I just want that blue sidemen tshirt so badly and it’s still sold out😭
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I was playing among us and I met someone who was a fan of the YouTuber I’m currently obsessing over and we were both imposters together and I had an absolute stinker…it was so bad they didn’t accept my friend request after😞 like I swear I’m only occasionally bad at this game plssssss
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if you have the resources to do so, i highly recommend getting your taxes done by a professional. it took all my anxiety away and not having to worry about, y'know… accidentally committing fraud
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compromising situation → harry lewis
harry “w2s” lewis x fem!reader
summary: harry loves being spontaneous, especially when it’s a little risky
cw: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, sex in semi-public
wc: 0.4k+
song: cake by the ocean - dnce
[[MORE]]imagining how hot and spontaneous harry can be when he’s worked up. doesn’t even matter that the two of you are on a private boat in the middle of the ocean with all of your close friends lounging around.
harry will take any opportunity to fuck you in public. so you really pay no mind to him when he makes you follow him into the one-bedroom on the ship.
“fuuuck baby, you have to be quiet” harry whispered into your ear while pounding into you mercilessly.
throwing a hand over your mouth, you try and conceal your breathy moans but god the way your boyfriend’s thick cock is moving in and out of you is making you dizzy with lust.
the coil in your tummy about to snap any second, especially with the nasty words he’s whispering in your ear.
“you like this just as much as I do, don’t you love? you like when I fuck you where anyone could walk in on us and find you a moaning mess beneath me” harry rasps out in a soft tone, taking his fingers and lightly rubbing your clit.
to fucked out to respond all you can do is nod and look at him with admiration. no one had ever made you feel the way he does and within minutes of starting your encounter, you find yourself cumming, pussy spasming around his cock, biting into your own hand to stop yourself from moaning.
harry’s release follows closely and you feel him pull himself out of you and warm spurts of cum landing on your thighs. words can’t describe how good the man on top of you looks, fucked out, hair in a disarray, cheeks pink from the sun but also from how hard he fucked you.
after cleaning you up, harry falls on top of you with a sigh. “fucking hell dear, thank you for indulging me like that” kissing your cheek.
“i wasn’t indulging in anything, you made me cum so hard, but we should probably get back out there or chris and cal are going to start looking for us and I really don’t want them to see us like this” you say with a laugh.
“ehh let them, wouldn’t be the first time they’ve caught us in a compromising situation” harry says while winking at you and cuddling up closer to you.
you had a feeling you both wouldn’t be returning to your friends or the ocean anytime soon.
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Hey! I dont have any requests for Harry just now sadly 🥲 if you have a request feel free to send it in. I love Harry.
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Let It Happen [ ▸ ] 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗟𝗲𝘄𝗶𝘀 ⁰⁴
“𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.”
[ ▸ ] ⋆masterlist ⋆Let It Happen Playlist
✩ real life
✩ harry lewis x oc
Word count: 1.9 k
Summary:Harry and Alina meet for coffee, where he finally explains his disappearance, but the question remains whether any explanation can truly bridge ten years of silence.
Author’s note: I haven’t uploaded anything for this story in almost three months now because school completely took over my life, but my finals just ended and I finally had the space to come back to this. This chapter is a short one and very much a bridge between the last chapter and the next, but I wanted to share it anyway. I hope you guys like it. <3
𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓
[[MORE]]𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇’ 𝖨'𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾
Monday came quicker than she expected. By the time Alina stepped off the curb, the London sky had settled into its usual pale grey, and the chill in the air made her tug her coat tighter around her shoulders. It was just past 1 PM.
She told herself it was just coffee. Just closure, just a conversation.
But she wasn’t sure anymore why she had said yes. She could’ve walked away. But instead, here she was, spine straight against the wind, heart doing laps in her chest.
The bell above the café door chimed softly as she stepped inside. Instantly, warmth wrapped around her—coffee beans, cinnamon, distant chatter. She scanned the room, fingers clenched around her bag strap.
Then she saw him.
Back corner table. He sat with his elbows braced on the edge, phone in his hand, one leg bouncing nervously beneath the table. His hair was messy, flopping over his forehead like it always did when he didn’t bother to fix it. He was chewing at his lower lip, a habit she remembered all too well.
For a beat, she didn’t move. Let herself watch him. Let the familiarity sting.
When she finally approached, he looked up. He straightened slightly, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. His knee still bounced.
“Hey,” he said, quiet, almost sheepish.
“Hi.” Her reply came clipped, cooler than she meant. She saw it hit him—his mouth pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tensing slightly. But he didn’t flinch or pull back. He just nodded and gestured toward the seat across from him.
She slid into the chair, setting her bag on the ground beside her. The silence stretched. The last time they sat across from each other like this, they had been different people.
They ordered drinks. She stirred hers slowly, watching the milk swirl into gold. He didn’t touch his right away.
Harry kept glancing at her, then looking away when she caught him. The back-and-forth flicker of guilt and nerves. He wasn’t used to this version of her—quiet, distant, unreadable. She’d been daylight once. Laughter tucked behind every word. Now she was cold, and he didn’t quite know how to reach her.
She didn’t offer small talk. She didn’t ask how he’d been.
She waited.
He cleared his throat and leaned in slightly, resting his arms on the table.
“Look, Alina,” he began, voice soft. “I meant what I said.”
