Hiii lovey!!! I havenât written anything dad Harry related in ages so I hope you enjoy this, itâs just a bit of random fluff! đ
A/N: Donât ask where the names came from Iâm the worst with names, but hereâs Harry enjoying nap time in the Styles houseâ¨
Harry smiles as he watches his son Bowieâs little hands reach for the chain around his neck that holds his cross pendant, the newest fascination for the nine month old who quickly tries to bring the object to his mouth but before he can succeed Harry gently takes it from between his fingers and tucks it back under his shirt. He tries not to chuckle at the immediate pout that takes over his sonâs face as he brings one of his hands up and begins to rub his back while his other hand reaches over on the bed for one of his favorite books. A sound of excitement erupts from the little boy once he sees the book in his dadâs hand making Harry laugh as he sits up a bit to get more comfortable with his son in his lap.
âIs this your favorite?â He asks making the boy just let out a string of babbles in response. âOh really? Youâve read it that many times? Iâm impressed.â He says with a smile before he leans down and places a kiss to his cheek. âWhat do you say to us reading it now? Would you like that?â He asks with a raised brow and his little boy just does what Harry can only describe as a nod a few times before he rests his head on Harryâs chest getting comfortable. He smiles when he looks down just as Bowie lets out a soft yawn while Harry begins to once again rub his back to help him relax even more.
âOkay letâs see what mischief this Cat in the Hat gets up to shall we?â Harry knows his little boy will be asleep by the end of the book by the way he lets out another little yawn before heâs even started on the second page. But he still reads the whole thing, rubbing his back while he reads and when heâs done he gently puts the book down on the nightstand by the bed. Before he can help himself he leans down and places a kiss to the top of his sonâs head after he brushes some of his hair out of his face and takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of having his little boy peacefully sleeping on him.
Nap time is often the only time Harry gets to sit and take in the rare moments of quiet calmness in the normally hectic and loud household that is the Styles home. Bowie being the newest addition bringing the number to an even six that includes three amazing little girls, himself and you, his wonderful wife who he honestly doesnât know what he would do without. Harry knows this is it for the two of you, that the little boy sleeping soundly on his chest with a steady stream of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth is the last one heâll get to experience moments like this with so he just closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh of content because he honestly canât imagine wanting to be anywhere else in this very moment.
âWho do you think fell asleep first?â You whisper to your oldest daughter Lilian an hour or so later as you the two of you try to be as quiet as possible while entering your bedroom and walking towards your master bathroom.
âDaddy.â She quickly replies without much hesitation making you laugh as you grab your hairbrush and the hair ties you need to do her hair for her dance recital later that evening. When you hand her the brush and hair ties she smiles at you before turning around and heading for your bedroom door. âThanks mom.â Is all you hear before she closes the door and you wince at how loud the noise is, you pause your movements waiting to hear if Bowie or Harry make any noise from the bedroom.
âBaby?â You poke your head into the bedroom at the sound of Harryâs sleep filled voice calling for you. When his eyes find yours a sleepy grin takes over his face as you fully walk into the bedroom. âSânap time why are you being all loud?â He teases as you come and sit on your side of the bed.
âSorry that was your daughter.â You answer as you get comfortable and place an arm over Harryâs shoulders letting him rest his head on you as you look down at Bowie whoâs still peacefully sleeping on his chest.
âAh well I have a few of those love so youâre going to have to be a bit more specific.â
âLily needed her hair stuff for the recital tonight.â You explain as you begin to run your hand through Harryâs hair making him let out a hum of approval at the feeling of your nails lightly scratching at his scalp. âYou enjoy your daddy son time while I went shopping with the girls?â You ask as you lean down and place a kiss to the side of his head.
âI did yeah. We had a great time.â You smile as you watch Bowie stir a bit at the sound of Harryâs voice. âHeâs quite cute isnât he? I hear he looks like his dad.â
âReally? Thatâs odd he doesnât have blue eyesâŚâ
âDonât even start with the Niall jokes baby you know-â
âHarry that little boy is your twin. All I did was birth him and be his home for nine months.â Harry just chuckles as he shakes his head while looking at Bowie who he knows looks exactly like he did when he was a baby, while the little girls who Harry can only assume are off somewhere in the house are just different versions of you with the green eyes on Lilian, the soft curls on Hailey and the dimpled grin on Jamie being the only traits of his seen on three of them.
âWe made cute kids.â You smile and nod your head in agreement as Harry looks away from the sleeping baby on his chest and over to you with a grin. âI love you.â He whispers as he leans over and places a kiss to your lips.
âI love you too.â You mumble between little kisses to his lips before pulling away. âEnjoy the rest of nap time.â You say before placing a kiss to his forehead and slowly getting off the bed without disturbing Bowie. âIâm going to go make the girls a little something to eat and make Bowie his snack so heâs not super cranky when he wakes up and Iâll prep dinner so we arenât rushing before we have to go to Lilyâs recital-oh donât forget to charge the video camera and she requested no signs this time she didnât like the extra attention she got last time but did you get her flowers? If not we need to grab some.â Harry just smiles as you ramble off the list of things youâre going to do and the few tasks for him to do because while his life is busy itâs also little moments like this, a baby asleep on his chest while his wife tells him whatâs going to happen for the rest of the day and honestly he wouldnât trade it for the world.
Sarah I just really would love some Harry fluff of any kind Iâm not picky Iâm just needyđŠ
Hiii babes!!! Ask and you shall receive! Itâs holiday themed fluff if thatâs okay? This is honestly just the first thing that popped into my mind so I hope you like this short little blurb!đ
Summary: You and Harry have some last minute gifts to wrapâ¨
âDid you wrap this gift in the dark?â Harry lets out a huff as he looks up from his current position on the floor of the master bedroom near his side of the bed where heâs surrounded by things still needing to be wrapped as well as a small pile of things heâs done wrapping or placing in gift bags. When he looks up he finds you sitting on the floor near your side of the bed holding something he wrapped last night in a hurry, needing to get it done before you got home. âWhy is there so much tape? And is that a-â
âI beg your pardon? Thatâs a perfect wrapping job considering who the gift is for.â He says in his own defense making you raise a brow as you look at the tag on the poorly wrapped box. He nervously chews on his bottom lip as he waits for your reaction once he sees your eyes scan the name on the tag.
âHarry we said no more gifts for her.â You say with a sigh as you look at the pile of wrapped presents that are along the wall your bedroom door is on. âSheâs going to need a second playroom for all this stuff.â Harry follows your gaze and smiles at the thought of your little girlâs face as she opens all her gifts.
âThatâs the last thing.â He promises with a smile making you roll your eyes because you heard him say the same thing just last week and yet here you are with another gift in your hands for the two year old little girl whoâs currently asleep down the hall. âBesides half of those are clothes so theyâll just go in her closet.â He justifies with a shrug before reaching over to the pile of unwrapped gifts so he can grab one, gently placing it on top of the red and white polka dotted wrapping paper heâs using at the moment.
âAre you wrapping your own gift?â You ask as you slide Harryâs sadly wrapped box towards the wall so it can join the others that are ready to be placed under the tree in the living room.
âMy own-oh is this for me?â He holds up the mug thatâs in the middle of his wrapping paper and turns it around so he can read what it says but before he can actually get a good look he feels something hit his forehead and land in his lap. âDid you just throw a bow at me?â
âYou were about to look at your gift what else was I supposed to do from all the way over here?â Harry lets out a laugh as he picks the bow up and tosses it back over to your side of the room making you giggle when he misses you completely and it lands a good foot away from you. âBe a good husband and bring it to me please? So I can wrap it for you.â You poke out your bottom lip in a playful pout as you look at him from across the room.
Harry looks at you as you wiggle around on the floor with your pillow so you can put it behind your back once you get close enough to the footboard of the bed so you can lean against it. You let out a deep sigh of relief and he canât help the grin that takes over when he sees you place a hand on your fully formed bump, having hit the âdue any dayâ mark a few days ago he knows getting comfortable is often times a struggle. He gets up after grabbing the mug, making sure he doesnât look at what it says and after a few careful steps heâs standing next to you.
âThe pout wasnât necessary love.â He teases as you reach up and grab the mug from his hands and place it in the gift bag thatâs between your spread legs. You smile when you look up and see heâs still looking down at you, he places a hand on top of the bed so he can lean down and place a quick kiss to your lips. âI love you.â He mumbles against your lips before giving them one last peck.
âI love you too.â He smiles as he stands up and turns to go back to his designated wrapping spot. âBut if you get her one more gift Iâm telling your mom how you really felt about her fruitcake.â You threaten making Harry chuckle as he shakes his head at your choice of a threat.
âFine fine no more gifts for her.â You narrow your eyes as he sits down and grabs a pack of customized golf balls to wrap for Niall. He can feel your eyes on him as the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights off a smirk. âBut I may have a few more things for him in this pile.â He explains as he tosses a quick look over his shoulder to the pile of gifts he has left in need of wrapping, his eyes landing on a little pair of sneakers he got that might or might not match a pair he has in his own closet.
âYou think heâll show up in time for Christmas? Or will he wait for New Yearâs Eve?â You ask as you rub your stomach with one hand and place some tissue paper into the bag with Harryâs mug in it, smiling when you remember that it says âDaddy is a state of mindâ in bright pink font, having been obsessed with that quote ever since you heard Pedro Pascal say it during an interview and figuring it fit Harryâs personality perfectly.
âOh heâs going to make quite the entrance so Iâm betting on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.â He answers as he begins to wrap Niallâs gift with some green and white paper.
âHeâs going to make an entrance huh? Wonder who he gets that from.â You joke making Harry shoot you a playful glare before both of you go back to wrapping gifts, trying to finish most of it so the next few days you can relax and enjoy the holiday festivities as well as the final days of the Styles household being a little family of three before your son decides to make his arrival.
Hiii babes!! Ohhhh I love thinking of Harry and Niall being besties so therefore any kids they have will also be friends! So I hope you enjoy this little blurb!!đ
-want in on ask night? Look hereâ¨
*I went with you just being their bestie! Hope thatâs okay also the names of their kids are very random*
Summary: You join your two bestfriends for a day at the park with their kidsâ¨
âYou want me to put my daughter who canât even crawl yet on the slide? Yeah-not happening Horan.â You stare at Harry who has both hands on his hips, sunglasses in his hair keeping it out of his face, his daughter Grace securely strapped to his chest but most importantly he has a hard glare aimed right at the blue eyed brunette standing next to you.
âHarry itâs a slide what could possibly happen to her while on the slide?â
âShe canât sit up properly so how do you want her to even go down the slide?â
âSheâs strapped to your bloody chest Harry! So just go down the damn-â
âNiall James!â You shout his name at the same time you reach over and give the back of his head a nice smack making Harry chuckle while Niall lets out a groan as he turns to look at you.
âWhat was that for?â Harry rolls his eyes at Niallâs question as he reaches up to slide his sunglasses down over his face.
âWatch your mouth we are at a public park with children around you canât say things like that.â
âMâsorry but heâs drivin me mental with the helicopter dad routine.â Niall points towards Harry while his attention is still on you. Harry lets out a scoff as he reaches a hand down and gently adjusts the little hat thatâs snug on her head keeping her ears warm.
