REWRITE IN PROGRESS
When I wrote this originally, I didn't realize how bad it was, so I'm going to recreate this story. If you wanna know what the remake is about, go ahead and take this as a sneak peak.
"Honestly, I ship you and Taylor hardcore. I really wish you could keep one girl rather than going around and fucking me behind their back."
"Say her name one more time, I dare you," he all but growls at me as he begins taking off his coat.
"Taylor," I test him.
He pins my arms to the wall and presses his body against mine. He leans until his lips are inches from my ear. Feeling his hot breath hit all the soft spots of my neck, he says threateningly, "Are you trying to push my buttons today?"
My body tingles with anticipation and I know my breathing will hitch if I try to take in any air. But that smirk will form on my neck as his lips are kissing it, and today it's my turn to take dominance. I hold my breath a moment longer before concealing all my pent up apprehension.
"Maybe, Styles, just maybe."
Christabel and Harry dated back in freshman year until Harry said he no longer had feelings for the girl he swore he was going to "marry".
Christa was crushed.
However, into sophomore year something struck both of them. They both missed the closeness of a relationship. Something neither of them could get. It seemed the entire school was against the idea of dating either one of them. But when Christa approached Harry with the idea of fulfilling either of their sexual frustration, he was all for it.
But Harry just couldn't stop himself, even when he started dating other girls.
That didn't bother Christa, though, because she couldn't get a boyfriend for anything.
But things started changing when rules started being applied to their little hookups.
And when a new boy came along in Christa's life.
Junior and senior year came rolling along, and slowly drama began occurring.
How wrong could a few hookups go?
He always picked on me, and only me. My friends didn't see my problem with him, and they clearly couldn't understand mine.
Mr. fucking Styles would be the death of me.
*I'm re-writing this so it might be some what similar to the original! I promise this one is supposed to be better written*