She didn’t react. Just watched him. Let him speak.
“I know this probably won’t change anything,” he continued. “And I’m not here to give you excuses. I just… I think you deserve to hear it from me. All of it.”
She kept her face still, but the breath caught behind her ribs. She had spent so long trying not to want this, trying not to wonder why. Now, here he was.
The café blurred around her. The sounds, the warmth, the clink of mugs all faded as her mind slipped back to the last time that day at the park.
Guernsey, 2014
They sat beneath the old willow tree in the park they’d known since they were kids, the one with the rusted swings and half-faded hopscotch lines still etched into the concrete. The autumn air and the quiet hum of the wind played like a lullaby around them.
Harry leaned back against the tree trunk, arms loosely draped over his knees, watching the light shift through the branches. His hair fell into his eyes, catching the last of the light. He hadn’t said much since they arrived. Just small things. Comments about how the tree was still leaning too far left. How the slide had always squeaked like that. How weird it was that the benches looked smaller now.
Alina was lying beside him in the grass, arms folded beneath her head, staring up at the sky like it had answers. Alina let him talk. She listened to every word. But she knew what he wasn’t saying.
“So…” she finally said, voice too light to be casual, “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
Harry didn’t look at her. His fingers toyed with a blade of grass, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah.”
The word hung between them like smoke.
“You weren’t gonna say goodbye ?”
He let out a breath, sheepish. “Was thinking about it.”
She turned her head toward him, one brow raised. “Coward.”
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Silence.
“I wasn’t avoiding it,” he said, voice quiet. “I just didn’t know how to say it without feeling like it was… goodbye.”
Alina sat up slowly, brushing grass from her arms, her knees drawn to her chest.
He turned to look at her, and she met his eyes—steady, clear, unwavering. There was something in her expression, soft around the edges but sharpened by steel. She wasn’t going to cry, not now.
“I’m not saying it is goodbye,” he said, suddenly desperate. “We’ll talk. I’ll text. You’ll visit.”
“Sure.” She said it easily. Too easily. And smiled.
That smile wrecked him more than any tears would have.
He shifted toward her, his hand reaching out before he could stop himself, fingers curling beneath her chin. He tilted her face to his.
“I mean it,” he murmured.
“Good,” she said. Her voice was calm, even.
Then, softly, with a tilt of her head and a hint of mischief, she added, “Because I’m really bad at chasing people. I’ve got terrible cardio.”
That made him laugh—quiet, shaky, but real. And she smiled too, but this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, reverent. Like they had all the time in the world.
And for a moment, it almost felt like they did.
They didn’t say anything else after that. They sat there beneath the willow tree, pressed together in the hush of the night, holding onto something that wasn’t ready to be broken.
And when she walked home later, alone, she didn’t look back.
Because if she did—if she let herself believe it was goodbye—she might’ve crumbled.
London, 2025
“It wasn’t because I didn’t care,” Harry began, his voice low, eyes fixed on the coffee cooling between his hands. “It wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore.”
Alina didn’t blink, didn’t fidget. Her hands rested around her cup, unmoving, though the caramel steam rose steadily, warming the space between them like a breath held too long.
“It was… everything,” he said, voice unsteady. “I don’t even know how to explain it. When I left, it felt like I stepped into another world. One where I didn’t recognize myself anymore.”
He looked up briefly, his gaze searching her face, but she gave him nothing—just silence, steady and patient.
“I chased what I thought I wanted, fame, money, attention. And I got it. But I got lost in it, too. The parties, the people, the pressure… It all moved so fast. I didn’t know how to slow down. I was so far from who I used to be… from the person I was when I was with you.”
Harry paused, his shoulders sagging. He rubbed the back of his neck, restless now.
“And you… I couldn’t let you see that. I didn’t want you to watch me spiral. You were always… good. Real. The one good thing I had. And I couldn’t bring you into that mess. I thought I was protecting you.”
His words hovered, fragile in the quiet. Alina didn’t speak, but something in her chest softened. She hadn’t expected this version of him—the raw, stripped-down truth.
Harry exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward, arms folded on the table.
“I thought if I just stopped calling, if I disappeared completely, it would be easier for you. I convinced myself that was the kind thing to do.”
Alina took a breath—quiet, measured. She still hadn’t touched her drink. Her shoulders, once tight, lowered slightly Her voice, was even, but laced with years of hurt.
“I used to think about you,” she said. “Wonder if you were happy. If you ever thought about me. I tried to hate you, for how easily you let go, how I felt like I didn’t matter anymore. Like I was just… gone from your life. Replaced.”
Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, eyes dropping to it as if it held the words she couldn’t say out loud.
“But I couldn’t hate you. Not really. Because I didn’t understand. I didn’t get why you did it.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Harry said quickly, guilt flooding his face. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But it was never about you, Alina. Not once.”
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check.
“It’s been a decade, Harry,” she said. “Ten years of silence. Ten years where I had to build a life from scratch. Alone.”
He dropped his gaze again, nodding slowly. “I know. And I’m proud of you. I probably don’t have the right to say that, but I am.”
A silence fell, thick with everything they hadn’t said for ten years. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just heavy. Earned.
Then, her voice came again, quieter this time.
