Harry’s a pilot, and Y/N is a shy flight attendant on his flight
*Smut, angst, fluff…a lot of everything
Wrote something a little different xx
“Y/N, the baby in seat 32c threw up on the floor again.”
She groans. Her neat bun was now beginning to have stray pieces peeking out of it messily, fingers sore from preparing all of the bloody meals for the flight (which tasted disgusting, so she doesn’t understand why anyone bothers eating them), and grabs the powdery cleaning material, working to walk towards the mess of vomit near the end of the plane.
When she gets back from cleaning up the mess, she realizes no other flight attendant is at the station, and that three people have been pressing their call buttons. Before she has the time to wonder where the fuck everyone is, she leaves in a rush to tend to the passengers. She tends to the first class passenger first, he rudely asks her for a bottle of Perrier water. ‘Not water, Perrier’ he specifies cockily before looking away. First class passengers were always the worst, so unsurprisingly she marches away in concealed anger and gets him his stupid Perrier.
The hardest part of being a flight attendant was not falling asleep, and constantly having to move around everywhere. Although there were some plus sides, like the stealthy tips she would receive for helping some of the first class passengers.
After serving peanuts and giving wine to the other two passengers, she relocates someone in economy who’s TV screen stopped working, giving someone a spare set of cheap earbuds, and listens to her fellow attendants gossip about who the hottest person on the flight was. She then finally realizes it’s time for her break. Sighing contently, she pops her back and then turns to head towards the cockpit.
Y/N swears she’s the only attendant who has this break, given that this wasn’t a very demanding flight with many people and that everyone had somehow taken their break while she was alone, working at the demand of the few people on the flight. She approaches the uncomfortably cold bunker, closing the door, and begins to strip down her clothing, goosebumps forming on her skin from how cold it is. She’s prepared to take a shower in the first class shower chamber connected to the cockpit before lulling off to sleep like she usually does.
But just as she strips off her button down, leaving her in just her underwear and her bra, she hears the door click open. Startled, and standing awkwardly in the center of the room, she just stares wide eyed at the door frame.
It appears the other person is just as shocked as well, she opens her mouth to scream, only a small whimper escaping her throat as a large hand makes its way up to cover her mouth.
“You scream, we both get fired.” An accented voice states. Even in the conservative lighting of the room, she makes out two bright green eyes staring widely back at her. There’s a head of tousled hair on him, followed by a crest on a neat navy jacket, a crest only worn by pilots.
Harry is shocked when he opens the doors to see the flight attendant he’s quite sure he’s frequented a few flights before with. She’s rather shy, but when she’s working near the attendants she’s close to, the laughter never seems to cease. She’s served him his meals a few times, leaving encouraging notes handwritten onto sticky notes stuck onto his plates of food,
“Mr. Styles?” she manages to sputter out. Her mouth being pressed down on by his large hands. He nods, curls bobbing up and down before he figures she won’t yell. He then peels his hand off of her mouth.
He nods, clearly exhausted as his curls bop against his forehead. He was known for kind of being a tight ass, normally speaking with a rather strict tone and staying up the entire flight because he didn’t trust anyone else to do the job for him. Evidently, tonight that all seemed to go to dust, as he stood tiredly in the cockpit of the plane.
Y/N doesn’t give herself much time to ponder, covering her nearly exposed chest by crossing her forearms. The gesture, although covering the view of her lacy bra, pushes her breasts up further unintentionally. The action draws Harry’s attention to her breasts, and he blushes visibly, staring for a few moments before he tears his gaze away and clears his throat.
“I-I thought I was the only one who had this break.” Y/N nervously speaks. Harry nods in understanding, “I don’t really take much break time so they forget to add me into the schedule sometimes.”
Y/N nods in understanding, clearing the awkward silence by nearly sprinting away from him and into the shower lounge. And from the corner of her eye, she swears she hears him laughing, chuckling slightly at her actions.
Like, really fucking cold.
They must be the unluckiest two workers on the entire plane. It appeared as if their flight was flying over the far south of the world just as they situated themselves into their bunkers. The chamber was freezing, all of the hot air and heating being used to warm up the passengers due to their prioritization by the airline.
