big deal?"

"Let's make a deal, one kiss and I'll do whatever you want."

"You kissed me back, so don't act like it was all me."

"Do you still remember our first kiss?"

"Why do we keep pretending we don't want to kiss each other?"

"You're making it really hard for me not to kiss you right now."

"Let me show you what a real kiss feels like."

"If you kiss me, I promise I'll stop teasing you."

"No goodnight kiss for me?"

"If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask."

"I think we need to talk about that kiss."

"Kiss me and then tell me you don't feel anything."

"You're jealous, just admit it, you want to be the one kissing me."

"Do you ever think about that drunken kiss we shared?"

"How can I focus on anything else when you're kissing me like that?"

"Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I don't mean it when I say I want you to kiss me."

"Another kiss like that and I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"You say you don't love me, but you kissed me back like you did."

my masterlist | more prompts | buy me a coffee

#💌 amy's writing prompts #otp prompts #writing prompts #prompts list #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you

[elioslover]

reblog and put in the tags a lyric that absolutely cuts you. im so curious to see what makes everyone hurt

#when you fell down the stairs #it looked like it hurt #and i wasnt sorry #i should have left you right there #with your hostages my heart and my car keys #boygenius wrecks me 24/7 😭

[elioslover]

Dad!Harry collage 💞 dadrry masterlist

(Request more tropes if you have any!)