“You said you needed time. That, things were too complicated to be in a relationship. And I believed you.” She lifted her gaze. “I thought maybe we’d still talk. Maybe you’d come back when you were ready. But then… a month later, there you were. With someone else.”
She didn’t look at him as she said it, but she didn’t need to.
“That felt personal,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like it wasn’t about timing. It was about me.”
Harry closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “I was scared,” he admitted. “I’d already broken so much, and I thought if I came back, I’d break you too. So I did what cowards do—I ran. I filled the silence with things that didn’t matter. With people who didn’t matter.”
Alina let out a dry breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You think that didn’t hurt? That people didn’t ask what happened between us like I had the answers?” She shook her head. “The pity… the looks… I didn’t know what to say. Because I didn’t even know why.”
He looked up again, eyes meeting hers directly this time.
“I know,” he said. “And I was selfish. Blind. For not realizing sooner. For making you carry the silence alone.” He leaned in, voice softer now. “But I’m here now. And I want to make it up to you. I miss you, Alina. I really do.”
They stayed that way for a moment, not speaking—just sitting across from each other, surrounded by everything they used to be.
Then Alina sat up a little straighter, her eyes steady but not cold.
“You know I can’t just forget. I can’t just forgive you because you’re sorry. That’s not how this works.”
“I know,” Harry said, quiet but certain. “I’m not asking to go back. I’m not asking for anything… except a chance not to be strangers again.”
She studied him, and for once, there was no mask. No flash of charm. Just Harry. Tired, older, but honest.
Finally, she gave a slow nod. “Okay. One day at a time.”
His shoulders eased a little, lips curling into a small, cautious smile. “One day at a time.”
And for the first time in years, something fragile flickered between them. Not resolution. Not reconciliation. But maybe something like hope.
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anyways on a more HORNY note, i’m fucking so hard with harry’s new mullet. like LEMME YANK ON IT PLEASE.
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Car Rides - Harry Lewis
description: you and your roommate Emma are off to a party with the boys, however small issue. The car isn’t big enough. So you have to sit on Harrys lap, which is more difficult than either of you thought.
couples: Harry Lewis x y/n reader.
warnings: mention of weight, quite a bit of smut ngl….
word count: 5k+
——————————————————————————
You’re putting the final touches to your hair when your phone rings, it’s Harry. The car is ready and everyone is downstairs.
You’re on your way to a party on the outskirts of London. Being the roommate of one of Talia’s best friends, Emma, meant you had become familiar with most of the crew and even grown close to a few. Harry was one of them—you both just clicked. He was the nerdy, attractive type you’d always been drawn to, but neither of you had ever tried to go there, for a few reasons: he was Harry, you were you, and you’d seen what his exes looked like. Although you were confident in yourself now, it had taken a long time. Being a midsize girl can be lonely in a world like this, and it takes a lot of confidence.
You and Emma make your way downstairs to meet Harry and a few others. They’re all smirking when they see the pair of you.
“Right, you all look suspiciously happy. What’s wrong?” Emma quizzed. They all giggled as George stepped in to explain.
“So, small issue: the only car we could get for the ride across London has four seats, and last time I checked, there were six of us,” George explained.
“The driver’s okay with you guys sharing with us, he just told us to keep quiet about it,” Harry said, scratching his neck.
“And I’m assuming we’re the lucky ladies who get to sit on your laps?” Emma laughed.
George and Isaac looked over at Chris and Harry. “Well, I don’t think our girlfriends will be too pleased if these lovely ladies end up on our laps for a 45-minute drive, so…” Isaac laughed.
Emma was barely five feet, so you knew exactly how this was going to go.
“Come on, short stuff, you’re with me.” Chris winked at Emma and pulled her into the back seat, leaving you and Harry staring at each other.
“Well, looks like I drew the long straw,” Harry smirked.
“Are you sure about this? I’m heavy and it’s a long way,” you tried to continue, but Harry cut you off.
“Two things: firstly, you aren’t heavy, so stop that right now, and secondly, do you really think I didn’t volunteer to have you sit on my lap for the next hour or so?” Harry winked as he pulled you towards the car, making your heart flutter.
As you all got buckled in, with George sitting between the groups you set off on the journey. The traffic was terrible and you kept stopping, making you lose the little balance you’d tried to gain on Harry’s knee.
“Come here, you weirdo,” Harry laughed as he pulled you back so you had your back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist for support. “Better?” Harry whispered in your ear.
You could barely string a sentence together at this point, so you just faintly nodded as you continued to pretend you were taking in the scenes of London. How had only ten minutes passed when it felt like a lifetime of torture? He was all you could concentrate on, no matter how hard you tried to stop. He was all you could smell, all you could feel, all you could think about.
As the journey wore on, the roads grew more uneven, and you could feel yourself being jolted up and down. You were trying everything in your power not to think about it, until you felt it. You felt him. He was hardening under you; every jolt made it more and more obvious. You could hear him try to stifle a moan as he whispered in your ear.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Harry asked, not wanting to cross a line.
You shook your head as you looked deep into his eyes. It was a look you’d never seen before—full of lust and desire.
You both glanced over at the rest of the car to make sure no one had noticed. Chris and George were deep in conversation with Emma about their new video, while Isaac was chatting to the driver about how bad the traffic is in London. You knew you shouldn’t, you were friends, and this was a line you could never uncross but the feel of him hardening beneath you was too much to ignore.