âIâm not a helicopter dad.â You run a hand over your face as Niall turns to give Harry all his attention so they can start the all too familiar argument about if Harry is too protective of his daughter or if Niall isnât protective enough with his little girl. âI just make sure sheâs safe and cozy at all times thatâs all.â
âHarry her feet havenât touched the ground since she was born and that was four months ago.â
âThat isnât true she sits on the floor for tummy time and on her play mat with the fishes she likes to stare at before bed and besides didnât Angelina trip over a rock the other day and needed not one but two Elsa bandaids for the cut on her knee?â
âYeah sheâs three. She trips. Sâwhat kids do.â As if on queue Niallâs daughter runs over from where she was playing on the jungle gym and tugs on Harryâs pants.
âHello love.â Harryâs voice has zero hints of annoyance or defensiveness like it did just a moment ago as he looks down at the blue eyed little girl who is smiling up at him with pigtails and a dimple popping out of her cheek.
âCân she play yet?â Angelina asks in her usual soft sweet tone that normally will get her whatever she wants. Harry looks away from the little girl and down at Grace who started wiggling her fingers and kicking her legs as soon as she heard Angelinaâs voice.
âMaybe we can see how she feels about the swing? Would you like to do that?â Angelina just nods quickly before turning around and running off towards the swing set making Harry laugh and Niall turn his focus on watching her to make sure she doesnât trip over anyone or anything on the way.
Before Harry can take a step in the direction of the swings you walk the short distance over to him and place a hand on his arm. Niall already knows whatâs about to happen so he heads off towards the swings so he can help Angelina get comfortable on one and help push her for a bit.
âLet me take her.â Harry doesnât try to argue with you or tell you no, he just smiles and begins unbuckling her from the carrier so he can hand her to you. âHello my love how are you? Has your daddy been hogging you all day? I think he has and thatâs just rude of him isnât it?â You coo making her giggle while Harry watches with an amused smile on his face as his bestfriend walks off with his little girl towards the swing.
You're sitting cross-legged on Harry's massive bed, surrounded by printouts of campgrounds and equipment lists. The juxtaposition is almost comical. You with your bright enthusiasm against the stark luxury of his penthouse bedroom with its minimalist design and security features. Harry is standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed over his chest. The city lights spread out beneath him, a kingdom he controls from the shadows.
"No," he says flatly, the single syllable carrying the weight of a man unused to repeating himself.
You clutch a brochure for Pine Ridge Campground, undeterred by his refusal. "Harry, pleaaaaseee. It'll be fun! Just two nights. Fresh air, stars, campfire..."
"Y/N," he cuts you off, your name a warning on his lips. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble.
"Harry," you counter, matching his tone with mock seriousness. You hold up a photo of a picturesque lake surrounded by pine trees. "Look at this! It's beautiful and only three hours away."
He moves from the window, approaching the bed in a way that makes your heart skip despite your determination to stand your ground. His eyes flick over the campground materials with thinly veiled disdain.
"You want me to sleep on the ground," he states, voice dangerously low, "in the middle of nowhere, with no security, no connectivity, and no control over who might wander by."
You open your mouth to argue, but he continues.
"You want me to go 'camping.'" He says the word like it's a particularly distasteful form of torture.
"Yes!" You beam up at him, deliberately ignoring the dangerous edge in his voice. "That's exactly what I want. Just you and me, away from..." you gesture vaguely around the room "...all this."
Though Harryâs face remains a mask of indifference, a brief glint of vulnerability touches his eyes before being swiftly replaced by a look of sheer annoyance. "All this," he repeats slowly, "is what keeps you safe. Keeps us both safe."
He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell his expensive cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "Angel, do you have any idea how many people would pay good money to know my location for even an hour? How many would see you alone with me and isolated as the perfect leverage?"
His hand reaches out, fingers grazing your cheek in a touch that's tender but possessive at the same time. "The answer is no," he says, his voice softening just slightly. "But I'll make you a deal."
At that, you perk up, sensing a potential compromise.
"Me. You. Private island in Caribbean. All the nature you could want, but with security I trust and a proper bed." His thumb traces your lower lip. "Take it or leave it, angel.â
You sigh, âthatâs not the same and you know itâ you pout. âHow about somewhere you own? Iâm sure you own a piece of wood somewhere. You own likeâŚeverythingâ
Harry watches your pout with that intense focus, like he's cataloging every detail of your disappointment. His expression remains impassive, but there's a slight softening around his eyes that only you would recognize. "A piece of wood," he repeats, amusement barely detectable in his voice. "Yes, angel, I own several 'pieces of wood.' Buildings, docks, warehousesâ" he stops himself, clearly deciding those details aren't meant for your ears.
He leans forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentleness, his rings cold against your skin. "What is it about sleeping on the ground surrounded by insects that appeals to you so much?" His question isn't mocking, but genuinely curious, as if trying to understand an alien concept.
You maintain your pout, knowing it's one of the few weapons in your arsenal that occasionally works on him. Harry lets out a sigh. It was a subtle admission that he is actually weighing your request. He picks up one of your brochures and examines it with thinly veiled disdain.
"I could buy this entire campground," he says matter-of-factly. "Close it to the public for a weekend. Bring in my security team and sweep for threats." His eyes meet yours. "Would that satisfy your sudden urge to commune with nature?"
It's not exactly the authentic camping experience you wanted. It seems to be morphing into another display of Harry's wealth and control but it's more of a compromise than you expected. "You'd still have to sleep in a tent," you press, testing how far this concession extends.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitches with not quite a smile, but it was close. "Don't push your luck, Angel." He drops the brochure and reaches for you instead, strong hands effortlessly pulling you into his lap. His voice drops to that dangerous velvety register that makes your stomach flip.
"I'll sleep wherever you are," he says against your ear. "But I draw the line at mosquitoes and public toilets."
The SUV pulls up to Pine Ridge Campground, or what was Pine Ridge Campground before Harry bought exclusive access for the weekend. The autumn afternoon sun filters through the trees, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. You're practically bouncing in your seat as the vehicle comes to a stop, pressing your face against the window to take in the scenery. Harry, by contrast, looks like he's being driven to his own execution.
He sits beside you in his designer outdoor wear that's never seen actual wilderness. His jaw is set, his expression thunderous as he surveys the forest through narrowed eyes like it might attack at any moment.
"This is it!" you exclaim, turning to him with unrestrained excitement. "Look how beautiful it is!"
Harry's scowl deepens. "It is just trees," he states flatly. "And dirt."
Steve opens the door from outside, his expression carefully neutral though you catch the slight twitch of his lips, clearly amused by his boss's predicament. Behind your vehicle, two more SUVs have pulled up, discreetly positioned but obviously filled with Harry's security team.
You climb out, inhaling the smell of pine and earth. It was such a contrast from the city. Harry follows with considerably less enthusiasm, his boots hitting the ground in a way that suggests he's already regretting every decision that led to this moment.
"Mr. Styles," Steve says, gesturing toward a clearing about fifty yards away. "We've secured the perimeter. The nearest occupied site is two miles out. Cell signal is weak but we have satellite phones. Theâ"
"Where's the tent?" Harry interrupts, his tone suggesting he hopes the answer is 'we forgot it.'
Steve points to a large bag near the picnic table. "Right there, sir. Along with the other supplies Miss Y/N requested."
As you head toward the site, you take it all in: the rustic fire pit, the wooden picnic table, and the stunning lake shimmering through the tree line. Harry follows several paces behind, moving like a man walking to the gallows.
"This is perfect," you say, spinning around to face him with a grin. "Absolutely perfect."
Harry stops beside the picnic table, arms crossed over his chest. You can see him surveying the area with the same intensity he'd use to scope out a business acquisitionâŚor even a crime scene.
"There's no bathroom," he observes.
"There's an outhouse," you counter cheerfully, pointing toward a small wooden structure barely visible through the trees.
The look Harry gives you could freeze hell itself. "An outhouse," he repeats slowly. "You want me to use an outhouse."
"It's part of the experience!"
"The experience," Harry says, his voice dangerously quiet, "is going to end with me buying this entire forest and burning it down."
Despite his words, he hasn't moved to leave. He's still standing there, scowling at the wilderness like it's personally offended him, but he's staying. His jaw clenches as he watches his security team efficiently assembling what looks less like a camping tent and more like a luxury suite that happens to be made of canvas. Steve is already hammering stakes into the ground while another team member unrolls sleeping bags.Â
You step forward, hands on your hips. "Wait, stop," you say, causing the entire team to freeze mid-task. They look uncertainly between you and Harry, clearly unsure whose authority supersedes whose in this unprecedented situation.
"Shouldn't we be building our own tent?" you ask, turning to Harry with an expression of innocent determination. "It's part of the experience."
The look Harry gives you could wilt flowers. "Build our own tent," he repeats, each word carefully enunciated as if speaking to someone who's lost their mind. "You want me to manually construct shelter."
"Yes, Harry," you insist, your tone brooking no argument. "That's what camping actually is. You do things yourself. Build the tent, gather firewood, cook over an open fireâ"
"I agreed to sleep outside," Harry interrupts, his voice dropping to that low, controlled tone that is usually followed by someone having a very bad day. "I did not agree to become a fucking Boy Scout."
Steve, still holding the tent stakes, makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh. Harry's eyes cut to him with lethal precision.
"Something funny, Steve?"
"No sir," Steve responds immediately, though his shoulders are shaking slightly.
You step closer to Harry, refusing to back down despite the warning signs in his expression. "Come on. When's the last time you actually built something with your own hands?"
You see a flash of what might be offense at the implication he can't do this. "Fine," he says abruptly, turning to his team. "Everyone out. Maintain a five-hundred-meter perimeter. Radio check every thirty minutes."
The security team exchanges glances, clearly uncertain about leaving their boss alone to face the apparently insurmountable challenge of tent assembly.
"Now," Harry adds, the single word carrying enough authority that they immediately begin packing up and retreating toward the vehicles.
Once they're gone, Harry turns to the pile of camping equipment with an expression usually reserved for rival mob bosses who've crossed him. He picks up the instruction manual, flipping it open. "This was written by someone who failed basic English," he mutters, squinting at the diagrams.
You bite back a smile. "It's pretty straightforward. You just connect the poles andâ"
"I can read," Harry snaps, though he's holding the manual upside down.
Twenty minutes later and the situation has deteriorated spectacularly. Harry stands in the middle of what can only be described as a textile nightmare. The tent poles are assembled but somehow form a shape that defies both geometry and common sense. The canvas is half-draped over this structure, one corner staked firmly into the ground while the rest billows in the breeze like a dejected flag. And Harry himself has somehow gotten tangled in the guy lines, one cord wrapped around his wrist while another has caught on his belt.
His hair, usually styled with careful precision, falls across his forehead in disarray. There's actual dirt on his designer outdoor wear, and a leaf has somehow lodged itself in his collar.
"This is fucking ridiculous," he announces, trying to free his wrist without making the entire structure collapse further. "This is designed to fail. It's a conspiracy against people with working brain cells."