Harry and Y/N are both shuddering in their individual bunks, both too shy to say anything as they basically communicate with the sound of their teeth chattering. Eventually, knowing there’s no way that Harry’s possibly sleeping at this temperature, Y/N decides to speak up,
“I’m literally freezing to death.”
She bluntly states. And Harry can’t help but laugh at the upfront nature of the statement. His laugh sputters out as he shivers, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.
“Tell me about it. M’closer to dying of the cold than falling asleep.” He replies from a few uncomfortable foam mattresses away. Y/N laughs loudly, her laughing heating up her cheeks and warming her up a bit as she thinks of a snarky response.
“I’m going to pass in the cockpit of a plane, with the most influential thing I last did being cleaning up some baby’s vomit.” She feigns distress, and the both of them giggle while laying there, unable to sleep.
They bask in comfortable silence after that, until Harry clears his throat to speak again.
“Y/N I don’t - don’t really know you that well, but i’d say we’re both pretty uncomfortable because it’s so cold so uh-” He cuts himself off, but Y/N can tell where he’s leading.
And Y/N almost swoons, her heart thumping louder (maybe it’s because she’s nearing her death at how cold she is), and she figures it’s because how fucking cute he is. With his fluffy chocolate hair and his hesitant and nervous questioning.
“Share a bed?” She finishes his suggestion. Through the dim lighting of the moving plane, she can practically see him blushing.
“S’really cold, I don’t think either of us’ll be able to sleep like this.” He reasons, and he doesn’t have to speak twice before Y/N unbuckles her cot, hopping out of it with her pillow tucked beneath her arm before sinking into the soft padding of his. He lies his thin blanket over both of their frames, and she awkwardly lies on her side so that she face him.
He wraps his arm around her waist, her face poking lightly at his chest as he sighs contently, the both of them much warmer than they were moments ago. She can smell the scent of his expensive cologne lingering on the white t-shirt he’s wearing - he can probably afford it with his large pilot salary. Feeling content, she snakes an arm underneath his arm and above his torso, pulling him closer and falling asleep.
She didn’t notice his absence from beneath the sheets at first. The presence of his warmth still lingering beneath them as she stuffed her face closer into the pillow, half asleep and half awake.
But the warmth doesn’t last on the sheets for long. Soon she realizes how much cooler they’ve gotten. Her hands reach around herself to feel that she’s rolled up inside the thin material, not a trace of Harry underneath them. So tiredly, just in case he’s having trouble getting his sleep schedule on track or is silently freezing to death besides her, she cracks open a sliver of her eyes, only to be met with complete darkness.
The alarm clock on the wall of the plane displays a glowy 2, and she know it’s the middle of the night, around 4 hours until they land, and three before they have to wake up to get ready to quickly empty the plane.
Her eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness, she stares at the safety guidelines on the wall to adjust to the darkness. She then moves her eyes, rolling her gaze to the other side of the bed, and that’s when she sees him.
Truthfully she was expecting to see him absent from the bed as a whole. Maybe he had realized how awkward it was to be sharing a bed with some random flight attendant, and he hurried back to work after an hour of sleep. So her eyes widen a bit when she sees her superior, a visible tint in his boxers, mouth open while silently groaning into the quiet space of the room.
She want to fall back asleep, wants to ignore the way that his fingers curl up every once in a while from the lost contact he can’t give himself in his dreamy state, but she can’t bring herself to do so. The more she stares at him, the more awake she becomes.
And god, he looks like something straight out of a movie. His curls are resting messily against the white fabric of the pillow situating his head. His stomach is flexing every once in a while, the tattoos on his creamy skin that are visible through his shirt curving a bit every time he does so. He looks so pretty, like she could take a filthy picture of him in this state and publish it in a few decades on the walls of the louvre.
But as beautiful as he looks, he also looks helpless, his forehead in a permanently creased state as he can’t get the release he craves. There’s a damp spot forming in his grey boxers, the small gap in the front of them opening as he grows fuller.
She questions whether she should do it, full on debates the pros and cons of her probable actions in her head. He is basically her boss, she admits, but the chances are that she’d never see him again after this flight. The odds of being assigned directly to a flight with the same pilot from the one she served before were very slim.
So she reaches out immediately, fingers merely ghosting over the fabric of the tight boxers. Just as she traces over the very prominent bulge there, he lets out a throaty groan.