At the next jolt of the car, you slowly moved yourself on him, ensuring you went as slow as possible. His fingers, now on your thighs, gripped you tightly.
“Fuck, you’re going to pay for this later,” he whispered into your ear, earning a smirk from you.
A few moments later, you got a text from Harry.
Harry: Take your jacket off and put it over your legs, now.
You gave him a confused look but followed anyway.
“You good, Y/N?” George asked innocently.
“Yeah, my legs are just chilly,” you said as George nodded and went back to his conversation with Chris and Emma. You received another text from Harry.
Harry: Spread your legs for me.
Although every rational thought in your brain was telling you to stop, you obeyed him anyway.
Slowly, you felt his hand make its way up your thighs until he reached the seam of your underwear. He could feel how wet you were from the outside. He risked whispering in your ear.
“So wet already. Is this all for me?” Harry asked. You nodded—you didn’t trust yourself to do anything else.
Just as Harry was about to slide his fingers inside your underwear, the car stopped.
“Cheers for that, driver. Keep the change,” Isaac said as he began to get out of the car, like everyone else.
You and Harry exchanged a look before he quickly removed his hands so you could get up. As you straightened yourself out, Emma walked around the car to meet you.
“You look a little flushed. Are you okay?” Emma asked, concerned.
“All good, just a bit cold, that’s all,” you said quickly—almost too quickly.
“Let’s get you inside then.” Emma started dragging you away. “See you in a bit, boys!” she waved as she pulled you off. You didn’t dare look back, in fear your face would show what you wouldn’t say.
As you both reached the bar, your phone buzzed, it’s Harry.
Harry: Don’t think I’m finished with you by the way.
You could feel your stomach drop as you read his words. You took the shot Emma slid over to you and messaged him back.
Y/N: I should hope not. Didn’t think you were the type of guy to not finish what he started.
The living room is packed, a makeshift beer-pong table dominates one corner, and people are already shouting encouragement as someone lines up a shot.
Emma immediately spots a few familiar faces and drags you toward the sofa in the corner. You sink down, heart still racing from the car ride, cheeks warm despite the draft coming through the cracked window. Your phone buzzes again almost instantly.
Harry: Where’d you disappear to? Don’t make me come find you.
You bite your lip, typing back quickly while Emma chatters to someone about the drive.
Y/N: Living room sofa. Space next to me if you want it?
You hit send before you can overthink it, then tuck your phone away as a wave of people shift around you. A few minutes later, Harry appears through the crowd, two drinks in hand. He’s got that easy smirk, hair slightly mussed from the wind outside, jacket slung over one shoulder. He hands you a cup and drops onto the sofa beside you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours. The contact sends a fresh spark up your spine, reminding you exactly where his hands had been not long ago.
“Miss me already?” he asks, voice low so only you can hear over the noise.
You take a sip. Rum and coke, strong enough to make your eyes water a little, and meet his gaze. “I guess”, you chuckled.
He laughs, soft and knowing, then leans in closer, arm draping casually along the back of the sofa behind you. His fingers brush your shoulder, light, deliberate. “You still flushed. Cold my arse.”
You roll your eyes, but the heat in your face betrays you. “Blame the heating in that car. Or the driver. Or whatever.”
“Whatever,” he echoes, teasing, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a split second before returning to yours. The look is the same one from the backseat. Dark, hungry, promising. He shifts so his knee nudges yours, holding the contact. “You know, I was thinking about that text you sent. About finishing what I started.”
Your stomach flips. “Bold of you to bring that up in a room full of our friends.”
“They’re distracted.” He nods toward the beer-pong table, where George is now dramatically celebrating a win, arms raised like he’s won the lottery. Emma’s joined in, cheering and filming on her phone. Isaac’s in the kitchen mixing something lethal, and Chris is attempting to teach someone a ridiculous dance move. No one’s paying attention to the corner sofa.
Harry’s hand slides from the back of the sofa to your shoulder, thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin through your top. “Tell me to stop if you want.”
You don’t. Instead, you lean into him just enough that your side presses against his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His breath hitches—barely noticeable, but you catch it. Then he dips his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about getting you alone since the second that car stopped.” His free hand finds your thigh under the edge of your jacket , fingers resting there with just enough pressure to remind you of earlier. Not moving. Yet.
The tension coils tighter, electric. Every laugh from the room, every bass thump, every clink of bottles feels distant. It’s just his warmth, his scent, the way his thumb keeps circling lazy patterns on your shoulder.
Someone calls Harry’s name from across the room, George, waving him over for the next round of pong. Harry groans under his breath but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he turns your chin gently with his fingers so you’re facing him fully.
“Later,” he says, voice rough. “When things quiet down. Or when we sneak off to find a quieter room. Your call.”
You swallow, pulse hammering. “Promise?”
He smirks, leans in, and presses the quickest, softest kiss to the corner of your mouth, barely a brush, but it lights you up like a sparkler. “Promise.”
Then he stands, reluctantly, shooting you one last heated look before heading over to the table. You watch him go, the way he moves through the crowd with easy confidence, already joking with the lads like nothing’s happened.
But something has. And it’s only just beginning.
Emma plops back down beside you a minute later, cheeks pink from laughing. “What was that about? You two looked cosy.”