You're sitting on the picnic table, tears streaming down your face from laughter, your phone out and recording every moment of Harry Styles' descent into camping chaos.
"Are youâ" you can barely speak through your giggles, "are you losing a fight to a tent?"
Harry's eyes cut to you, dark and dangerous despite his compromised position.
"Delete that video."
"Absolutely not," you manage between laughs. "This is going in my personal collection of 'Harry Doing Normal People Things.'"
"Y/N," he warns, finally extracting himself from the guy line only to have another section of tent collapse entirely. "I swear to godâ"
But his threat is interrupted by the tent pole he's holding suddenly disconnecting, the elastic cord snapping it back and nearly taking out his eye. He drops it with a string of profanity so creative it would make his criminal associates blush.
"The person who designed this should be shot," he declares, glaring at the tent components like they've personally betrayed him. "Slowly. After being forced to assemble one hundred of these fucking things."
You hop down from the table, still grinning, and approach the disaster zone. "Okay, okay," you say, trying to compose yourself. "Let me help before you declare war on the entire camping industry."
Harry runs a hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "I've orchestrated complex operations across three continents," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "I've negotiated deals worth millions. I've outmaneuvered federal investigations. And I'm being defeated by canvas and aluminum poles."
"It's kind of humbling, isn't it?" you tease, picking up the instruction manual he'd thrown aside in frustration.
Harry's expression suggests he finds nothing humble about this experience.
Forty-five minutes and considerable joint effort later, something resembling a functional tent stands before you. It's not pretty. One side sags slightly, and you're both fairly certain the rain fly is on backwards but it's standing, and it looks like it might actually provide shelter.
Harry stands back, hands on his hips, surveying the structure. "That's not going to collapse on us in the middle of the night, is it?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice.
"Not if you secured the stakes properly."
His eyes narrow at you. "Are you doubting my ability to secure things?"
There's an edge of wounded pride from a man who's built his entire life on being competent, controlled, and unshakeable. The idea that he might fail at something, even something as trivial as tent assembly, clearly bothers him more than he'd like to admit.
You step closer, reaching up to pluck the leaf from his collar. "I think you did great," you say, only partially mocking. "For someone who's never done this before."
Harry catches your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, his eyes searching yours. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"I really am," you agree cheerfully. "Next, we gather firewood."
The look of pure horror that crosses Harry's face makes you burst into laughter all over again. "You're joking," he says flatly, though he knows you well enough to recognize you're entirely serious.
When you continue walking toward the tree line, he curses under his breath before following, long strides quickly catching up to you. "Let me get this straight," he says, falling into step beside you, voice dangerously low. "We finally get the fucking tent up, and instead of breaking it in properly, you want to collect sticks."
The way he says it makes "collecting sticks" sound like the most absurd activity imaginable. You reach out, taking his hand and tugging him deeper into the woods. "It's part of the experience, Harry. We need a fire to cook dinner, to stay warm, to roast marshmallows..."
"I could have my men bring in a chef," he mutters, but he doesn't pull away, allowing himself to be led further into the forest. "Or better yet, a portable heater. Hell, a generator and microwave would be more efficient than playing caveman."
Despite his complaints, you notice how his eyes constantly scan the surroundings and not just for threats, as is his habit, but also assessing potential firewood. Even in his reluctance, he can't help but approach the task with tactical precision.
"Look for dry wood," you instruct, bending to pick up a fallen branch. "Nothing green or rotting."
Harry watches you for a moment, then sighs heavily before reaching down to grab a thick branch nearby. He examines it with the same critical eye he might use to evaluate a weapon. "I've burned buildings to the ground," he remarks casually, testing the dryness of the wood. "Never thought I'd be collecting kindling by hand."
You bite back a laugh at his comment, choosing not to ask for clarification on the building-burning statement. With Harry, plausible deniability is sometimes the wisest choice.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," you say cheerfully, gathering several more branches and tucking them under your arm. "Even for the infamous Harry Styles."
Harry moves through the forest with efficiency now that he's committed to the task, his natural competitiveness kicking in. He's not content to just collect wood. No, he needs to collect the best wood, the most wood, and prove that even at this he can excel.
"This is absurd," he mutters, but his arms are already full of carefully selected branches. "I have people who could do this."
"But then you'd miss out on the satisfaction of doing it yourself."
He gives you a look that clearly says he'd happily trade that satisfaction for his penthouse and a proper meal.
You venture a bit deeper into the woods, the late afternoon sun filtering through the canopy in golden shafts. It's peaceful in a way the city never is. No sirens, no traffic, no constant undercurrent of danger that seems to follow Harry everywhere.
He's quieter now, and when you glance back, you find him watching you with an unreadable expression. Not the scowl from earlier, but something softer, though he'd probably deny it if asked.
"What?" you ask, pausing in your wood gathering.
Harry shifts his armload of branches, jaw working like he's considering his words carefully. Heâs always calculating, even in moments like this. "You're happy," he states simply. "Out here. With sticks and dirt and no running water."
It's not quite a question, but there's genuine curiosity mixed with perhaps a hint of incomprehension underneath it. Harry's world is one of luxury and excess, where problems are solved with money or force. The idea that happiness could be found in simplicity seems foreign to him.
"I am," you confirm, walking back to him. "Aren't you having even a little bit of fun?"
"I'm standing in a forest collecting firewood," he deadpans. "My definition of fun typically involves significantly less manual labor and considerably moreâ" his eyes travel down your body with clear intent "âindoor activities."
You roll your eyes, but can't suppress your smile. As you follow him through the trees, arms full of firewood, you can't help but notice that despite all his complaining, Harry hasn't once suggested actually leaving. He's here, doing this ridiculous thing that's so far outside his comfort zone it might as well be on another planet. For you.
Back at the campsite, Harry dumps his collection of wood near the fire pit with more force than strictly necessary, brushing dirt off his hands with distaste.
"Now what?" he asks, eyeing the fire pit like it might attack him.
âNow,â You turn to him, âgo find two rocks so you can start the fireâ
Harry stares at you, the pile of wood now neatly stacked between you, his expression shifting from disbelief to something approaching outrage.
"Two rocks," he repeats, voice dangerously quiet. "You want me to start a fire by hitting rocks together." He stands perfectly still, the muscles in his jaw working as he processes this latest request. The afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, highlighting the tension in his shoulders and the absolute incredulity in his green eyes.
"Y/N," he says with forced patience, "I have a lighter in my pocket. I have matches in the supply kit. Hell, I'm fairly certain Zayn packed a fucking flamethrower somewhere in that security gear."
He takes a step toward you, closing the distance with that predatory grace that always makes your heart beat faster. "But you want meâ" he gestures to himself, the dangerous mob boss currently stranded in the wilderness at your whim, "âto rub stones together like we're in the Stone Age."
His hand reaches out, fingers gently but firmly gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. There's frustration there, but also that spark of challenge he can never resist.
"You're testing my limits," he murmurs, thumb tracing your lower lip in that possessive gesture you've come to associate with him. "Pushing to see how far I'll go to please you." He releases your chin, reaching into his pocket to pull out an expensive silver lighter, engraved with his initials.
"Compromise," he says, holding it up between you. "I'll build your fire. I'll cook whatever wilderness meal you've planned. I'll even toast those marshmallows you mentioned."
He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "But I draw the line at rubbing rocks together when I have perfectly good fire at my fingertips. And in return for my cooperation, you'll make tonight in that tent worth all this...nature.â
You smile innocently, suddenly turning your head and kissing him. That effectively distracts him for a moment. Distracts, him enough for you to take the lighter from his hand, turn around, and throw it as far as you can into the trees. âI already compromised when I let you clear the areaâ you whisper against his lips, ânow chop chopâ you say, patting his shoulder and pulling back. âItâs getting darkâ
For a long, dangerous moment, Harry doesn't move. He stands perfectly still, his eyes tracking the arc of his lighter as it disappears into the underbrush somewhere in the distance. The only sign of his reaction is the slight tick in his jaw and the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
When his gaze returns to you, there's something dark and promising in his expressionânot anger exactly, but the look of a man who's just been issued a challenge he fully intends to collect on later.
"You just threw my lighter," he says slowly, each word measured and deliberate, "into the woods."
You maintain your innocent smile, though your heart is racing. You've just crossed a line with Harry and you both know it.
"I did," you confirm cheerfully, taking a step back. "And like I said, it's getting dark. Better get started on those rocks."
Harry's tongue runs along the inside of his cheek. A gesture you've learned means he's calculating exactly how he's going to make you pay for this later. But then, unexpectedly, he laughs. It's a low, rough sound that sends shivers down your spine.
"You're going to regret that, angel," he promises, voice like velvet over steel. "Tonight, when we're in that tent, you're going to remember this moment."
He turns away, scanning the ground with the same intensity he brings to everything, now focused entirely on proving he can do this ridiculous task. Because Harry can't stand to lose, even at something as mundane as primitive fire-starting.
He crouches down, selecting two rocks with surprising care, testing their weight and texture. His expensive clothes are now rumpled and dirty, his hair a mess, and there's a smudge of dirt across his sharp cheekbone.
"I want it on record," he says, striking the rocks together experimentally, "that I've killed men for less than what you just did."
The rocks produce exactly nothing. No spark and no friction, just the dull sound of stone hitting stone.
"These are the wrong kind," he mutters, tossing them aside and searching for others. "Need something with iron content. Flint, ideally."
You watch in amazement as he actually seems to know what he's doing, his criminal mind apparently having absorbed random survival information at some point.
"How do you even know that?"
Harry doesn't look up from his search, selecting two new stones with dark striations running through them. "I know a lot of things, Angel. Like how to dispose of bodies in remote locations. Wilderness survival occasionally overlaps with that particular skill set."
He says it so casually, as if discussing the weather rather than murder, and you decide, again, not to ask for details. For the next twenty minutes, Harry works with single-minded determination, striking stones together over a small pile of dry grass and kindling you've prepared. His movements become more controlled and precise, as he figures out the angle and force required.
"Fucking hell," he growls when the first few sparks appear but fail to catch. "This is medieval."
"You're almost there," you encourage, crouching beside him.
Harry shoots you a look that promises retribution, but continues striking the rocks. More sparks fly, landing in the tinder. He leans closer, blowing gently on the smoking grass with surprising patience.
"If this doesn't work," he says quietly, his breath coaxing the ember to life, "I'm calling Zayn, having him retrieve my lighter, and then I'm going to tie you to that picnic table andâ"
A small flame suddenly flares to life, cutting off his threat. Harry stares at it for a moment, something like triumph crossing his features. He carefully feeds it with smaller twigs, building it up with the focused attention he usually reserves for business deals.
"There," he announces, sitting back on his heels as the fire grows. "Fire made with rocks like a fucking caveman."
Despite his complaints, there's satisfaction in his voice. He's conquered this task and added it to his list of things he can do. He stands, brushing off his hands, and turns to you with that dangerous smile you know all too well.
"Now," he says, advancing on you with clear intent, "about that lighter..."