She almost moans at the sound, but quickly clamps her other hand over her mouth, being careful not to wake him. He’s so sensitive in his dream state, every little touch driving him nearly over the edge.
Slowly, and very carefully, she situates herself between his long legs that are split apart on the narrow space of the small bed. Her legs are folded uncomfortably beneath her, but she figures it won’t take long to get him off.
She pinches at the top of the boxers he’s wearing. He sighs at the feeling of the fabric gliding across his hard member, fingers turning over to grip the cheap fabric of the sheets beneath him. She’s increasingly careful not to wake him up, focusing on getting him off so that she can warmly go back to sleep with him tucked under the sheets again.
“Unh” He lets out of his parted lips, eyes still closed when his boxer band lets him free, his member bounces up after being released from the confines of the clothing, curving upwards towards the ceiling.
Her mouth begins to water in hunger, even though she specifically remembers going to bed full on airplane peanuts and cheap coffee. The tip is swollen red, shiny from the precum coating it as it slides down the sides of his shaft. He’s so hard it looks like it hurts, explaining the furrowing of his eyebrows even in his slumber.
Not being able to resist herself any longer, she reaches forward, one hand holding his boxers back a bit and the other hovering over him. She allows her thumb to graze over the tip of his cock, picking up some of the glossy liquid in the process. His breathing stutters and she brings her thumb up to her lips to taste him.
She whimpers at the salty taste, becoming greedier and greedier by the second. She lean her head over his hips, nose slightly nudging at his tip. He seems sensitive to any contact, his abs flexing a bit when she does so.
Then, she sticks her tongue out of her mouth, curtly letting the liquid on the tip of his member meet the soft surface of her tongue. He immediately lets out another groan, loud enough to encourage her but quiet enough to let her know he’s still incapable of grasping reality.
Breathing heavily from the arousal dripping between her legs, dampening her shorts after soaking through her underwear, she finally, finally, dips down and takes him between her parted lips, warming him up inside of her mouth.
He breathes in, she can tell as she stares at his stomach expanding through the curtain of her lashes. But in the middle of his breath, he chokes a bit, head jerking. Although she can’t quite see his face from the angle, she can tell he’s awake.
He dips his head from side to side, probably trying to acknowledge that he’s woken up and that whatever occurred in his dream, stayed in his dream. To let him know she’s still there, she lets the tip of her tongue drag across the crease where his head meets his shaft, pressing it against the sliver intensely. He throws back his head once again, moaning loudly as his hand goes to grip his member, finding her head there instead.
His eyes snap to where she’s situated, back arched as one of her hands holds him gently, the other one lightly gripping his thigh to keep her in place.
“Hey, love.” His voice is raspy from having just woken up, something that dampens her inner thighs even more as she whimpers with him in her mouth. He inhales sharply at the vibration, admiring her.
She pulls more of him into her mouth greedily, pushing him between her lips as her tongue licks at the thick vein running from the bottom of his shaft to the top. She looks up at him to see his head thrown back, his eyes closed as he concentrates on the feeling.
And she doesn’t like that.
So she tightens the hand gripping his thigh, as if she’s telling him “Look at me!” without speaking. He gets the hint, eyes snapping open as she holds eye contact with him, sinking down even further.
“Oh, fuck.” He grabs at her hair, gripping it in his palms and pulling it to start her bobbing motion. She obeys, beginning to sink him in and out of her mouth in a rhythm comfortable for the both of them.
“G’na…” He trails off, whimpering when she suck on his tip for a little bit, soothing her sore jaw. She finds it so strange to witness a man or his sture and status moaning beneath her after having a wet dream. “G’na cum, pet.” His words slur from the pleasure, head pressing itself further into the pillow. She started while he was half hard, so it doesn’t take him long to finish.
She feels him throb into her mouth, getting closer and closer to tipping over the edge as he grows hotter and hotter on her tongue.
When he cums, she lets herself pop off of him, opening her mouth just enough to show him that she enjoys swallowing what he gives her. Ropes of white cum decorate her tongue, he stares at her in awe and hunger as she strokes him with her hand, focusing on milking the rest of him out.
And god, he looks so fucked when he’s done, cheeks flushed in adoration as he softly runs his thumb across her cheek. He doesn’t see it coming when she grabs him again, right after popping off.