You shrug, playing it cool even as your skin still tingles where he’d touched you. “Just catching up.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Instead, she grabs your hand and pulls you up. “Come on, then. Let’s get you another drink and maybe beat the boys at pong. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
You follow her, glancing back once. Harry’s already looking your way again, eyes locked on yours across the room, that smirk firmly in place.
Emma tugs you toward the beer-pong table with that mischievous grin. The crowd around it is thick with people cheering, groaning, but Emma spots an opening and weaves through like she owns the place.
“Boys!” she calls out, voice cutting over the music. “Y/N and I challenge the winners. Or losers. Whoever’s brave enough.”
Chris, who’s just sunk a perfect shot against George and Isaac (who are now dramatically chugging penalty drinks), turns with a cocky grin. Harry’s right beside him, wiping his hands on his jeans after high-fiving Chris, eyes immediately finding yours across the table.
“Oh, we’re in,” Chris says without hesitation. “Right, Haz?”
Emma laughs, clapping her hands together. “Girls versus guys? Oh, now we’re talking. Let’s make it fair., me and Y/N against you two idiots. No mercy.”
Chris grins wide, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “Bring it. Harry’s got my back; we’ll destroy you.”
Harry’s eyes lock on yours immediately, that slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Girls vs. guys it is. Prepare to lose, ladies.”
The crowd around the table perks up at the announcement. Emma high-fives you, bouncing on her toes. “We’ve got this. Show ‘em how it’s done."
You and Emma take one end of the table; Harry and Chris claim the other. The cups are reset, ten each side, filled to the brim with lukewarm lager that sloshes slightly as people jostle nearby. The music thumps harder now, bass vibrating up through the floor, syncing perfectly with the quickening beat of your heart.
Harry rolls the first ball between his fingers, stepping up to the edge. He doesn’t break eye contact with you the whole time—dark, intense, like the car’s back seat never ended. "Ladies first,” he says, voice carrying just enough tease over the noise. “Should we go easy on you?”
You snatch a ball from the table, leaning forward so your top dips just a little, knowing exactly what you’re doing. “We don’t need it easy. We need you to be distracted.”
His gaze flicks down for a split second, caught, then back up, pupils darkening. “Mission accomplished.”
You line up your shot, bending slightly over the table. Harry mirrors you on his side, arms crossed, watching every move like he’s memorizing it. You flick your wrist—perfect arc—and the ball sinks cleanly into the front cup on their side. Splash. The crowd erupts; Emma whoops and throws an arm around your shoulders.
“First blood!” she yells.
Harry exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck. Alright.” He grabs his ball, steps up, and without looking at the cups he sinks his shot straight into your front cup. Eyes never leave yours. “Your turn to drink, love.”
The word slips out casual, but it lands heavy. You pick up the cup, hold his stare, and tip it back slowly, letting the beer slide down your throat while he watches your lips, your neck, the way you swallow. When you finish, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, deliberate, and set the empty cup down with a soft clink.
Emma’s next shot bounces off the rim and Chris catches it mid-air like a show-off, earning groans and laughs from the crowd. He lines up and sinks it effortlessly, forcing Emma to drink. She downs it with a dramatic grimace, then points at him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d be ruthless.”
The game rolls on, fast and filthy with tension. Every time you step up, Harry’s there, leaning across the table so his forearms rest on the edge, sleeves pushed up, veins standing out as he watches you.
You retaliate with a bounce shot that arcs perfectly and plops into their second-row cup. The crowd cheers; Emma jumps up and down, hugging you. Harry claps slowly, mock applause, but his eyes are burning. “Dangerous,” he says, low. “Keep playing like that and I’ll have to punish you later.”
Your stomach flips. You lean forward on your elbows, closing the distance over the table just enough. “Promises, promises.”
Chris laughs, oblivious or pretending to be. “Oi, focus! We’re getting slaughtered here because you’re flirting instead of shooting.”
The cups dwindle, five left on each side, then three, then one. The room feels smaller, hotter, the air thick with sweat and spilled beer and whatever unspoken thing is crackling between you and Harry. Emma nails the penultimate shot on their side, leaving them with one lonely cup in the middle. She spins toward you, triumphant. “Finish them, Y/N!”
You pick up the ball. Harry’s watching again, jaw tight, arms braced on the table like he’s holding himself back from vaulting over it. You bend, line up, feel the weight of his stare on every inch of you. Your hips, your chest, the way your hair falls forward. You release. The ball sails, bounces once, twice, then drops straight in.
Game over.
The crowd explodes. Emma screams and launches herself at you in a hug, nearly knocking you over. People chant “Girls! Girls!” while Chris groans theatrically and starts chugging the remaining cups as penalty. Harry doesn’t move at first. He just stands there, breathing a little harder than the game warrants, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.
Then he rounds the table in three long strides.
Before you can say anything, his hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him under the cover of the celebrating crowd. His mouth is at your ear, voice rough and wrecked. “You just cost us the game. And now you’ve got me so fucking worked up I can barely think straight.”
You tilt your head back to meet his eyes, lips brushing his jaw as you whisper, “Good. Because I’m not done winning yet.”
His fingers dig in, just enough to make you gasp softly. “Upstairs. Five minutes. The third door on the left, it’s empty. Don’t make me wait.”
He pulls back just as Emma turns around, still buzzing. “We crushed them! Drinks on the losers!”
