Punk One Direction One Shots

Harry for Fatma

Maybe it was cliché. Maybe it was dumb. Maybe he didn't stand a chance. But he honestly didn't care. All Harry Styles cared about-aside from his family- was Fatma. He never knew why, but ever since she didn't flinch away to be partners in class, he liked her.

Maybe it was the way she smiled at him. It wasn't a hug smile-it was the kind where her lips turned up ever so slightly. Yet, it reached her eyes. He noticed this. He noticed everything about her. He saw the way she stared after the prep, her eyes silently screaming "See me!"

The douchbag would never see her, but Harry did. He always would. He watched feeling part of him break as she stared at the prep asking out the other prep to prom. The happy couple then kissed, causing Fatma to back away like a wounded animal.Harry reached out, but she passed on. She pushed her way through the hall trying to hold everything in. Just long enough until she got home. Then she could let everything fall.

That day wasn't the worst part. Everyday for the next two weeks couples formed all going to prom. Her friends who where going to stick by her, go as friends caved in at the first offer. Harry saw the forced pain smile she put on.

"You okay?" he asked softly as they were bent over the microscope.

"Yes." she snapped not meaning too. On top of all that had been going on with prom, there was this constant nibbling on her heart when she thought of Harry.Harry knew her sharp response wasn't intentional, and he also knew she'd cave and spill her problems to him. "It's this prom thing." she finally sighed scribbling down what she saw. "It's so stupid, why are they even going to this? I mean honestly, I'd rather have someone take me out to a nice dinner than parading me in front of the school like some toy."

Harry hummed the idea forming.

On Saturday night Harry crossed into Fatma's back yard. His boots were worn, but he put on a decent pair of jeans that didn't have wholes. His tattooed arms were exposed due to his rolled up sleeves. Bending down, he picked up the small stone, turning it over in his hand. The bouquet of flowers hung behind his back, as he tossed the stone at the window. He hoped it was the right one.

Seconds later Fatma popped out. Leaning out her window, her hair hanging in an Elsa like braid. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks slightly red. "Harry?" she sniffled. "What are you doing here?"

He pulled out the roses, popping out a dimply smile. "Taking you out on a nice date, not parading you around like a show dog.

She blinked quickly, and minute later ran out to him. He opened his arms letting the girl fling herself into it. He took her hand, softly leading her into the fielded area that joined his back yard with hers. A rather large hand rested on her waist while another folder in with hers.

"Why?" she asked after a while.

"Why what?" he answered knowing what see wanted.

"Why this?"

Shrugging he tore a finger away from her grip, and traced it across her cheek. " I love you." he murmured. Before pushing his plump lips against hers.

The sensation was odd for the both of them. A good odd. Harry felt a rush of heat pulse though him. Fatma felt an excited tingle, a happiness that she couldn't describe. Then there was the odd cool feeling of metal between her teeth as he nibbled his way in.

So it was cliché: punk dirtbag falls in love with the quiet good girl. It wasn't dumb. But it was good, yes very good.