“What are yeh…” He trails off when she runs her thumb across the slit on his tip, adoring how hard he still is. He’s insatiable, she thinks, when he twitches in her hand as her cold graduation ring makes contact with his upper shaft.
“You look like you could go for another one.” She winks cheekily, lowering her head before taking him in again. But just as she readies herself to bob down onto him once more, he meets her halfway, pushing up into her lips and filling her mouth up. He looks down at her, making sure she’s comfortable as she pats his hip with her free hand.
And although he seems like he’s enjoying it completely, he’s breathless in his confession, completely overwhelmed as he chokes out an, “I don’t know if I can.” And the sound of him, so needy and so fucked out only motivates her further. She quickly pulls him in and out of her mouth, using her hand to cover the parts her mouth won’t.
“God, baby.” He whimpers, widening his thighs to give her more space to work with. She pulls off for a bit, catching her breath before preparing herself for what she’s about to do. But just as she pulls her head back, his hand pushes at her head, motioning her to reposition himself inside of her mouth, where she was before she popped off. She pushes her head back in slight irritation, ticked off at his actions.
“Do you want me to keep going?” She asks him, sitting upright on her folded knees. He stares at her, the both of them gasping for air as he replies with an, “Of course” Wanting her to continue her actions.
“Then keep your hands off, Baby” She tell him snarkily. His hands immediately detach themselves from her head, gripping instead at the sheets once again. He pulls on them when she wraps her hand tightly around him again, pulling up and down to drive him closer once again.
A small layer of sweat glazes his forehead, messy hair sticking to the surface of his skin. His lips are just as swollen as hers, a result of biting down on them in anticipation. And god, he just looks so pretty. She can’t help herself when she takes one of her hands off of his thighs, instead placing it in between hers as she feels her wet folds dripping against her fingertips. She inserts a finger inside of herself, moaning when she submerges it completely.
He stares at her as she touches herself, wanting to do the same but remembering her strict words. So he moans, stares at her expectantly, and waits for her to touch him again.
And he doesn’t wait long, she moves her fingers back and forth inside of herself as he groans silently, and she returns her mouth onto him to take him in and out. When she hits a tender spot inside of herself, she lets her mouth sink down completely, her nose nudging against the area where his v-line begins.
He groans as he aggressively hits the back of her throat, so loudly that she’s afraid he’ll wake the other passengers on the flight. She doesn’t mind it though, allowing herself to do the same.
“Fuck, baby, I can’t - can’t” He pants out, making her tighten her lips even more as she bops up and down more intensely.
“Fuck!” He yells out, his torso jerking up as he hits his second high. She holds him in her mouth, removing her finger from inside of herself to press his torso back down onto the sheets with her now free hand. Swallowing while still sucking at his softening member, she summons some more explicit language from between his lips, hearing the melodic sound of his quieting voice.
Finally popping off of him, she waits until he softens a bit before pulling up his boxers. She then lays her head against his soft stomach, grabbing his hand and laying it on her head to signal that she wants his hands running through her hair.
“Thank you” He mutters, taking her hand as he presses a soft kiss on the back of it. He intertwines one hand with hers as she feels her head raising up and down along with his breaths, sighing contently at how incredibly happy she is. She frowns at the that she won’t see him much after this, but focuses on how he throws the sheets over their small cot, making it the most comfortable bed she’s been on with his presence.
Y/N doesn’t know whether she’s elated, or disappointed at the arrangements she received in her email for the flight she’s serving. She stared at the list of flight attendants, seeing some familiar ones (familiar enough for her to recognize, but not close to her in any way shape or form), and some that she’s never heard of before. It’s a trans pacific flight, from the Asian country they were originally situated at to somewhere in North America that she really doesn’t remember. The flight log says that it’ll take around 7 hours for the flight to go from one place to the other, and Y/N sighs because that most likely means she either won’t get a break, or will get a break so short it’s practically nonexistent.
But that isn’t what has her head splitting apart.
As she walks onto the plane, mechanics still working for takeoff are scattering around it. A few attendants are already there, and she grabs a physical copy of the itinerary. But as she boredly awaits the crossing bridge to extend, and passengers to fill the large space, she begins to read it once again out of boredom.