You back up instinctively, but he's faster, catching you around the waist and pulling you against him. His lips find your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"You're lucky I love you," he murmurs against your pulse point, the words so quiet you almost miss them "Otherwise, angel, you'd be in serious trouble." His hands slide lower, gripping possessively. "Actually," he amends, his voice dropping to that dark register that makes your knees weak, "you're still in serious trouble. I'm just going to enjoy delivering the consequences."
The lake is calm in the early evening light, the surface reflecting the orange and pink sky like glass. You're sitting on the wooden dock with your legs dangling over the edge and a borrowed fishing rod in your hands. Harry sits beside you with his own rod though his expression suggests he's still processing the fact that he's actually doing this.
"This is boring," he announces after five minutes of silence.
"It's peaceful," you correct, bumping your shoulder against his.
"Boring and peaceful aren't mutually exclusive," Harry mutters, but he doesn't move to leave. His eyes scan the water's surface, looking for any sign of fish with the same intensity he'd use to read a contract.
Fifteen minutes later, your line tugs sharply. "Harry! I got something!"
He's immediately alert, setting his own rod aside and moving behind you, his hands covering yours on the reel.
"Don't pull too hard," he instructs, his voice low near your ear. "Let it tire itself out first. Feel the tension."
His hands guide yours, and together you reel in a decent-sized bass. When it breaks the surface, you squeal with excitement, and Harry actually smirks a real, genuine expression of satisfaction.
"Not bad, angel," he says, helping you land the fish. "Though I could have shot it. Would've been faster."
"That's notâthat defeats the entire purposeâ"
"I'm aware," he interrupts, that smirk still playing on his lips. "I'm fucking with you."
Back at the campsite, Harry handles the fish, cleaning it with a knife he produced from somewhere on his person. You probably don't want to know why he carries that particular blade or what it's been used for before.
"Where did you learn to do that?" you ask, watching him work.
"You pick things up," he says vaguely, which is Harry-speak for 'don't ask questions you don't want answered.'
The fish cooks over the fire on a makeshift grill, seasoned with supplies from the kit. The smell is incredibly smoky and savory. Harry tends it carefully, turning it at precise intervals, his perfectionism extending even to campfire cooking.
"I can't believe this," you say, accepting the plate he hands you. "Harry Styles, cooking fish over an open fire."
"Take a picture," he deadpans. "It's never happening again."
But he's relaxed in a way you rarely see. The rigid tension in his shoulders has eased, and when he sits beside you on the log, his thigh presses against yours in comfortable contact
You eat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling between you and the woods. The sun has fully set now, stars beginning to emerge in the darkening sky.
"Okay," you admit, "this is actually really good."
"Don't sound so surprised," Harry says, though there's satisfaction in his voice. "I'm good at everything I do."
"Except building tents."
His eyes cut to you with mock severity. "We don't speak of the that"
After dinner, Harry produces the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate from the supplies "Alright," he says, spearing a marshmallow on a stick with more aggression than necessary. "Show me how this works."
You demonstrate, holding your marshmallow at the perfect distance from the flames, rotating it slowly until it's golden brown. Harry watches intently, then attempts his own.
His first marshmallow catches fire immediately. "Shit," he curses, pulling it back and blowing it out. The marshmallow is completely black, smoking sadly on the end of the stick.
"You have to keep it away from the actual flames," you explain, trying not to laugh.
"I can see that now," Harry says dryly, flicking the ruined marshmallow into the fire and starting over.
His second attempt is better with a perfectly golden outside and melted on the inside. He assembles the s'more carefully, then hands it to you before making his own. When you bite into it, chocolate and marshmallow oozing out the sides, you can't help the satisfied sound you make. Harry's eyes darken slightly at the noise, tracking the way you lick chocolate from your thumb.
"Good?" he asks, voice lower than necessary.
"Amazing," you confirm, then watch as he takes a bite of his own. His expression shifts; surprise, then approval.
"Okay," he concedes. "I understand the appeal of this one."
You make three more each, sitting close to the fire as the night grows cooler. Harry's arm eventually finds its way around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. The woods are alive with night sounds of crickets, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional call of an owl.
"Thank you," you say quietly, setting aside your empty plate and turning to look at him. "For doing this. I know it's not your thing."
Harry's jaw works for a moment, that muscle ticking like it does when he's feeling something he doesn't quite know how to express. "You're my thing," he finally says, the words rough but sincere. "So if this makes you happy..."
He trails off, but the implication is clear. He'd do considerably more than camp in the woods if it meant seeing that smile on your face.
Something warm blooms in your chest and not just affection, but deep, overwhelming love for this complicated, dangerous, but surprisingly tender man. You climb into his lap, straddling his thighs on the log, and begin pressing kisses all over his face. His forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the corners of his mouth.
"Thank you," kiss, "for the tent building," kiss, "for the firewood gathering," kiss, "for the rock-fire-starting," kiss, "for fishing and cooking and s'mores andâ"
Harry catches your face between his hands, stopping your assault of affection to look at you properly. His eyes are soft in the firelight, that careful guard he maintains with everyone else completely absent.
"Angel," he murmurs, thumbs stroking your cheeks, "you don't have to thank me for every little thing."
"They're not little things," you insist. "Not for you. You did all of this, put up with all of it, just because I asked. Because it made me happy."
His hands slide down to your waist, gripping firmly as he stands, taking you with him. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you away from the fire.
"Where are we going?" you ask, though you already know.
"Tent," Harry says simply, his voice taking on that edge of command. "I've been patient all day."
He pushes through the tent flap, the interior lit by a battery-powered lantern someone must have set up earlier. The sleeping bags have been zipped together into one large bed, pillows arranged with more care than Harry would ever admit to.
"Now," he continues, laying you down on the makeshift bed with surprising gentleness, "it's my turn."
He follows you down, his weight settling over you in that way that makes you feel both trapped and completely safe. Heâd just settled his weight over you, mouth a breath from yours, when your palm pressed flat to his chest. âWait,â you whisper, and he freezes, instantly alert, eyes searching your face in the lantern glow.
âI know I've said thank you but I also want to say Iâm sorry,â you say, breath hitching. âFor dragging you out here basically against your will.â
His brow lifts a fraction. âYou didnât drag me,â he says evenly. âYou asked. I said yes.â
âI know but Iâve wanted to go camping since I was ten.â Your voice thins, that stubborn brightness wobbling. âMy parents were always too busy with work. There was always some emergency, some meeting, some reason we had to postpone.â You stare at the tent seam over his shoulder, hazel eyes wet in the soft light. âBut the second Iâm away at college, suddenly they have all the time in the world. Weekend trips to the lake with my siblings, camping in the backyard, all the things I begged for.â You let out a shaky breath and shake your head, golden-brown hair slipping across your cheek. âGod, listen to me. Twenty-something and still whining about my parents playing favorites.â The little laugh you attempt goes nowhere. âGuess I just needed to scratch this particular childhood itch, even if I had to drag you along for it.â
Harryâs jaw flexes once. He doesnât look away. His hands come up, thumbs warm against your damp lashes as he wipes under your eyes like handling something precious. âAngel,â he says quietly, voice a low thread in the hush of the tent, âdonât apologize to me for wanting something you shouldâve had.â A beat. âThey shouldâve shown up, but they didnât and thatâs on them.â
You swallow, blinking. âI know. It justâŚstill stings.â
âI understand stinging,â he answers, the corner of his mouth not quite a smile. âWhen I was ten, I learned to sleep with one eye open. No tents, no sâmores, just a door Iâd wedge shut and a ceiling that leaked.â He exhales through his nose, gaze steady, unblinking. âSo donât call it whining. You wanted a memory so you made one. And Iâm here for it.â
Your lips part, soft. âThank you.â
His hand slides to cradle the back of your neck, grounding. âListen to me,â he murmurs. âYou want lakes, weâll do lakes. Mountains, desert, I donât give a damn. Weâll pitch a tent wrong in every national park if thatâs what it takes.â A faint, dangerous warmth edges his words. âAnd if anyone tries to make you feel second choice again, they can answer to me.â
You huff a wet little laugh, thumbing his cheekbone where a smear of dirt still clings. âYouâll threaten my parents over marshmallows?â
He leans in, brushing a kiss to the tip of your nose. âIâll protect you over anything,â he says simply. âThatâs the point.â
You breathe out, shoulders unclenching, the confession finally settling. âI really did have fun today,â you whisper. âWith you.â
âI know,â he says, softer than soft. âMe tooâ
âAnd I'm sorry about your lighter. I realized afterwards it was the fancy engraved oneâ You apologize, suddenly feeling really shitty for doing that. You push yourself off the floor, Iâll go get it. I feel terrible for throwing itâ
Harry's hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back down before you can even get to your knees. His grip is firm but gentle, tugging you back against the sleeping bags.
"The fuck you will," he says flatly, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw. "It's pitch black out there, and you're not wandering around the woods alone at night."
"But it was expensive, and it had your initialsâ"
"It's a lighter, Ange;," he interrupts, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "I can buy twenty more. What I can't replace is you breaking your ankle tripping over a log in the dark, or getting lost, orâ" his jaw tightens "âworse."
You bite your lip, guilt still gnawing at you. "I shouldn't have thrown it. That was childish."
"It was," he agrees. "And I'm going to make you pay for it." His hand slides down your neck possessively. "But not by sending you into the woods at night like some kind of offering to whatever the hell lives out there."
"Harryâ"
"No," he says, the single word carrying absolute authority. "Tomorrow, when there's actual sunlight, we'll look for it. With Steve and the team doing a perimeter sweep because I'm not taking chances with wildlife."
He pulls you fully back down, rolling so you're tucked against his side, his arm a steel band around your waist.
"The lighter doesn't matter," he murmurs against your hair. "You matter. Everything else is just things, Angel. Things can be replaced."
His hand splays across your lower back, holding you close. "Now stop trying to run off into the darkness," he continues, voice dropping lower. âOr else I'm going to forget I was trying to be romantic and just pin you to this sleeping bag."
Despite the threat, or perhaps because of it, you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt.
"Good girl," he murmurs when he sees you comply, and the praise sends warmth pooling low in your belly. "See how easy that was? You listen to me, I don't have to tie you up." A pause. "Unless you want me to.â
You grin, âyeah? Hypothetically, what would you tie me up with?â
Harry goes very still, and when you tilt your head up to look at him, his eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide in the lantern light. His hand on your lower back flexes, fingers pressing in possessively.
"Hypothetically?" he repeats, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your pulse quicken. "Angel, there's nothing hypothetical about what I'd do to you."
His other hand comes up, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. "I've got rope in the security kit," he continues, thumb stroking along your pulse point. "Good quality, won't leave marks unless you struggle too hard. Could tie those pretty wrists to the tent poles, spread you out so I could take my time."
His lips brush your ear as he speaks, each word deliberate. "Or I could use my belt," he murmurs. "Leather looks good on you. Would look even better wrapped around your wrists while you're begging me to let you come."
You feel his mouth curve against your skin. "Then there's the option of just using my hands," he says, shifting so he's partially over you again, his weight pinning you down. "Hold you exactly where I want you, feel you try to move and fail because I'm stronger."His knee slides between your thighs, pressing up.
