Harry Styles One Shots

part 2 of Harry is a grumpy mechanic and Y/N just can't stop talking

ii.

Do you want to fuck me?

Y/N wondered if Harry could hear how loudly her heart pounded in her chest.

It was beating as quickly as a pygmy shrew's; a thousand beats per minute thundering against her sternum as her mind swam helplessly and hopelessly attempting to sort out her response. Who asks a question like that so casually? So bluntly? As calm as if he might be asking what the weather was like outside, not even for a moment would an outsider be able to read the expression on his face and determine what kind of conversation they were having. Not by his cool, relaxed shoulders as he stroked the pad of his thumb between Strudel's ears, nor the unbothered glance he was giving her, like no matter how she answered he would be okay with it.

Meanwhile, she's certain she looked as bewildered and flustered as she felt! How couldn't she? How was she supposed to answer him? How did he want her to answer him? How did she want to answer him?

Really, this was something she needed three to four business days to contemplate and decide, but Harry didn't appear to be someone who would wait that long. He was looking at her like the question wouldn't be hard to respond to at all, if the roles were reversed, and honestly, it shouldn't be hard to answer! Did she want to fuck him? Y/N wasn't sure. He was cute – she liked how long his hair was and that it was curly; furthermore, she liked that he decided to grow it out and keep it long but seemed to take care of it. It looked soft and bounced around when his head moved, appearing to be more healthy than her hair could ever wish to be. His face was pretty too, and his eyes were this glassy-like sea green like they were two rocks found in an ocean cave, kept protected from the horrors and dangers of the world until they were ready to be fixed into his head. She hadn't seen his body, very much, but she knew he was strong – he could move a whole car on his own! Despite the way his jaw flexed sharply when he chewed gum, or the furrow of his brows when he spoke, his face still held a softness to it – one that showed more clearly when he was in the presence of Strudel. And to tack onto that, he liked cats and wasn't afraid to admit as much, which was attractive to her for some reason or another (she didn't want to bother going into the specifics of that). She thinks if he wasn't such a grump, he'd probably have a much more charming way about him too.

She did find him attractive, and in a weird way, even with how cold he was toward her, her stomach would begin a subtle flutter when she saw him. Butterflies had started as caterpillars in her belly, that had planted themselves as larva, grew, formed their chrysalis, and were just now beginning to emerge, with their wings the first to break free, just barely tickling her insides. But she didn't count those as real feelings that she could even delve into just yet – those were just the makings of a little crush; one that could be smothered out with time because she'd only be seeing him when something is going on with her car. Like when you think someone in your math lecture is cute, but as soon as the semester is through you forget all about them because it was never really that serious and you never think about them until you see them.

But how would she ever be able to think about anything but this? Harry had just unintentionally planted himself in her brain for weeks and weeks with his question alone, all the other stuff aside. Was there something wrong with her to be this affected by him? Had she really been that touch starved? It hadn't even been that long since she'd been with someone the last time! How pitiful could she be?

Her brain short-circuited, but she does eventually get out a response, though she's certain it wasn't the cut-and-dry answer he was probably wanting, "What do you – what do you mean?" She shuffled in her spot, "I mean...I mean what makes you ask? Was I doing something?"