It’s the fact that when she turns the page over, looking to peek at who the two pilots were, just to be cautious, she’s met with an all too recognizable name.
Pilot: Harry Edward Styles
Certified May 6th of 2016
She doesn’t know if she should be nervous or not, wonders how he’ll go about the…situation that occurred the last time they served the same flight - the last time being the day before yesterday.
Her worries soon dissolve though, as two men in uniforms are the first to approach the plane. While the other attendants talk about an attractive passenger preparing to board, setting their bets on what he does for a living, her eyes scatter to meet piercing green ones unsurprisingly boring into her own. He doesn’t seem the least bit shocked, or flustered that she’s here once again and he breaks eye contact quickly, walking into the piloting room at the front of the plane.
4 Hours into the flight, the attendants are in the midst of giving out lunch. Every meal is frustrating, due to the high demand of drinks surrounding the time around the serving of the meal. Refusing to eat it due to her distaste for airline food, she’s reminded that the pilots have not yet received their meal.
She really doesn’t want to serve it.
But she’s the only attendant not preoccupied with a trash bag, or a drink cart. So she doesn’t exactly have a choice when she finds herself knocking on the door of the piloting room, hearing footsteps approaching her as her heart thuds.
Fortunately and unfortunately for her, the older pilot who isn’t - him - opens the door, grey hair tucked beneath his hat.
“I’ve been informed that you haven’t received your lunch?” She asks questioningly, she lowers her voice a bit so that the other pilot doesn’t recognize her.
“I actually think i’ll manage off of our coffee and biscuits.” The older man looks over his shoulder, “Harry? Do you need anything for lunch?”
And then Harry shifts a gear, his broad arm flexing through his suit jacket as he pulls something. He turns around in his cushy spinny chair, eyes widening when he notices her presence in the room. They stay frozen for a bit, simply staring at each other before the middle aged man snaps them both out of it.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, blinking a few times.
“Do you want lunch?” He asks, awaiting his response so that he can get back to working.
“No, I think i’m good. Arthur, when do you think I could have my break?”
And then she leaves, closing the door behind her as she steps back into the room with the refreshments. She takes a small packet of coffee biscuits, stuffing two into her mouth and crunching down on them as a small snack.
She hears the creak of a door sound in the distance, and figures she must’ve misheard and it must be from a seat. She also thinks it may be from the far bathroom, but just as she’s lost in her thoughts, she feels a set of warm arms wrap around her waist from behind.
Startled, she drops the last cookie in the the package, quickly turning around to be met with a whiff of the same expensive cologne she enjoyed inhaling two nights before. His hand quickly grabs hers, pulling her into the spacious restroom for the staff before closing the door behind them and locking it.
“Mr. Styles, I have work to-”
She begins, keeping her language professional and trying to excuse herself politely. She felt guilty standing in a restroom while every other attendant was working.
“If they say anything, just say I got sick and you were helping me in the restroom.” He mutters lowly into her ear, pulling her into his chest as he lightly nips at her neck. She sighs, breathy moans passing her lips.
“And call me Harry.” He finishes, just as Y/N brings her hand up to lightly pull at the roots of his hair. He moves his lips up, dragging a wet trail from her neck to her jaw, and then her jaw to her lips.
“Harry…” She whimpers, grazing her fingers across the hair on the nape of his neck as she pulls him in, and finally attaches her lips to his.
They work intensely after that in a rush to push together their lips fervorously as they attach, detach, and reattach their lips in a rhythmic motion. His hands grip the back of her thighs, and he squats down, bending his knees before straightening them and picking her up. Y/N squeals, and Harry admires her cute nature before placing her atop of the sink, her legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him in.
The bump in his blue suit pants rubs against her, and she rushes to unbuckle his belt, sloppily tearing it out of his pants before throwing it onto the floor of the bathroom. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning her blouse, merely hiking up her skirt before sliding his hands up her thighs and gripping her underwear in his knuckles, pulling down the flimsy lace material.
While he rushes to do this, she rubs against the bulge in his underwear, heat radiating off of the baggy material. There’s a name brand logo printed onto the waistband and she figures it’s since he makes such an abundance of money that he’s able to afford nice things.