Harry steps away smoothly, flashing a grin at the group like nothing happened, but the look he shoots you over his shoulder is pure heat, promise and threat all in one. You nod faintly, heart hammering.
You slip away from the crowd five minutes later, heart pounding louder than the bass still thumping downstairs. Emma’s distracted as laughing with a group near the kitchen, phone out, showing a funny tiktok, so no one notices you weave through the hallway toward the stairs.
The staircase is narrow, dimly lit by a single string of fairy lights someone tacked crookedly along the banister. Every step creaks under your feet, but the noise of the party swallows it whole. You count doors on the left like he said: first (bathroom, door ajar, light on), second (bedroom, voices and laughter spilling out), third—closed, handle cool under your palm.
You hesitate for half a second, then push it open.
The room is small, clearly a spare bedroom: single bed pushed against one wall, duvet rumpled like someone crashed here earlier, a desk cluttered with old textbooks and empty cans, window cracked open letting in the faint chill of January night air. A bedside lamp glows low and warm, casting long shadows. Harry’s already there, leaning back against the closed door behind you the second it clicks shut, arms crossed, watching you like he’s been waiting years instead of minutes.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just looks. Eyes dragging slowly from your face down your body and back up again, deliberate, hungry.
You stay by the door a beat longer, letting the tension stretch.
“You came,” he says finally, voice rougher than downstairs, like the words scraped their way out.
“Promised I’d win tonight,” you reply, stepping closer. “Figured I’d collect.”
He pushes off the door in one fluid motion, closing the distance until you’re inches apart. The room smells faintly of laundry detergent and his cologne—woodsy, clean, the same scent that drove you insane in the car. His hand finds your waist immediately, fingers splaying wide, pulling you flush against him.
“Fuck, you’ve been killing me all night,” he mutters, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His other hand slides up, cupping the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. “Every time you bent over that table, every time you looked at me like that, I was this close to dragging you up here in front of everyone.”
You tilt your head, lips brushing his as you speak. “Why didn’t you?”
“I wanted you to choose it.” His thumb traces your bottom lip now, slow. “Wanted you to walk through that door knowing exactly what you’re asking for.”
Your breath hitches. “I know.”
That’s all it takes.
He kisses you hard, nothing tentative or careful. Mouth claiming yours like he’s been starving for it. You meet him just as fiercely, hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer. He groans into your mouth when your nails scrape lightly down his chest; the sound vibrates through you.
He walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sink down onto it, pulling him with you. He follows without breaking the kiss, knee nudging between your thighs as he settles over you, weight braced on one forearm. His free hand slides under your top, palm hot against your bare skin, fingers spreading across your ribs.
“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he breathes against your mouth, even as his hips roll slow and deliberately, letting you feel exactly how hard he is.
“Don’t stop,” you whisper back, arching up into him.
His mouth moves to your neck then—open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He finds the spot below your ear that makes your fingers tighten in his hair, and he stays there, sucking lightly until you’re squirming beneath him.
“Been thinking about this since the car,” he murmurs against your skin. “About getting my hands back where they were… finishing what we started.” His hand slides higher under your top, cupping your breast through your bra, thumb circling slow and firm. “About how wet you were for me already. How you spread your legs when I asked.”
You moan softly at the memory, hips lifting instinctively. “Harry…”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown, lips swollen. “Say it again.”
“Harry,” you repeat, voice wrecked. Your hand slides down his stomach, palming him through his jeans. He hisses, hips jerking into your touch.
“Fuck.” He catches your wrist, pinning it gently beside your head. “Not yet. I want to toaste you first.”
He shifts down your body, hands dragging your top up and off in one smooth motion. Bra next—unhooked and tossed aside. His mouth closes over one nipple, tongue flicking, sucking hard enough to make your back bow. The other hand works your jeans open, sliding inside, fingers finding you soaked through your underwear.
“So fucking wet,” he groans against your skin. “All for me?”
“Yes,” you gasp. “All for you.”
He slips beneath the waistband, fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit with slow, teasing pressure. You buck against his hand; he presses you down with his forearm across your hips, holding you still while he works you open, two fingers sliding inside, curling just right.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low and commanding as he burries his head between your legs.
You force your eyes open. He’s watching your face, cataloguing every hitch of breath, every flutter of your lashes. When he starts licking you, in time with his fingers, his name is falling out of you with a broken moan.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair. Only then does he crawl back up, kissing you deep and dirty so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“Your turn,” you manage, voice shaky, hands already fumbling with his belt.
You guide him backward until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He lets you lead, with his hands resting loose on his thighs, watching you with quiet intensity. You kneel between his legs, fingers steady as you work his belt open, the soft clink of the buckle loud in the small space. Zipper down, jeans and boxers tugged low enough. He lifts his hips to help, breath catching when the cool air hits him.
He’s hard, flushed, already slick at the tip. You wrap your hand around him—firm, confident in the motion even if your cheeks still heat a little—and stroke once, slow and deliberate, base to tip. His hips twitch; a low sound escapes his throat.
“Like that?” you ask, voice quiet but sure.
“Fuck, yes,” he rasps, head tipping back for a second before his eyes find yours again. “Don’t stop.”
