Random Harry Styles Short Stories || Completed!

Only Soft For You

"Fucking son of a bitch," he growls, his furious, electric green eyes skimming over the disgusting, drunken brute he's got a hold of by the collar. Lazy apologies frantically slip out of the man's mouth, a laugh slipping at the end as he raises his arms up in defense.

"Hey, bro, it's not my fault! She didn't even tell me she had a boyfriend. And that little dress she's wearing... You sure she wasn't enjoying it?"

Crack

The sound of a nose cracking was evident within the bar, the volume and violence associated with the gesture silencing the heaps of college students inside of the club. All eyes were on Harry Styles, the football star and quarterback, usually a mystery to the rest of the student body. The most anyone ever got out of him was a sneer or lazy acknowledgement. The girls always twirled stands of their hair in between their fingers at the sight of his curly, dark locks and the boys couldn't help but give him an obvious onceover every time he walked into the room.

He was madly popular for his attitude, silent, deadly, and admittedly equally, madly attractive. Harry Styles was always ready with a snappy comeback or a glare given from the simple flash of his intelligent eyes, clad in a leather jacket that fight almost too right, perfectly slicked back, thick thatches of hair, and a smirk. Throwing punches wasn't anything new for the bad boy and his group of misfits, but this was new.

He was angry in a way they'd never seen Harry angry— it was as if his eyes were dimmed with lava and his silence spoke volumes more than the disdain dripping from his cherry lips, his clenched teeth gritting hard enough to shake the entirety of the campus.

And for what?

A girl, it seemed.

"Fucking bastard," Harry spat onto the offending man's grimy face, his long, calloused fingers coming back bloody. He kicked him away afterwards, huffing at the moans and cries the prick howled. Just about to kick his ribs, Harry growled when Niall Horan pulled him back, keeping a strong grip on his struggling arms.

"It's not worth it. Stop, Styles," Niall warned.

"Let. Me. Go, Niall," he spoke between gritted teeth.

"Y/N will wear whatever she wants wherever she wants, whenever she wants, and if you do so much as think about her I will tear off every muscle in your pathetic little body," Harry hissed at the bloody heap on the floor, his volume gradually increasing into a roar.

Breaking free from the Irish gang member's grip, Harry formed his fingers into a fist before pounding them into the disgusting bastard's body again, hearing every crack fizzle into satisfaction. He kicked at each rib and tore at whatever flesh his hands could grope and pinch. Blood flowed down his face once the man beneath him gained enough consciousness to bust Harry's lips.

He was seeing red, kicking at every inch of the man that had even attempted to hurt his girl. Brief moments where he could hear alarmed screams and shouts of 'Harry, campus security!' from Niall and Zayn were unimportant. He was seeing anger and the need to do her right.

A small cry in the midst of everything shattered the red.

"Harry, stop. Stop," y/n pleaded, her soft, quiet voice breaking with every punch he sent flying.

Fuck, Harry cussed internally. She sounded afraid. She was afraid.

When he looks back at her, she's shaking, tears threatening to spill from her wide, doe eyes and her lips wobbling in that way they do when she's upset. Her fingers are fiddling nervously and her eyes are disappointed and sad.