As he removes her underwear, fingers slicking her wetness against her folds, she groans and pulls down his boxers, tugging him closer to her.
“Shit, wait. Do you have a…?” He trails off. She shakes her head, immediately replying before he has time to get discouraged, “I’m on the pill.”
“I’ll pull out just in case” He declares. And she nods as he stands straighter. She whimpers when his tip nudges at her clit, grabbing his member herself and finally pushing the tip inside of her.
Harry’s a mess, groaning out of control. The events from the night before last were all that was on his mind, the memory of her tonguing at the tip of his cock too enjoyable to merely forget. And now he finally, finally gets to feel her. Pressing inside of her slowly, he closes his eyes, with his senses heightened he takes in every little sound she makes.
“Shit, Y/N.” Bowing his head, he takes her breast into one hand as he slips it underneath the unbuttoned part of her blouse, sucking at the soft skin in the crevice between the two round globes. She bites her lip to keep from being too loud, although she knows it won’t be a problem due to the soundproof walls of the bathroom.
“Baby, fuck” He pulls out of her, pushing in again a bit faster this time. They’re both so needy, wanting to feel each other as close as possible as they make use of what limited time they have before his break is over and someone comes looking for her.
She looks down, admiring the way he’s so thick and full, and how he fills her up so perfectly. Her eyes stay glued to his hips, feeling a series of emotions. On one hand, she wants to cry from how good he feels inside of her. But on the other, she wants to be angry because she probably won’t ever feel him like this again.
He lays the pad of his finger on the bottom of her chin, lifting her head up so that they’re holding eye contact. Their eyes are both swirly, feeling euphoric and he mutters words that almost make her melt into the floor right where they are.
“Beautiful, pet.” he rams into her faster, “S’fucking beautiful.”
His words begin to slur as he presses them further and further to their ends. And just as Y/N swears she’s about to let her eyes release tears from how amazing she feels, there’s a knock at the door.
“Y/N? We need you out here.” She hears Christophers light voice say, quietly so that he doesn’t doesn’t disturb any of the passengers but loudly enough into the crack of the soundproof door so that she can hear him.
Harry, doesn’t like that, though. The idea that while he’s trapped in minimal space with Arthur (Who is a very nice man, don’t misunderstand him), she’s surrounded by multiple male employees. Probably having conversations with them. So after Christopher walks away, he turns his head to suck at her neck, nearing his finish but trying to make the moment last.
Still pounding into her quickly, he scatters his breath and sucks at her neck, using it as a form of comfort to let her pesky coworkers know that she had in fact been fucking the pilot in the employee bathroom right before going back to serving everyone.
He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. Because it really shouldn’t, he shouldn’t be so affected by some girl who’s just doing her job. But maybe it’s how good her hair smells, like a tropical drink he believes he had at a bar once or how loud and needy she suddenly gets when he’s inside of her.
It isn’t much longer until Harry pulls out of her, tightly fisting at himself before releasing into the part of the sink she isn’t situated on.
After they finish, grunting into the hot air in the space around them, she moves to press her skirt down, wiping down her blouse to seem just the slightest bit more professional. Neither of them were particularly worried about getting caught, considering there was no viable evidence stacked against them and that they hadn’t put anyone in danger or anything.
Harry works to put himself back together, but not before he feels a small hand smack at his arm. Y/N stands next to him, a shy smirk playing on her lips as she motions to the purplish bruise forming on the side of her neck.
“Really, Harry? How am I supposed to go to work?” She complains. He smiles, grasping some of her soft hair between his fingers before draping it over her shoulders, covering her chest as well in the process. Smiling, he mutters a small, “Beautiful” before lightly kissing her forehead and moving to leave the restroom.
A few moments after Harry leaves, Y/N exits the restroom just as Christopher approaches the door. He slides into the restroom right after she leaves, and she prays he doesn’t notice anything odd about the appearance of the space.
Her hope is crushed, however, when he walks out a minute later, eyebrows furrowed as he holds a men’s Gucci belt in his hands.
“Is this yours?” He asks her, remembering how she was the last person to leave the restroom.
“Uh, yeah.” She tells him, tucking the belt into her tote bag in the corner of the room crowded with other assistants. She makes a mental note to herself to scold Harry the next time she sees him. That is, if she ever sees him again.