You don’t. You lean in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the head, tasting salt and heat. Then you take him deeper, your lips sliding down, tongue flat along the underside, setting a rhythm that’s steady, unhurried, but purposeful. One hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach; the other rests on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your fingers.
He’s not loud, trying to bite back most of the sounds but you hear everything: the sharp inhale when you swirl your tongue, the low groan when you hollow your cheeks, the whispered “Y/N…” when you glance up and hold his gaze. His hand comes to your hair, fingers threading gently, not guiding, just holding on.
You pull off for a breath, lips shiny, and murmur, “You taste good.”
His laugh is rough, breathless. “You’re gonna kill me saying shit like that.”
“Good,” you say, and take him back in, deeper this time, faster, letting him feel how much you want this. His thighs tremble; his breathing turns uneven.
“Close,” he warns, voice strained. “Fuck i’m really close. If you—”
You hum around him instead of answering, taking him as deep as you comfortably can. That’s what tips him over. He comes with a choked groan, hips jerking once, spilling hot across your tongue. You swallow, working him through it with slow, gentle strokes until he’s shuddering, tugging you up softly by the shoulders.
You rise, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and he’s already reaching for you, pulling you onto the bed beside him, arms wrapping around you like he needs contact. His chest rises and falls fast; he presses a kiss to your temple, lingering.
“That was…” He trails off, laughing under his breath. “Fuck. You’re incredible.”
You settle against him, head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. “Felt good?”
“Felt unreal.” His hand slides up your back in slow strokes.
He cups your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone, then leans in to kiss you. Slow, deep, tasting himself on your lips with a quiet groan. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“We should head back soon,” he murmurs. “Before someone comes looking.”
You nod, but neither of you moves right away.
“Few more minutes?” you ask.
He smiles—small, real, a little wrecked. “Yeah. A few more minutes.”
You stay curled against him on the bed for those extra few minutes—his arm draped over your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip through your top, your head tucked under his chin. The distant thump of music and muffled laughter remind you the party’s still going strong, but neither of you rushes. Eventually, Harry sighs against your hair.
“Come on,” he murmurs, pressing one last soft kiss to your temple. “Before Emma decides we’ve been kidnapped.”
You laugh quietly, sitting up and smoothing your clothes while he does the same, running a hand through his hair to tame it. He catches your eye in the low light and gives you a small, crooked smile that makes your stomach flip all over again.
He opens the door first, checks the hallway, then holds out his hand. You take it without hesitation and his fingers lace through yours, warm and sure as he leads you back down the narrow stairs. The party noise grows louder with every step, bass vibrating through the walls, but the bubble between you two feels intact, private even in the chaos.
Halfway down, he slows. You stop on the landing, just out of sight from the main room below. He turns to face you, still holding your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he’s working up to something.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice almost lost under the music. “Before we go back in there and everyone starts asking questions…”
You tilt your head, waiting. Your heart picks up again, not nervous exactly, just… aware.
He exhales, rubs the back of his neck with his free hand—the same gesture he did in the car when he was trying not to look too obvious. “I’ve liked you for ages. Like… since the moment I met you. That first night at Emma’s flat when you walked in wearing that ridiculous hoodie and immediately started arguing with George about pineapple on pizza. You were funny and sharp and completely yourself, and I just… I couldn’t stop looking at you. Still can’t.”
Your breath catches. You hadn’t expected this—not here, not now, squeezed on a creaky staircase with fairy lights flickering overhead.
He keeps going, eyes steady on yours. “The car tonight, the game, upstairs… it wasn’t just a heat of the moment for me. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for a long time. And I don’t want to go back downstairs pretending it’s nothing. So…” He swallows, the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “Will you go out with me? Properly. A date. Just us. Dinner, or drinks, o whatever you want. Just you and me.”
The words hang there, simple and honest, and something warm blooms in your chest—relief, excitement, a little disbelief that this is real.
You squeeze his hand. “You’ve liked me since the pineapple argument?”
He laughs under his breath, sheepish. “Yeah. Pathetic, right? But yeah. Since then.”
You step closer, rising on your toes to brush a quick, soft kiss against his lips. “Not pathetic. Sweet. And yes. I’d love to go on a date with you.”
His whole face lights up, eyes crinkling, that big, genuine smile breaking through and he pulls you into him for a proper kiss, quick but deep, right there on the stairs like he can’t help himself.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours for a second. “Good. Really good.”
You both linger another beat, then he straightens, still holding your hand. “Right. Back to the lions’ den. Ready?”
You nod, smiling. “Ready.”
Answer
Aftercare -W2S
words: 1.1k+
warnings: smut with little to no plot, head (fem rec), unprotected sex, pulling out method, aftercare ofc.
summary: after a rough day harry takes care of you… in more ways than one.
notes: i’m finally back writing for bog and i couldn’t be happier about it 🤭 i’ve been so busy so i’m only just getting back into my routine, meaning writing has been on the back burner, but i’m really trying to set aside time to make these since i enjoy it so much! enjoy my loves 💆🏼♀️🫧
You’d had a long day at work and had spent an infuriating amount of time in london traffic so while exhausted and mentally drained you dropped all your things at the door and shuffled towards your boyfriend’s office.
He smiled at you when you appeared at the doorway but then frowned at the fed up look on your face.
[[MORE]]You moved forward, he moved his chair away from the desk before you sat on his lap, a sigh escaping from your lips.
