Just a Momentary Fuck Up

hiii!! so here it is! i’m afraid i’ve accidentally overhyped this so i’m pretty nervous about posting but when am i not lol. HUGE thank you to @beehivebabies, @harryysstyless and @you-youneverdo for betaing this for me! you are truly the best!!! 

A reporter is spending a day with each former member of One Direction ten years after their final show. Harry is last and the most sought after interview after getting married in a secret ceremony in Italy. (told from the journalists POV as if you’re reading the article) **disclaimer: this is complete work of fiction, though i may not closely follow the other members of one direction, i do genuinely wish them the best and any negativity in this piece is simply for story-telling purposes. 

Harry Styles at thirty-one is easily mistaken for Harry Styles in his mid-twenties. 

Harry was only twenty-two when I first met him at the historic Shangri-La studio in Malibu. It was the recording of his debut album and even then he seemed so grown up. Today, he still carries the same charisma, charm, and cheekiness he’s been known for since he first exploded into stardom at the tender age of sixteen. His speech is still slow and thoughtful. His face looks barely older, perhaps a few more lines here and there, but his eyes are bright and well-rested when we meet up again the first week of November, ten years and two days after One Direction played their final live show in Sheffield. He’s got a few more tattoos, some dodgier than others, but virtually; he’s the same. 

In the few days I’ve spent traveling around with the former members of the uber-successful boy band, One Direction, I was most nervous to spend time with Harry. While all of the lads have their own little worlds closed off from the masses, Harry is most notoriously private. He isn’t afraid to leave a question blatantly unanswered or weave so far around it, he builds himself a maze out of it.

a reporter is spending a day with each former one direction members ten years after their final show. Harry is last and the most sought after interview after getting married in a secrety ceremony in italy. (told from the journalists POV as if you’re reading the article. **this is not an attack on liam, this is completely fiction and just for the drama of it all!! 

coming thurs. 11/27!!!!!!

In the few days I’ve spent traveling around with the former members of the uber-successful boy band, One Direction, I was most nervous to spend time with Harry. While all of the lads have their own little worlds closed off from the masses, Harry is most notoriously private. He isn’t afraid to leave a question blatantly unanswered or weave so far around it, he builds himself a maze out of it.

I met up with him in his North London home, a large white house with two massive bay windows on each side. It’s hidden behind a large security fence with a full time guard and an even taller hedge to keep the prying eyes out. The front door is painted pink, there are two large mosaic flower beds set at the few steps to the door and a bristly welcome mat with the word ‘Leave’ printed in the middle in a rather non threatening serif font. 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (AU)

Summary: You were planning on a productive — if lonely — weekend, but the little girl across the hall has different ideas about how you and Bucky Barnes should be spending your time.

Author’s Note: This was written for @propertyofpoeandbucky’s 2nd Mystery Writing Challenge. My prompt was: “Babysitter AU.” Also posted to AO3. This was only supposed to be three chapters, but I’ve been inspired to write more! 

Original Story

Part I: Saturday

Part II: Sunday

Part III: Monday

Bonus Chapters

Reservations

First Time

A Walk In The Park

Pancakes

Where It’s Headed

Call Me Sweetheart

Peach Yogurt

Headcanons 

The Closet

The Convention

A Harry Styles x reader friends-to-lovers fic. Part one of two, 8,117K words. Two coming soon! (nsfw, good and smutty. 18+! also, sorry for any typos, it’s like five am.)

•••

Banging your funny bone against the edge of a closet door, wondering just who the hell decided it was funny, anyway, or stumbling sleepily through the dark at two a.m. for the bathroom and stubbing your toe against the bed… That time you’d broken your wrist simply by stepping off a curb too soon while leaving a Yankees game, throwing your arms out to try and prevent falling in front of hundreds of other baseball fans pouring out of the stadium, no less…

None of that held a candle to the distress and embarrassment settling on your chest, growing heavier by the second, nearly suffocating you as it dawned that Harry hadn’t said a word. You busied yourself with finding your shorts, tugged off in the heat of the moment, standing just long enough to pull them over your thighs, thighs that’d just been on his big, broad shoulders, in fact, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t seem in any hurry to look you in the eye, either.