“What is this?” Y/N motions between her and Harry.
They had been staying at the same hotel, which was arranged due to the fact that the airline reserved rooms for each member of their staff. Y/N had been pondering her unusual actions of the past few days, stressing herself out over what exactly her and Harry were. They were just having sex, right?
So why does ‘just having sex’ make her feel this way?
When she saw him sitting alone, a glass of golden liquid in one of his ring clad fingers at the stool of a hotel bar, she approaches him without hesitation. He’s wearing the same suit he was before, except he’s discarded his jacket with all of his piloting badges and patches, leaving him in his dress pants and his white button up.
She wasted no time, walking up to him before questioning him very abruptly. He’s a bit startled at first, staring at her in surprise and blinking a few times to make sure she’s actually there.
“Y/N” He states, as a response to her question that she clearly wasn’t satisfied with.
“Are you going to answer my question?” She asks him. As far as she was concerned, sex didn’t mark her with bruises to prove she was taken. Sex didn’t call her beautiful in the midst of a moment meant to be shallow and purely physical.
“We…have sex.” He answers simply. He states what’s obvious, what was already clearly right there.
“Is that it?” She asks, not wanting to feel the flood of emotions that sends a pang to her chest. To her displeasure, though, she feels the rush of sadness hit her. Punching her right above her heart as she lets a small frown form on her lips.
“Y/N”, he turns to her on the high barstool. She stand between his legs in her blouse and skirt, hair still down from when he placed it gently on her chest and shoulders. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t.” He honestly tells her, emerald orbs burning into hers. She looks dejectedly at him, staring up at him in defeat. She doesn’t know what exactly she was expecting. She knew that with their schedules, anything even close to a relationship was practically doomed to fail, she feels stupid for asking as she grounds her gaze to the floor.
“Oh.” She stares at her feet, the paint from her pedicure chipping off from constantly walking.
“So is that all it was for you? Just sex?” She asks him. He stays quiet, and she doesn’t even let herself look at him in hopes of seeing agreeance on his face. She thinks she receives his answer though after he’s quiet for a good minute.
There’s a frown forming on her face, salty tears threatening to burn at her tired eyes. She doesn’t even know why she let herself get her hopes up. Maybe she’d figured that finding someone with an occupation similar to hers would allow them to travel together, she should’ve know that happy endings and work relationships only existed in movies and books.
“Hey, wait.” He grabs at her hand. Harry doesn’t know how to feel, either. He knows that he’s enamored by her spontaneity, and enlightened by her sense of humor. He remembers overhearing her conversations with her coworkers, laughing even though he wasn’t a part of the conversations.
But as much as he’s completely smitten for her, he understands their occupations don’t allow them to make time for personal issues. He was constantly flying all over the place, and no matter how much he liked her, he couldn’t put her through the stress of coming only to go.
She yanks her hand from his gentle grip, crossing both of her arms over her chest. Y/N knows she probably looks like a proper mess at the moment, mascara spreading under her eyes and flushed cheeks as she accepts her embarrassment.
“Just, make sure not to call your friends with benefits beautiful the next time you fuck them, okay?”
He tone is bitter, but her voice sound so soft and defeated. Harry sighs, he really wishes he hadn’t done what he just did. Throwing back the rest of what’s in his glass, he orders another one, trying to numb away the guilt of his own actions.
Harry misses the smell of coconut shampoo.
He remembers softly inhaling it before he drifted off into sleep, Y/N resting in his arms with her warm breath fanning across the fabric of his t-shirt. He doesn’t know what exactly it is that she uses, but he knows that every time he smells the tropical scent he’s taken back to the time he ran his fingers through her hair. Granted, it was right after she had sucked him off, and that was pretty memorable, but he thinks the best part of that night was watching her lightly smile in her slumber as Harry’s fingertips glided across her features.
He enters the hotel bathroom, stumbling in after too many drinks. He remembers the bellhop having to escort him upstairs, Harry leaning all of his weight onto the frail man as he struggled to shove him inside of his hotel room.
He enters the restroom to take a shower and wash himself off before going to bed. While he was drunk out of his mind, he wasn’t disgusting. He had a sense of basic hygiene, even when he was the polar opposite of sober.
