Harry Styles One Shots

Relax*

This is not a first. You've flown plenty of times. In fact, you were just on a plane a week ago, but it never gets any easier. Now, you're boarding a flight in New York City that's meant to take you back to London.

"Oi! Careful, love," Harry chides, gripping just above your elbow to keep you upright. You've stumbled over the entrance to the plane, embarrassingly enough. You blush and thank him quietly under your breath, continuing down the aisle to your seats. Slipping into the next to the window, you pull the shade down before tucking your bag under the seat in front of you. Harry slips in beside you and raises his eyebrows.

"Y/N, yeh don' wanna see the view?"

You glare at him briefly. He knows how you get. Heights really aren't your forte, and you have no desire to stare down at the Earth from hundreds of miles in the air. It's bad enough knowing how far up you are without seeing it.

"Only jokin', love. C'mon. You're fine. Flyin's not so bad." He pats your thigh and grins, partly to comfort you and partly to tease you. He finds it funny and endearing how much you hate flying.

A stewardess begins the safety speech while another demonstrates a few feet up the aisle. You take a deep, uneven breath and buckle your seatbelt, tilting your head back to open up your closing throat. Harry's hand is still on your thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth. He presses a hard kiss to your temple.

It feels like only seconds before the plane is pushing back. Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach. You can feel a nervous heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. Harry's hand finds yours and you wind your fingers together immediately, pulling his hand into your lap. Your skin is clammy, but he doesn't seem to mind. You lean into his shoulder, other hand gripping at his elbow and then wrapping tightly around his arm.

"Hey, 's all righ'," he whispers against the top of your head. "Don' tear m'arm off, now," he adds with a chuckle.

You grunt in response and burrow further into the sleeve of his t-shirt. Up to this point, the plane has been prepping on the runway, but now it's building up speed. Harry hums one of his songs into your hair when you leave the tarmac and lift into the air because he knows how that calms you. Your face scrunches up in discomfort as your stomach churns and you feel the initial change in pressure. Your lower lip is victim to gnawing teeth, beginning to swell under the constant chewing.

You've been shut up in your brain and haven't noticed anything for the past few minutes. But now Harry's jacket is slung over your lap and his fingers are untangling from yours. A stewardess is walking up the aisle and suddenly Harry's hand is tugging on the button of your pants.

"Harry," you gasp, lifting your head from his shoulder with wild eyes.

"Hush, now." He's got a devilish smirk on his mouth and before you can even get another word in, his hand has slipped into your panties. Your body tenses, teeth digging once more into your already swollen bottom lip. "Gotta act normal, pet," he reminds you quietly.

"Harr—"

You cut yourself off when you feel his middle finger slips between your folds. Your hands grasp at his arm, head pressing into your headrest.

"You're so tense, love. Need yeh to relax fo' me."

Harry turns his head now, facing the seat in front of him while a smirk still plays on his mischievous lips. His fingers slip up and down your folds a few more times before tapping at your clit. Your thighs squeeze together, nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

"Y/N." He's turned his head again and his lips are brushing against your ear, warm breath tickling your neck. "Tha's not relaxed." His visible hand clasps your knee and pries it in his direction, spreading your legs just enough that he can move his hand again. "There w'go. Yeh gettin' wet fo' me?"