“Rough day?” He asked quietly.
You nodded into his chest, deciding you couldn’t be bothered to relay the events to him verbally.
He wrapped his arms around you. “I’m almost done. Go get ready for bed love. I’ll meet you in there in ten minutes?”
“Mhm,” you hummed before slowly peeling yourself off of him.
You walked into your bedroom and through to the bathroom where you stripped and got into the shower, letting the hot water run over your body.
After drying off you put one of Harry’s shirts on and slid into bed.
Harry came into the room five minutes later, holding tea in each hand.
“Thank you,” you smiled when he handed you the warm mug.
He showered then also got into bed next to you in just his boxers.
You sat in a peaceful silence as the both of you sipped your tea.
He finished before you and set the empty mug down on his nightstand.
Turning his body towards you, he murmured, “you smell great.”
You smirked. “New body wash.”
“Mmm… I like it.” He looked over at you longingly.
You twisted back to quickly put your unfinished tea down. When you turned back around Harry’s lips met yours in an instant.
His hand pressed against the back of your neck as you manoeuvred yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs.
“You sure you’re not too tired?” He asked between kisses before starting to pepper them down your throat.
You moaned softly at the contact, your head moving back instinctively to give him more room. “I’m sure,” you whispered.
“Okay then…” He hurriedly wrapped his arms around you and turned you over onto your back.
You shrieked in surprise. “Harry,” you scolded playfully.
He smirked as he slowly descended down your body. He moved your -his- shirt up to press kisses down your stomach before he reached the line of your panties, he hooked his fingers around the sides, looking up at you for permission first before he pulled them down your thighs and discarded them onto the floor.
He reached under one of your thighs and rested it on his shoulder before he pressed a kiss to your clit.
You gasped, reaching forward to thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair.
He knew your body better than anyone, he knew how to make you feel good.
His hands gripped your thighs, your head pressed hard into your pillow and the sound of your quiet moans filled the room.
“Harry,” you cried, “I’m-”
You didn’t even finish your sentence as your words trailed off, getting cut short by the intensity of the orgasm that consumed you.
He crept back up to you, now leaning over your body.
As you caught your breath and regained your bearings he placed his hand on your cheek gently. “You good?” He asked sweetly.
You breathed out a laugh. “Never better.”
Looking into his eyes, you placed your hand at the back of his head and brought his lips down to connect with yours.
You could feel the rock hard tent through his boxers as it pressed onto your thigh.
Slowly, teasingly, you moved your other hand down until it reached the waistband of his pants. He sighed into your mouth as you slipped your hand under the fabric.
“y/n,” he groaned when you wrapped your hand around his cock.
You didn’t break eye contact as you began slowly moving your hand up and down his shaft.
His mouth dropped open and his eyes closed as he uncontrollably moved his hips.
Then, without warning, you pulled away.
He looked at you in confusion for a moment before you whispered, “take them off.”
He did exactly what you said, moving off the bed and yanking the boxers down. You followed suit by finally pulling your shirt over your head.
In an instant your bodies reconnected in an earth shattering kiss, meeting each other in the middle of the bed, both on your knees.
His hands gripped your hips while yours slid over his shoulders and down to his chest.
He set you down on your back, moved your thighs apart with his knee and then reached between your bodies to guide his dick into you, not being able to wait a second longer.
Slowly, he filled you up, inch by inch. Your nails dragged down his back as he bottomed out, causing both of you to sigh out a moan.
“Harry,” you breathed out, “move.”
He planted one hand on the headboard while the other remained on the pillow next to your head.
The room filled with the sound of your bodies slapping together, his grunts, your moans and the bed creaking with each thrust.
You moved your hips to meet his as you wrapped one of your legs around his body.
With the both of you chasing your orgasms Harry let go of the headboard and wrapped his arm under your waist to bring you impossibly closer.
“Haz- fuck- I’m close,” you panted.
“Come for me y/n. Come,” he muttered, his head pressing into your shoulder as his hips began to stutter.
Quickly he pulled out, instantly releasing his load all over your stomach and thighs, his body tensing.
You shook as you let go for the second time, your head pressing back against the pillow.
“Shit,” he whispered as he came down. “You okay?” He asked softly, placing his hand on your cheek and swiping away the stray tear that’d escaped your eye with his thumb.
You could do nothing but nod.
After a long moment of catching his breath he slowly got off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
A minute later he re-emerged with a wet flannel.
You hummed in contempt as he slowly, gently cleaned you up.
Then he discarded the rag before reaching over to grab his shirt from the floor and help you back into it.
Once he was done he lay down next to you and pulled the covers over the both of you.
You sighed tiredly as he pulled you into his chest, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Thank you. That was just what I needed. Can’t even remember what happened at work today,” you yawned.
He smirked to himself. “Good, I’m glad.”
Without another word you fell into a deep sleep, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped tightly around you and his head resting on top of yours.
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w2s smut coming out soon (hopefully tonight) angels! 🤭 i’ve had this one in the drafts for a little while and i’ve just finally gotten around to finishing it 🙂↕️💘🫶🏼
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why have i never seen him in such shiny outfit and lighting before? he looks like a performer (づ￣ 3￣)づ
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I guess 2026 is the year I reconnect with my old celebrity crushes because I’m so down bad for W2S again