When he enters the shower, after ridding himself of his clothes, he finds small complimentary tubes of body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. Wetting his hair, he squirts some of the shampoo ono his hands. The second he begins to fluff the liquid through his hair, however, the familiar smell of coconut fills his nostrils. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine that it’s not his drunk and lonely self in the shower alone, but that Y/N is behind him, the smell radiating off of her instead.
But she isn’t with him in the shower, and she certainly wouldn’t want to be either.
Not breaking out of his intoxicated trance, Harry washes the shampoo out of his hair. Not even bothering to condition or wash up properly, he slips on a fuzzy white robe and stumbles out into the hallway.
The floor must be reserved for members of the crew they had today, he assumes from prior experience. He’s lacking proper thought so he walks down the rest of the long hallway, shouting Y/N’s names and praying to a higher power that a door opens and she stumbles out.
A door opens behind him, and he turns around to be greeted with her beautiful face. Instead he’s met with skinny arms and lanky legs, one of the first aid people assigned to be on each plane. He blinks at the bright light, probably awoken from Harry’s constant screaming.
“Mr. Styles?” He mutters, eyes widening a bit at the rumored stuck up pilot of their plane. He’s surprised to see Harry in such a vulnerable state, looking like he’s close to both laughing and crying.
“Y/N!” He yells again, laughing as he stumbles into the wall.
“Y/n?” The medical boy questions, “She’s in the room next to mine, I think.”
And that’s all it takes for Harry to stumble-run to where the boy turns around to go back inside of his own room. Harry rapidly knocks at the door, knuckles bruising as he has no control over his own strength.
Y/N had sworn she could hear Harry’s desperate voice call out her name in the distance. But she concludes that she’s gone insane and her mind is tricking her into thinking impossible things. Then she hears a small bit of chitchat coming from outside, and the voice stops. Only after that is the unmistakable pounding of the door to her hotel room.
A whoosh of coconut scented air slaps Harry in the face. He leans forward, pressing all of his body weight onto her as he practically collapses upright onto her body. She doesn’t want to forgive him, but she isn’t heartless and can clearly smell strong alcohol staining his tongue.
“I’m sorry” He whines into her shoulder. She pushed him forward a bit, struggling to reach out her arms enough to close the door to the hotel room. She eventually succeeds, kicking the door closed with the tip of her feet.
“You smell so fucking good.” His nose is practically pressed into her skin. Y/N grabs at the fluffy white robe he’s dressed in and pushes him off of her. She enjoys the contact but the water dripping from Harry’s hair as a result of his incomplete shower bothers her when it drops onto her face.
“Are you drunk?” she asks him. He grabs her hand, playing with her tiny fingers in amusement, “If I am, will you let me stay?” He bargains. She tucks her bottom lip between her two front teeth, nodding as she grabs his hand and basically drags him onto her large bed.
Five minutes later, his wet hair rests on her chest, right where her own robe opens up to show a bit of skin. She rubs circles onto his chest and he breathes in and out, sobering up just a little bit but still far from sober.
His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, and she loves how incredibly loved she feels. Harry mutters nonsense into the air, clearly having a mind of his own when he’s drunk. He’s normally very straightforward, so it’s strange to watch him all wrapped up around her, clinging onto her like a child clinging to it’s favorite toy.
“Wait!” He suddenly jumps up off of her. Looking around frantically before grabbing the hotel’s complimentary pen from the bedside table.
“What are you doing?” She asks him, trying to read his letters as he writes a note on his own wrist.
“Shhhhh, you can’t look.” He turns away from her, writing away at his soft skin. He’s sure to avoid the tattoos, afraid the pen won’t be recognizable on the dark ink of his tatted skin.
“I’m giving sober Harry instructions.” He states. After he finishes writing, mumbling a small “Ta da!” as he admires his own work, he returns to how the both of them were before. His hair is dry enough to run her fingers through now, and as she combs her hands through the fluffy strands he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.
Leaning over to click the lamp shut, she notices his forearm facing upwards towards the ceiling. The words she sees written sloppily from his wrist to his elbow, make her heart double up in size and warm up beyond belief.
“Get Y/N flowers in the morning. She smells like coconuts and she’s nice. -Drunk Harry”
And she thinks everything will work itself out.