"So which appeals to you more? The rope? The belt?" His hand tightens fractionally on your throat. "Or just me?"
âHow about I tie you up?â You tease, trailing a finger down his chest.
Harry catches your finger before it reaches his stomach, wrapping his hand around yours completely. He looks down at you with an expression that sits somewhere between amusement and absolute refusal.
"No," he says simply.
"No?" you echo, raising an eyebrow.
"No," he repeats
"Why not?" you press, tilting your head with feigned innocence, hair splaying across the pillow.
His eyes track the movement, jaw working slowly. "Because I don't hand over control," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "To anyone. Ever."
"I'm not anyone," you point out.
A beat of silence as his thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "No," he agrees quietly, and the word carries considerably more weight than the previous two times he said it. "You're not."
"So thenâ"
"Still no," he cuts you off, dipping his head to press his mouth to your throat. His teeth graze lightly and your train of thought dissolves. "Nice try though, angel. Points for audacity."
You laugh despite yourself, your free hand threading into his dark hair. "Coward," you whisper.
Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, one brow arched. "Say that again."
âYou heard meâ you grin, getting the kick out of riling him up, âCo-wardâ you enunciate clearly.
Harry stares at you for exactly three seconds then he moves. You're suddenly on your stomach before you can draw another breath, both wrists pinned above your head in one of his hands, his body a solid wall of weight over yours, going nowhere.
"Coward," he repeats slowly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice dangerously quiet. "That's what you said."
You can't move. His hand has both your wrists locked above your head with no real effort, and the casual ease of it is somehow more unnerving than if he'd struggled.
"Iâ" you start.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Choose your next words very thoughtfully."
You can feel him grinning against the back of your neck, even as his free hand slides to your hip, gripping firmly.
"You think this is funny," he says, not a question. His lips drag down the side of your neck, teeth catching lightly. "You deliberately push me just to see what happens."
"Maybe," you manage, breathless despite yourself.
"No maybe about it," he says. "You've been doing it all day. Throwing my lighter, the rocks, calling me a cowardâ" his hand squeezes your hip "âyou're testing me."
You laugh into the pillow, muffled but unmistakable. Harry goes completely still above you.
"Are you laughing right now?"
"Absolutely not," you lie.
He flips you back over, pinning your wrists again, his face inches from yours, green eyes dark. "You," he says slowly, dragging the word out, "are a serious problem."
âWell, what are you going to do about it?â
Harry looks at you for a long moment, his weight settled over you, both wrists still locked above your head. The lantern casts warm gold across his face, highlighting the deliberate patience in his expression.
"What am I going to do about it," he repeats, like he's tasting the question.
He leans down, mouth finding the soft spot beneath your ear, and stays there just long enough to feel your pulse jump under his lips.
"I'm going to fuck you," he says simply, against your skin. "Until you can't remember how to be a smartass."
His free hand slides up your side, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. "And when you're completely wrecked," he continues, pulling back to look at you, green eyes holding yours, "and you're looking up at me with that dazed look you getâ" his thumb hooks under the hem of your shirt "âI'm going to ask you to repeat what you called me."
You swallow. His mouth curves, slow and certain.
"And you won't be able to," he finishes quietly. "That's what I'm going to do about it."
His grip on your wrists tightens fractionally.
"Any more questions?"
âNoâ you whisper, voice shaking with anticipation.Â
"No?" he echoes softly, satisfaction curling through his voice. "Thats what I thought."
He releases your wrists just long enough to sit back on his heels, eyes never leaving yours as his hands move to his belt. The slow drag of leather through the loops is deliberate, unhurried, each second stretched out with calculated patience. You watch his hands work and say absolutely nothing. He folds the belt once, running his thumb along the leather, then looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch.
"Hands up," he says quietly. You recognize that ots not a request as you raise them above your head. A ghost of approval crosses his face as he leans forward, looping the belt around your wrists with practiced efficiency. Not painfully tight, but enough that when you test it instinctively, there's no give whatsoever.
"Harryâ"
"Shh," he says simply, checking the slack with two fingers slipped beneath the leather. Satisfied, he looks down at you, pinned and wide eyed beneath him. He tilts his head slightly, studying you the way he studies everything he considers his.
"There," he murmurs, one hand smoothing your golden brown hair away from your face with devastating gentleness. "Now we're having a proper conversation."
His mouth drops to your collarbone. "Still want to call me a coward?"
You lift your chin with what little dignity you had left in this position, âI stand uncorrectedâ
Harry stills against your collarbone. Then he laughs, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like you've genuinely undone him.
"Un-corrected," he repeats, the word muffled against your skin. "Your wrists are tied in a tent in the middle of the woods and you'reâ" he laughs again, shorter this time, shaking his head.
He pulls back to look at you properly, and the expression on his face is one you've catalogued carefully over months. The one he doesn't know he makes. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met in my entire life," he says, with genuine reverence.
"Thank you," you say pleasantly.
His jaw tightens, but his eyes are bright. "That wasn't a compliment."
You shrug "I took it as one.â
Harry stares down at you for one long moment, belt-bound wrists above your head, chin lifted in complete defiance, eyes sparkling up at him in the warm lantern light.
He shakes his head once, slowly. "Of course you did," he murmurs. He reaches up and clicks off the lantern.
a/n: Sorry yâall had this in my drafts for sooo long just because I couldnt get the smut down đ I just felt like it was meh so I just took it out. Iâm getting smut rusty yaâll
Hiii lovey!! I hope you enjoy this and Iâm sorry itâs so short but itâs very fluffy and very husband Harry!đ
CW: Minor language
Harry slips his shoes off by the front door and quietly makes his way into the kitchen, flowers in hand and a small sleepy smile on his face. His eyes glance at the clock on the stove that reads itâs just a little after six in the morning so he has roughly almost half an hour before heâs worried youâll notice his side of the bed is empty because for some reason every morning around six forty five you roll over and reach for him, heâs not sure why but youâve been doing it for the last five years heâs been lucky enough to share a bed with you. And he knows if heâs not there like heâs meant to be youâll begin to stir and eventually wake up earlier than youâre supposed to resulting in a bit of a crankier mood and he wants to avoid that at all costs.
So Harry sets the flowers down on the counter and walks to the other end of the island where you have last weeks bouquet sitting in a lovely crystal vase his mother bought the two of you as a wedding gift three years ago. He grabs the now a little sad and wilted flowers and tosses them into the trash, dumping the excess water from the vase before setting it down in front of his new bouquet. By now Harry has a system for how he likes to arrange the weekly bouquet heâs been getting you since your first date all those years ago, it started off by being flowers heâd pick from peopleâs bushes on his walk over to your apartment but as he got older and his job started paying better his bouquets have also gotten an upgrade. The flowers ranging from stupidly expensive on weeks he knows you need a little extra all the way to a batch of supermarket roses he saw and knew youâd just enjoy the simple beauty of. But on special occasions like this week being the week of your anniversary they are ones he picks from random bushes in the neighborhood that youâve commented on during an evening or morning stroll, much like the very first flowers he ever brought you that started the tradition.
As his hands move to start cutting some stems and placing them in the vase he canât help but smile because even though youâve been coming into the kitchen of whatever house the two of you have lived in every Monday to a new vase of flowers for years, your face is always shocked and your eyes always get the teensiest bit glassy. Itâs as if youâre not expecting it and maybe youâre not, maybe you donât realize that Harry has been going out of his way to make sure you have fresh flowers to start your week with even if it means going out in the snow or the rain at crazy hours of the day because he loves you. He loves you so much that he would rather sacrifice a few hours of sleep just to see that shocked look on your face every Monday for the rest of his life.
âHarry?â Your low sleepy voice makes him look up from the pile of flowers heâs in the middle of arranging as you walk into the kitchen. âWhat are-â He watches your eyes take in the scene in front of you and he feels his heart swell as you let out a tiny little gasp and bring a hand up to cover your mouth.
âBaby youâre not supposed to be up for another-â he looks over his shoulder at the clock. âTen minutes.â He informs you as he moves around the island and walks over so heâs standing in front of you.
âI got cold and went to cuddle you but you werenât there.â You explain making him let out a soft chuckle as he wraps his arms around your shoulders bringing you into his warm embrace. âYou got me flowers.â You say softly into his chest, he just gives you a squeeze as his lips press a kiss to the top of your head.
âI did.â He whispers as you snake your arms around his middle. âItâs Monday.â
A Fan Asks For A Picture While Harry and Y/N Have Brunch.
Mentions: Fluff, Minor Smut
The sun was so bright, Y/N in a white, ruffly, two piece romper (that Harry absolutely adored), her floppy hat sat on her hair that was a bit wavy due to Harry playing with and braiding it before they went to bed last night, and some sunglasses perched on her nose. Harry was eating up the sight of her glowing skin, soft and glimmering in the hot, California sun, her eyes trained on the calm ocean before them. After tour ended, Harry still had tons of work to do, but now, he had all the time in the world, and he was going to give every minute to his lovie.
A great portion of his time spent with Y/N was simply lying in bed, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in each otherâs arms once more after so long, waking up to sleepy morning kisses. Sometimes, it was lazy morning sex, where they donât have more energy than to get Harry rolled on top of her, bodies pressed together under the fluffy white duvets as he so slowly slipped inside his lovie, then taking slow, deep thrusts to coax her into her orgasm, very quickly followed by Harry coating her walls with his cum.
Either way, theyâd eventually get out of bed around 10 or 11 am, getting dressed to go out for brunch. That was exactly what theyâd done today. Theyâd situated themselves on the patio of a restaurant that was beside the ocean, sat at a table with an umbrella where it was meant for them to sit across from each other, but both of them didnât even need to say anything before they were scooting their chairs beside one another and looking at the menu together.
âIn the mood for toast or an omelette, baby honey?â Y/N quietly would ask, pointing to the spot on the menu that she was referring. Harry would simply hum, the two then looking at each other with despicable grins. âBoth,â Theyâd day at the same time.
This morning would be a bit different, as they went to a more public restaurant, so it wasnât very surprising when two fans had come up to their table and asked for a picture. It was a bit awkward, as the fans had approached them when Harry was peppering Y/Nâs faces in small kisses, the two a bit startled from the sound of a clearing throat and then faces reddening as they saw the fans stood in front of their table. Either way, Y/N took the pictures for them, smiling as she looked at her handsome man in the photos. To add to her happiness, as she handed the fan back their phone, they even commented, âYou two are so cute.â
âThanks,â Y/N giggles softly, âHow couldnât I be happy when I have this curly headed bear beside me all the time?â
âYeah, I hope I get a boyfriend like Harry someday,â The fan jokes lightly.
They said their goodbyes then, letting Y/N and Harry settle back at their table.
It was quiet, though, a smug smirk on Harryâs lips as continued to look through the menu, despite already knowing what he wanted.
Y/N simply chuckled, âThat fan was nice, Haz.â
âYeah, she can hope for a boyfriend like me,â Harry shrugs, then looking at his lovie once more, âBut youâve got her beat still.â
âOh, stop acting like youâre a prize, Mr. Styles,â Y/N jokingly taps his thigh.
