Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

One Shot: Sweat **

Request by: @madxxstyles

18+ only

TW: smut, personal trainerry, dirty talk, bit of public sex, car sex, praising, unprotected sex, creampie (use condoms, guys. This is fictionnnnn!)

Word Count: 5,900

Your gaze sweeps anxiously around the gym, truthfully hating going here because you feel like you're constantly being harshly scrutinized. It's probably a common feeling most people have when they first start going to a new gym, but the apprehension about being here already has you sweating before you've even lifted a weight.

There's a short wall of dumbbells against a long, vast mirror where you stare at your forlorn, shaking figure that looks even more pathetic than you feel. Your hands rest on your hips as you continue watching all of the different people on the machines, wondering how they make it look so effortless.

Most of the women in here are in much better shape than you, and it makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs in frustration. You've always thoroughly loathed yourself, but now that you're comparing yourself to these beautiful women, it's worse.

It takes you a few minutes to finally move to one of the machines, pulling on the handles and grunting as the weights don't budge. It's like they're mocking you by just sitting there stiffly. A sharp, frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you mentally bombard yourself with insults. You try to be better about it, and you do your best to not beat yourself up, but it's your worst habit that you've been desperate (and mostly unsuccessful) to break.

You adjust the weight lower, pulling down and struggling a bit, but managing to lift the rectangular, stackable weights from their solid home. You find the stiff seat beneath you and plop, pulling down on the handles that are attached to a cable repeatedly until your biceps feel shaky.

Through all the negative thoughts, you're proud of yourself for coming and getting a membership. It'll take a lot of dedication to come often, but you feel determined in this moment to better yourself. You want to be stronger, leaner, and just happy in your skin. Yoga alone won't cut it anymore.

Before moving to the next machine, you wipe this one down, giving a small smile to a woman whose eyes briefly meet yours. She grins back vastly, easing that anxiety of being judged by just a smidge.

The next metal contraption has a name on one of the support beams, saying 'Lateral Pull Down'. You wish to god you did some research as to what the fuck these exercises mean, because you don't know where to begin. Your hands reach up and grab the long bar, forcing it to you but struggling, and ultimately ending in the weights slamming loudly against the others.

Of course your head whips around to check if anyone is wondering why you're such an idiot, but not a single set of eyes lingers in your direction. Everyone is in their own zone, playing music into their ears. You inwardly kick yourself for not bringing headphones, being so apprehensive about coming that you brought absolutely nothing with; not even a bottle of water.

You move the stopper into a lighter amount of weight, sitting down once again and pulling the bar down in front of you. You're not sure what a lateral is, or if you're even doing the exercise correctly. Is it just the name of the exercise, or is it a muscle? It could be the type of machine, for all you know.

"I'm sorry," a voice cuts in to your burdening thoughts, making you gasp and let go of the weights.

Turning, you see an incredibly gorgeous, fit, sweaty man beside you with tattoos all over his left arm. You swallow hard, gazing up at him with vast eyes and a racing heart. His brown curly hair has been tamed up out of his face with a simple clip on the top of his head, and you can't help but to find it entirely adorable.