Harry Styles Blurbs (Reader Insert)

all bets off

warning: this piece of writing contains smut! please read with caution.

Sunday night football is a trademark of autumn as much as pumpkins and crunchy leaves are. Thousands of people across the country curl up on their couches, dreading the beginning of a new week and ready to focus on anything else — supporting their favorite team is just the cure.

Today, though, is not just any other day of NFL games.

No, today Harry's team is playing yours, the first head-to-head matchup since you started dating last year. It is a running joke between you two — meeting after the season was over last year is what made your relationship so strong. The true test comes today and you're ready for combat.

Carrie Underwood's rendition of the Sunday Night Football song rings out from the entertainment system in the living room below you. The volume lowers as you pull your hair into a ponytail.

Harry's voice echoes up the stairs, "Baby, let's go! Game's starting."

"I'm coming," you yell back. A final glance in the mirror brings a smirk to your lips. You'd purposely waited to shower after Harry today. This outfit is something you've had planned ever since the official schedules were released.

Harry's settling down in the living room after setting up the Mexican takeout he picked up half an hour ago. Usually on game days, he has Jeff and Glenne over but today wasn't any ordinary game day and he was adamant on making sure it was just you and him. He dips a tortilla chip into the guacamole you like, sticking it into his mouth with his eyes trained on the television as they zoom into the stadium.

Players in identical green jerseys to the one he's wearing are warming up on the sidelines, tossing the ball around. He hears you coming down the stairs just as the camera shifts to your team.

Perfect timing.

"They forgot to give us extra jalapeños," he says, digging around in the bag he set aside with furrowed brows. "Want me to grab the ones we have in the fridge, love?"

When there's no response from you, he spares a quick glance at the screen and then shifts his gaze over to you. His hands go limp and the empty bag flutters aimlessly from his hands, falling to the floor without a sound. He frowns, eyes trailing over your figure.

He's focused on the enemy colors that are drowning your body. He's never seen the oversized jersey in your shared closet before, which makes him think you either bought it recently or have been very good at keeping it hidden from him. It's not enough that the jersey is long enough to cover you properly, because he can tell even from this far away you've got absolutely nothing on underneath. In fact, there's only a few inches of skin visible to him between the jersey and team branded knee socks you're wearing. You're even supporting a similar colored scrunchy in your hair.

If he wasn't so offended, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you. You look soft and comfortable, yet sinful at the same time.

You're leaning against the end of the couch adjacent to his, legs crossed at the ankles as you look at the t.v. "It's fine," you respond absentmindedly. "Have they tossed the coin yet?"

When Harry doesn't respond, you casually turn towards him.

He's frowning so deeply you're momentarily taken away from your game. But then his eyes tear away from your thighs and meet yours. There's a certain fire behind his green irises that you've come to recognize, but clouding them is an innate and deep sense of competition. His pretty pink lips lift up into a smirk.

"Something wrong?" You ask, raising a curious eyebrow at him. You cross your arms over your chest, shifting enough for the jersey to trail up your skin.