He hums, âYouâre the one who wanted to do it all in secret,â Heâs then leaning forward to kiss her nose, âPlus, you know what they say: It takes two to say âI Doâ, Mrs. Styles.â
Summary: At a quiet Amsterdam cafĂŠ before night four, breakfast takes an unexpectedly awkward turn when the waitress focuses a little too much on Harry and not nearly enough on you.
Amsterdam, N4 â 22 May 2026
By Friday morning, both of you have officially become bored of the hotel breakfast menu. It's not that the food is bad, it is actually very good, which you have said several times over the last week, usually while eating the same thing for the third morning in a row. But there is only so much room service a person can have before every plate begins to feel like a polite variation of the day before.
Yesterday had been different. Yesterday had been soft, slow, and deliberately uneventful. After the anniversary show on Wednesday night, both of you had woken late, ordered breakfast to bed, and stayed there longer than either of you should have, tangled in sheets, sharing fruit from the same plate while Harry dramatically claimed that strawberries tasted better when stolen directly from your mouth. Later, you had rented out a quiet spa area in the hotel for a few hours. No schedules, no cameras, no ringing phones, no people watching you like hawks while pretending not to. Just warm water, massages, the smell of eucalyptus in the sauna, and Harry sitting beside you in the pool with his wet hair pushed back, looking more relaxed than he had all week. It had felt like the kind of day tour tries to steal from people, but you didn't let it win this time.
Today though, tour actually takes over again, night four, another show day ahead. But not quite yet. For now, there is only morning sun over the canals, the sound of bicycles passing over cobblestones, and Harry walking beside you with his sunglasses on, one hand loosely wrapped around yours. It's still early enough for the city to feel gentle. Busy, yes, but not frantic. CafĂŠs are filling slowly, tables being wiped down, pastries arranged behind glass, tiny vases with tulips placed on outdoor tables as if the whole city believes breakfast needs decoration.
âWe could just keep walking and call it breakfast,â Harry says after the third cafĂŠ you pass is deemed too full.
You glance over. âThatâs not how breakfast works.â
âIt could be. Very European. A thoughtful stroll.â
âYou need actual food before soundcheck.â
âI had a mint.â
âA mint is not breakfast, Harry.â
âItâs refreshing.â
âItâs toothpaste-adjacent.â
He laughs, squeezing your hand gently. âFine. Actual food. Somewhere small, though.â
You know what he means without him needing to explain. Harry loves people, and he is generous with fans when he can be, but food is one of the few things he tries to keep sacred. He doesnât want to be photographed mid-bite or approached while you are trying to have a quiet conversation over coffee. More than that, he knows you still become shy when fans recognise you beside him, even when they are kind. So he keeps his head lowered a little as you turn down a quieter street, away from the bigger brunch spots with queues outside.
The cafĂŠ you eventually find is tucked between a flower shop and a narrow bookshop, its windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. There are a few tables near the front, but most of them are occupied by locals reading newspapers or tourists planning their day over maps and croissants. In the back corner, half-hidden by a tall plant and a low wooden partition, there is a small table for two. Harry spots it at the same time you do. âThat one,â he murmurs.
You smile. âVery stealthy.â
âIâm basically invisible.â
âYou are wearing sunglasses indoors.â
âExactly. Disguise.â
âExcellent work.â
He grins and follows you to the corner table, sliding into the seat across from you. The moment you sit, the whole morning settles into something easy. Outside, a cyclist rings a bell at someone crossing too slowly. Inside, coffee machines hiss, cups clink softly, and an old song plays from speakers somewhere near the counter. Harry takes off his sunglasses and folds them neatly beside his phone and you just watch him for a second.
âWhat?â he asks.
âNothing.â
âThatâs my line.â
âIâm just happy.â
The answer makes his expression soften immediately. âYeah?â
âYeah. Yesterday helped.â
âSpa Harry is a superior Harry.â
âBreakfast-in-bed Harry is also quite good.â
âHeâs a bit of a thief, though.â
âYou stole all my strawberries.â
âI told you, they tasted better that way.â
âYouâre lucky youâre cute.â
He leans back, pleased. âSo Iâve been told.â
Before you can answer, the waitress arrives. She is young, probably in her early twenties, with a notepad in one hand and the unmistakable expression of someone trying very hard to appear calm while absolutely not feeling calm at all. Her eyes go straight to Harry. Only Harry. âGood morning,â she says, voice bright and sugary. âWelcome. Itâs really, really lovely to have you here.â
The way she says you makes it clear she is not talking to the table. Harry notices it immediately and his eyes flick to you for half a second before he smiles politely at her. âMorning. Thank you.â
The waitress blushes immediately, then hurries to hand him a menu with both hands, as if presenting a gift. âHere you go.â
âThanks,â Harry says.
She gives you yours after that, but it is more of a transfer than a welcome. A quick glance, a thin smile, and then her attention snaps back to Harry as if pulled by a magnet. âCan I get you something to drink?â she asks him. âCoffee? Tea? Fresh juice? Anything you like.â
Harry sits with that for a second, not long enough to be rude, just long enough for you to see the tiny shift in his face, the polite disbelief behind his eyes. Then he turns to you, deliberately, giving you his full attention. âDâyou want your usual, love? Or something different today?â
The waitress looks between you both and you clear your throat lightly, amused about the situation. âUsual sounds good.â
âOat cappuccino?â
âPlease.â
Harry looks back at the waitress. âA black coffee for me, and an oat cappuccino for her, please.â
The waitress writes it down while still looking at him. âOf course.â
She leaves with a smile aimed entirely at Harry. You lift an eyebrow the second she is gone and Harry watches her for one more beat, then turns back to you. âThat was weird.â
âShe knows who you are.â
âThat doesnât explain why she looked at you like you were a coat on the wrong chair.â
You laugh softly. âMaybe sheâs having a rough morning.â
Harry gives you a look. âYouâre very generous.â
âI try.â
âShe didnât even say hello to you.â
âShe handed me a menu.â
âBarely.â
âStill counts.â
âIt doesnât.â
You hide a smile behind the menu. âPick your breakfast, protective man.â
âI am picking while also judging.â
âYou multitask beautifully, my love.â
He opens his menu with a small huff, but you can still feel him watching you over the top of it every few seconds, checking if you are actually okay. You are. Mostly, you find the whole thing a little absurd, and absurd is much easier to handle than hurtful. After a few minutes, you settle on a breakfast bowl with porridge, fruit, nuts, and honey. Harry, who had been considering eggs, changes his mind twice, then announces he might need âsomething cleanâ before show day, which makes you snort because the man ate half a basket of hotel fries at midnight after night three. Your coffees arrive almost immediately, and so does the waitress. She places Harryâs black coffee down with care, almost reverence. âHere you go.â
âThank you,â he says.
Then she sets your cappuccino down so quickly that a little foam trembles over the rim and lands on the saucer and Harryâs jaw shifts visibly. You reach for a napkin before he can say anything while the waitress turns back to him with her brightest smile. âHave you decided what youâd like for breakfast?â
Harry doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at you. âWe have,â he says. âWhat would you like, love?â
You keep your voice friendly when you turn to the waitress. âIâll have the porridge bowl, please. With fruit and honey.â
The waitress barely angles her body towards you as her pen pauses against the notepad. âOf course,â she says, then adds under her breath, not quite quietly enough, âVery mainstream. Could probably use some carbs, butâŚâ
Harry freezes, you see it happen in real time. The tiny delay, the way his eyes move from the waitress, to you, back to the waitress again. He looks genuinely stunned, as if she has just done something so socially outrageous that his brain needs a second to accept it. You shake your head slightly. Not here, not now, not worth it. Harry reads the gesture, but he's not happy about it. Then the waitress turns to him again, all sweetness restored. âAnd for you?â
Harry closes his menu. âIâll have the same.â
The waitress brightens. âThe porridge bowl?â
âYes.â
âWith fruit and honey?â
âExactly the same.â
There is a particular kind of satisfaction in the way he says it. Calm, polite, very pointed. You press your lips together to keep from smiling and the waitress either misses the point completely or chooses to. âOf course. Great choice.â
When she leaves again, Harry stares after her in sheer disbelief.
âYou ordered porridge out of spite,â you say.
âI ordered porridge out of loyalty.â
âThatâs very noble of you.â
âIâm a noble man.â
âYou wanted eggs.â
âI can want eggs and still stand for justice.â
You laugh into your cappuccino, after wiping the saucer with your napkin. âCareful, or Iâll put that on a t-shirt.â
âPlease donât. Fansâll start asking what happened at breakfast.â
âThey probably already know.â
Harry groans. âBet someoneâs gonna have photographed us through a tulip arrangement.â
âVery Dutch scandal.â
He finally looks away from the waitress and back at you, his expression softening. âYou sure youâre alright?â
âIâm fine.â
âYou donât have to be fine.â
âI know, but I am.â
He studies you like he is trying to decide whether to believe that, and because you don't want the morning to become about a rude waitress, you tilt your head. âHave you decided on the surprise song for tonight?â
That gets him and his eyes brighten a little. âThink I might do Paint by Numbers.â
Your smile is immediate. âReally?â
âYeah. Piano version.â
âOh, theyâre going to love that.â
âYou think?â
âI know. They love that song.â
âYou love that song.â
âI have excellent taste.â
He leans forward, forearms on the table. âYou absolutely do. Dating me proves it.â
âLetâs not get carried away.â
His grin is quick, dimpled, and entirely too pleased with itself. âYou wound me.â
âYouâll survive.â
âI might write a song about it.â
âAs long as itâs not called Mainstream Porridge Bowl.â
Harry laughs loudly enough that the woman at the table near the window glances over with a smile.
For a while, the mood returns to what it was supposed to be: light and easy. You talk about the show, about which photos from the show before are safe to post without causing a complete internet collapse again. Harry makes fun of you for using the phrase âposting strategyâ, and you remind him that his entire digital presence would be a ghost town without you. Then the waitress comes back with the food. She places Harryâs bowl down first, carefully centred, spoon set beside it with a little flourish. âHere you are.â
âThanks,â Harry says, but his eyes are already on her hand as she turns towards your side of the table. She must notice the look he gives her, because this time she sets your bowl down gently. Almost comically gently, and Harry nods once. âThank you.â
The waitress blushes again, her confidence returning the second his politeness lands on her. She smiles at him, leaning just slightly closer than necessary. âIf thereâs anything else you want,â she says, voice low and sweet, âanything at all, just let me know. Iâd be very happy to take care of you.â
The silence that follows is tiny, but sharp. Harry stares at her, you lift your eyebrows, and the waitress just gives you a quick look then â dismissive, almost a little triumphant â before turning on her heel and walking away. For three full seconds, Harry doesn't move a muscle. You pick up your spoon. âWell,â you say after your first bite, âat least the food knows how to behave.â
Harry blinks, then looks at you. You take another spoonful. âItâs actually really good.â
He still looks caught between offence and disbelief. âDid she justââ
âYes.â
âIn front of you?â
âYes.â
âWhile serving us breakfast?â
âApparently breakfast comes with extras.â
Harry glances back towards the counter, then starts eating mostly because you are eating and because, despite everything, the porridge is good.
A few minutes pass with only the soft clink of spoons against bowls. Then he sets his spoon down. âHow are you this calm?â
You look up. âSheâs a fan.â
âThat's not an answer.â
âIt kind of is.â
âNo, love, it really isnât.â
You take a sip of your cappuccino and choose your words carefully, not because you are upset, but because this is one of those conversations that deserves more than a shrug. âYou always say you try to treat fans with kindness,â you say. âEven when theyâre awkward, or too excited, or they cross a line a little because they donât know what to do with the moment.â
âThis wasn't a little.â
âI know.â
âAnd you're not required to tolerate someone being rude to you because they like me.â
âI know that too.â
His expression eases slightly, but the irritation is still there. Not for himself, that's the part that makes you love him more. Harry is used to people flirting, used to being looked at, touched emotionally by strangers who feel like they know him. He handles it with more patience than most people would. But watching someone dismiss you beside him? That's harder for him to swallow.
âI just donât want to spend energy on her,â you say. âShe doesnât know me. I donât know her. Weâll probably never see her again after today. If I let her ruin my mood, she goes on with her day anyway, and Iâm the one carrying it around.â
Harry listens, silent now.
âIâve had to learn that,â you continue. âNot perfectly. I still get bothered by things. But sometimes protecting my peace means deciding that not every rude person deserves access to my feelings. Some people are just passing through. They can be unpleasant, and I can still leave them at the table when I walk away.â
He looks at you with such focused tenderness that you almost have to look back down at your breakfast.
âThat makes sense,â he says after a moment.
âYou do it too.â
âI try to.â
âYou do. I've seen it.â
He gives a small shrug. âHad to learn. If I let every article, every comment, every nasty little post, every weird interaction get inside my head, Iâd never see anything good again. And thereâs too much good.â His eyes move over your face. âThereâs you. Thereâs mornings like this. There are shows where people sing back so loud I canât hear myself think. I donât want the ugly bits to be louder than all that.â
âThatâs exactly what I mean.â
âI know.â He reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against yours. âIâm proud of you for that. For knowing where to put things down.â
You smile. âYou make me sound very wise.â
âYou are.â
âI ordered porridge.â
âWise people eat porridge.â
âYou only ate it out of loyalty.â
âStill counts.â
The conversation leaves something warm between you, a serious note tucked into an otherwise ridiculous breakfast. By the time the bowls are empty and the coffees are finished, both of you are relaxed again, the waitress reduced to more of a story than a problem. Harry asks for the bill when she passes close enough to notice. She arrives quickly, naturally directing herself to him. âDid you enjoy everything?â
âThe food was good,â Harry says, polite but less warm than before.
âIâm glad.â She smiles as if the sentence is a private gift. âCan I get you anything else before you go?â
âNo, thank you. Just the bill.â
âOf course.â
She brings the card machine, and Harry pays while you look out of the window at a man trying to convince his dog to walk in the opposite direction. The dog is winning. When the receipt prints, the waitress tears it off. Then, with a smile so bold it almost becomes impressive, she places a folded piece of paper beside Harryâs hand. âIn case you ever want something not on the menu,â she says.
You stare at the paper. Harry stares at the paper. The waitress gives him one last smile and walks away. For a second, neither of you speaks. Then Harry unfolds it.
EmilyâĄ
A phone number underneath.
His face is so immediately confused, horrified, and offended that you cannot help it, you snort. Not a delicate laugh, not subtle, a proper, surprised little burst that you try and fail to catch behind your hand. The waitress â Emily, apparently â glances back and shoots you a glare and that only makes it worse. Harry looks at you, then at the paper, then back at you. âAre you laughing at my harassment?â
âIâm laughing at your face.â
âMy face is reacting appropriately.â
âItâs a very good face.â
âShe gave me her number in front of you.â
âYes, I was here.â
âIâm aware you were here. Thatâs the concerning bit.â
You stand, still laughing quietly as you gather your things. Harry leaves the paper exactly where it is, flat on the table beside the empty bowls and the receipt.
âYouâre not taking Emily with you?â you ask.
Harry gives you a look. âDonât.â
âShe offered things off-menu.â
âIâm walking away now.â
âVery strong boundaries.â
âProud of me?â
âExtremely.â
He places a hand lightly at your back as you leave the cafĂŠ, not possessive, just present. The moment you step outside, the cool Amsterdam air feels wonderful after the warmth inside and Harry exhales dramatically. âThat was the strangest breakfast Iâve ever had.â
You slip your hand into his. âIt was very educational.â
âAbout what?â
âCustomer service. Porridge. Human confidence.â
âHuman audacity.â
âThat too.â
He shakes his head, but now he is laughing as well. The whole thing is already becoming funny in the way bizarre situations do once you are no longer sitting inside them. You walk back towards the canal, taking the quieter route back to the hotel. Harry keeps your hand in his, thumb moving absently over your knuckles. âYou didnât even get jealous,â he says after a few minutes.
You glance over. âNo.â
âNot even a little?â
âNo.â
âInteresting.â
âYou sound disappointed.â
âIâm not disappointed.â
âYou wanted me to throw a spoon?â
âNo,â he says, though he's smiling. âMaybe not a spoon.â
âA napkin?â
âSubtle and elegant.â
You laugh. âI donât really do jealousy.â
Harry looks at you, curious now. âHow dâyou mean?â
You think for a moment, watching sunlight catch on the water beside you. âI mean, I donât see the point of it,â you say. âJealousy doesnât make anyone love you more. It doesnât keep anyone faithful. It doesnât stop someone from leaving if they want to leave. It only makes you feel terrible while you imagine things you canât control.â
Harryâs smile fades into attention. You continue, calm and matter-of-fact. âI know youâre with me because you want to be. If one day you didnât want that anymore, jealousy wouldnât save me from it. Trying to own someone doesnât make them stay. It just turns love into fear, and I donât want to love you from fear.â
He is quiet for a few steps. You look at him then, softening. âObviously, if you left me for a waitress named Emily after one bowl of porridge, I would be devastated.â
Harry makes a noise of protest. âThat is never happening.â
âI know.â
âNot even for off-menu items.â
âGood to know.â
âI donât want Emily. I want you.â
You smile. âThatâs why Iâm not jealous.â
He lets out a breath, half laugh, half wonder. âYouâre much more evolved than I am.â
âI didnât say that.â
âIâm saying it. Iâd be jealous.â
âI know.â
His eyebrows lift. âYou know?â
âHarry, you once side-eyed a bartender in Rome for calling me darling.â
âHe lingered on the darling.â
âHe was seventy.â
âExperienced flirt.â
You laugh so hard you have to slow down. Harry grins, pleased with himself, but then his voice turns softer. âI do understand what you mean, though. I agree with it. In theory. Iâm just not sure Iâm always that⌠serene.â
âYou donât have to be.â
âNo?â
âNo. You just have to be honest with yourself when it happens. Jealousy is human. I donât think feeling it makes you bad. I just donât want it driving the car.â
Harry considers that, then nods slowly. âThatâs a good way to put it.â
âI have my moments.â
âYou have many.â He lifts your joined hands and kisses your knuckles as you walk. âI adore you, you know that?â
âI had a suspicion.â
âGood. Would hate for it to be subtle.â
âYou dedicated a song to me in front of an arena two days ago. Subtle left the building.â
âFair point.â
The hotel comes into view at the end of the street, and with it, the return of show day. Schedules, soundcheck, emails, clothes, stage lights, the whole bright machine waiting to begin again. But the morning stays light around you now. Harry looks sideways at you. âSo, no jealousy at all?â
You sigh dramatically. âFine. Maybe I was jealous of one thing.â
He perks up immediately. âWhat?â
âThe way she centered your bowl perfectly and left mine fighting for its life.â
Harry throws his head back laughing and you smile, tightening your hand around his. âI expect loyalty porridge forever now.â
âYouâll have it.â
âAnd no off-menu adventures.â
âOnly with you.â
âCareful, Styles. That sounded almost smooth.â
âAlmost?â
âYouâre improving.â
He pulls you a little closer as you walk, still laughing under his breath. âBest review Iâve had all week.â
You lean into his side, and together you keep walking through Amsterdam, back to the hotel, back to the show ahead, both of you lighter than when you left the cafĂŠ and perfectly content to leave Emily, her number, and her extremely questionable customer service behind with the empty bowls.
Summary: What starts as another beautiful show turns into something unforgettable when Harry dedicates Love of My Life to you and finally tells the world just how much you mean to him.
Amsterdam, N3 â 20 May 2026
It starts backstage, ten minutes before he has to walk out for the third Amsterdam show, while the arena beyond the walls is already alive with noise. The sound rolls through the corridors in waves, fans stamping their feet, shouting his name, singing fragments of songs before the show has even begun. You stand just off to the side, phone in one hand, laminated pass hanging from your neck, watching Harry fit his in-ears into place. He has been busy all day, and so have you. Show days are never as romantic as people probably imagine them to be. There are meetings, schedules, approvals, last-minute changes, camera notes, outfit checks, setlist confirmations, posts to plan, stories to approve, little fires to put out before anyone else notices smoke. Even on your anniversary, the machine of tour keeps moving.
Two years. You have said it to yourself several times today, mostly in stolen seconds. In the lift at the hotel this morning. While approving a backstage photo dump. While Harry kissed you quickly near catering before being pulled away for rehearsals. It feels both impossible and obvious. Like you have loved him forever, but also like you are still that person in Italy at the beginning of 2024, laughing under disco lights, dancing with a mutual friend named Carla, not yet knowing the man watching you from across the room would one day look at you like you were his favourite place to come back to.
Harry catches your eye in the mirror and smiles.
âWhat?â you ask.
âNothing.â
âThat is not a nothing face.â
âI have a nothing face?â
âYou have several. That isnât one of them.â
He turns from the mirror, stage outfit ready, in-ears hanging loose for one more minute. âI want you in the pit tonight.â
You blink, surprised. âWhat?â
âIn the pit.â
âYou want me in the pit?â
âYeah.â
âYou hate when Iâm in the pit.â
âI donât hate it.â
âYou once said the pit is where personal space goes to die.â
Harry makes a face. âThat was during a festival.â
âYou said it with conviction.â
He steps closer, hands finding your waist with easy familiarity. âTonightâs different.â
You search his face. âWhy?â
For once, he doesn't turn it into a joke immediately. His thumbs move lightly against your sides, and his gaze softens in a way that makes the busy hallway around you fade to a blur. âDidnât get much of you today,â he says. âAnd I know thatâs how it is on show days, butâŚâ He shrugs one shoulder. âSâour anniversary. I want to be able to look down and see you.â
Your expression changes before you can help it and he notices, of course. He always does.
âIâll have Mark with you the whole time,â he adds quickly. âRight next to you. Youâll be between the barricades and the stage, not in the crowd. No one gets too close.â
âYou already planned the safety arrangement?â
âObviously.â
âOf course you did.â
âIâm romantic and practical.â
âYouâre overprotective.â
âAlso true.â
You smile, unable to stop yourself. There is something ridiculously sweet about it, the fact that he wants you close, and the fact that even his softness comes with a full security plan. âOkay,â you say.
His eyebrows lift slightly, as if he had prepared more arguments. âOkay?â
âOkay. Iâll stand in the pit.â
He looks pleased in the boyish, immediate way he sometimes does when he gets exactly what he wants. âGood.â
âBut if I get screamed at by fifty thousand people because they realise Iâm down there, Iâm blaming you.â
âFair.â
âAnd if someone asks me for your hand in marriage, Iâm saying youâre busy.â
âAlso fair.â He laughs, then leans in and kisses you. It's quick, because the show clock is unforgiving, but he lingers half a second longer than he should. His fingers give your waist a gentle squeeze before he lets you go.
âEnjoy your show,â you say softly.
âOur show,â he corrects.
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. âGo on, superstar.â
He grins. âBossy.â
âAlways.â
Mark appears by the hallway entrance a minute later, calm and silent as ever. Harry looks at him, then at you, then back at Mark. âYouâve got her?â
Mark nods. âAlways.â
Harry still looks at you one more time. âIâll see you out there.â
âYou better.â
His smile turns warm. Then the show pulls him away and Mark leads you through the backstage corridors, past crew members with headsets and black clothing, past cases marked with tape and cables coiled neatly along the walls. The closer you get to the arena floor, the louder everything becomes. The crowd is enormous tonight, louder than night one and night two somehow, as if Amsterdam has been saving a little extra madness for the third show.
When you step into the space between the barricades and the stage, the noise hits you properly. The fans notice almost immediately. At first, itâs a ripple, a few heads turn, a few phones lift. Then more. Someone gasps your name, and then a handful of voices near the front begin calling out.
âY/N!â
âOh my God, hi!â
âYouâre so pretty!â
âWe love you!â
You freeze for half a second, still not used to that part. You are comfortable behind a screen, behind a caption, behind the invisible hands that make public things run smoothly but being perceived is still strange. Being perceived as Harryâs girlfriend is even stranger. Mark stays close at your side, exactly as promised, but he gives you enough room when you turn towards the girls pressed against the barricade just behind you. One of them has glitter on her cheeks and tears already sitting in her eyes, though Harry hasn't even come out yet.
âHi,â you say, smiling.
The girl covers her mouth. âHi. Sorry. We justâ we love you so much.â
You let out a shy laugh. âThatâs very sweet.â
âNo, really,â another girl says, leaning forward just enough to be heard over the music playing through the speakers. âThank you for looking after him. He seems so happy with you.â
Your smile softens and the words hit differently down here, surrounded by fans who love him loudly enough to shake an arena. They don't know every part of him, they can't. But they know enough to notice joy when it's written all over him. âHe makes it easy,â you say.
The girls make an immediate noise of affection, several of them clutching each other dramatically.
âOh my God, stop.â
âThatâs so cute.â
âWe saw the live on Sunday. You two were adorable.â
âYouâre so good for him.â
That one makes you look down for a second, overwhelmed but touched. âThank you. That means a lot.â
âHappy anniversary!â someone else calls from further back.
Your head snaps up, surprised. The girl laughs. âSorry. Twitter knows everything.â
âOf course it does,â you say, laughing too.
A few of them hold up little heart shapes with their hands. Another asks if you can tell Harry they love him, and you promise you will, even though in about sixty seconds he is going to hear it directly from all of them at a volume that might alter the buildingâs structure.
Then the lights drop and the screams begin before he even appears. You turn towards the stage, your body automatically moving a little closer to Mark as the arena transforms. Darkness, then colour and a flash across the screens once the intro starts, followed by the first notes, that familiar rush of sound and expectation rising in one giant breath. Then Harry walks out and Amsterdam erupts. He comes onto the stage with the confidence of someone who has now remembered exactly where he belongs. Night oneâs nerves are long gone, night twoâs playful brightness is still there, but tonight there is another layer to him, something charged and golden under the lights and he sings Are you listening yet? like he has been waiting all day to do it.
From where you stand, the stage feels impossibly close. You can see details you miss from the VIP box: the way his hand tightens around the microphone before a high note, the shine of sweat beginning at his temple, the small grin he gives a fan in the front row when they scream a lyric too early. And he sees you. Of course he does. The first time it happens, he is crossing the main stage, singing into the roar, and his gaze flicks down exactly where he told you to stand. The second his eyes find yours, his expression changes. Not much, probably not enough for most people to catch, but you catch it. A private smile tucked inside the public one.
The girls behind you immediately lose their minds.
âHe looked at you!â
âHeâs so in love!â
You laugh and shake your head, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through you.
The show moves fast after that. Song after song, light after light, Harry dancing, joking, leaning towards the crowd, letting them sing lines back to him until the arena feels less like a venue and more like one huge living thing breathing with him. Every time he comes near the main stage, his eyes find you again. Sometimes it is quick, just a glance, or a smile. Sometimes it lasts a little longer, his gaze catching yours between verses as if he is checking whether you are still there. You are.
Halfway through the show, he takes a minute to drink water. The lights are lower, the crowd still buzzing, and he stands near the front of the stage with a towel in one hand and the bottle in the other. He looks down at you while he drinks, and for the first time all night, you see a flicker of nerves return. Not fear, anticipation. He knows what is coming. And so do his hands, apparently, because he keeps turning the bottle cap between his fingers even after he has finished drinking. His eyes stay on you, and for a moment, the arena around him slips backwards in time, back to Italy in early 2024. To a warm night with music spilling out of a crowded little bar. Carla laughing too loudly beside him, dragging him into a group of people he only half knew. He hadn't planned to stay long, that had been his line for most nights back then. One drink, a few polite conversations, home before the night became too loud. Then he saw you dancing. Not for attention. Not for anyone watching, either. Just dancing because the song was good and your friend had taken both your hands and spun you until you nearly bumped into a table. You had laughed, bright and unguarded, then immediately apologised to a stranger whose drink had been in danger. Harry remembers being struck by the balance of you. Warm, but not performative. Quiet, but not closed off. Grounded in a way that made the room feel less chaotic from the second he noticed you. Carla had introduced you later, pretending she didnât see the way Harry forgot his sentence halfway through it. You had teased him for trying to order in Italian with too much confidence and not enough grammar. He had laughed harder than the joke deserved because he wanted you to keep talking. Later, after you danced together, heâd asked Carla for your number with an attempt at casualness so poor she had laughed in his face. Four months after that, he had asked if you wanted to make it official. Not with a grand gesture, not with drama. Just the two of you on a morning walk, coffee in hand, his fingers brushing yours until he finally took your hand properly and said he didn't want to pretend this was casual when nothing about the way he felt for you had ever been casual.
Now, two years later, you're standing in front of his stage in Amsterdam. And he's about to tell an arena exactly how much that night changed his life. But for now, the show carries on. A few songs later, he does a gender reveal for a fan in the audience. The crowd cheers when it turns out to be a girl, and Harryâs face lights up with such genuine delight that you automatically smile just as bright. He jokes, he congratulates her, he makes the whole moment sweet and theatrical enough for the crowd to adore it. But as he walks back across the stage, still smiling, a thought appears in his mind with surprising clarity. One day, not now, not tonight and definitely not as a public spectacle in front of thousands. But one day, somewhere quiet, somewhere yours, he can picture it so easily it nearly startles him. You and him, a secret held between both your hands, his mum crying before anyone has even finished speaking. A little future taking shape in a room full of people who love you. The thought doesnât scare him, it settles, as natural as breathing.
Then the lights shift, the energy in the room softens, and the show eases into the part of the show where, on the previous shows, he had sung Matilda. You know the setlist, you know the timing, you know what should happen now. Harry steps towards the front of the stage with his microphone in hand and the crowd quiets gradually, a few screams fading into murmurs, then into that attentive hush he somehow knows how to command without asking too loudly.
He looks out across the arena first, then down at you, then back into the audience. âAmsterdam,â he says, voice warm through the speakers. âHow are we feeling?â
The response is thunderous, Harry grins. âGood. Very good. Youâve been incredibly kind to us these last few nights. Thank you for having us. Thank you for singing with us, dancing with us, screaming at us in a way that is occasionally alarming but always appreciated.â
The crowd laughs and cheers, you smile up at him, expecting the usual speech. The gentle transition, the gratitude, the little reflection before the next song. And at first, that is exactly what he gives them. âIâve had a bit of time away from the stage these last couple of years,â he continues. âAnd while I was away, I tried to open up my life a little bit more. Tried to say yes to more things. Go out a bit more. See friends. Make new ones. Have nights I didnât plan too carefully.â
A few fans cheer at that, and Harry smiles. âAnd a lot of the music weâre playing for you on this tour came from those small moments. The ones you donât know are going to matter when theyâre happening. Going out for a night. Letting your friends drag you somewhere. Dancing with people you know. Dancing with people you donât know yet.â
Your breath catches very quietly when he looks at you, because now you know. âOh no,â you whisper, so softly only Mark might hear.
Harryâs mouth lifts at the corner, as if he can read the thought straight off your face. âSo I want to say thank you,â he says, looking back out at the crowd. âTo my friends who took me dancing when I probably wouldâve stayed home. To all the strangers who danced with me. To everyone I met in those rooms and streets and late nights. And to each and every single one of you here tonight, because whether you know it or not, youâve all changed my life.â
The arena cheers, loud and loving. Then Harryâs gaze finds you again, and the cheers begin to shift. The fans nearest you notice where he is looking and immediately phones turn. A ripple passes through the crowd before he even says the next words. Harry holds the microphone a little closer. âTwo years ago today,â he says, quieter now, âmy life changed for the better.â
The arena falls into a hush so complete it feels almost impossible. You stare up at him in disbelief. He has never done this, not like this. Harry, who protects his private life with careful hands. Harry, who has never been the type to parade love around for applause. Harry, who can sing to thousands but keeps the most delicate things to himself. And now he is looking at you in front of an entire arena.
âThere hasnât been a single day since then,â he continues, âwhere I havenât felt loved unconditionally.â A few soft sounds move through the crowd, build of little awws and gasps. âMeeting you was the best coincidence of my life,â Harry says, voice steady, eyes still on you. âAnd every morning since, Iâve woken up and felt lucky that I get to call you my girlfriend.â Your vision blurs. You try to laugh it off, because crying in the pit while thousands of people film you is not exactly your ideal anniversary activity, but the laugh comes out wobbly and useless and Harryâs smile softens when he sees it. âFor the last two years, you have brought nothing but happiness into my life,â he says. âYour love, your patience, your unwavering support, your kindness⌠it means more to me than Iâll ever be able to explain properly. I couldnât have done this without you. Not the way I wanted to. Not with this much joy in it.â The arena remains quiet enough for every word to land. âThank you for choosing me every day,â he says. âEven on the days Iâm difficult.â A few fans laugh gently. You do too, wiping carefully beneath one eye. Harry nods, accepting the laugh like he deserves it. âEspecially on those days, probably.â
Then his face settles again into something tender. âSeeing the world through your eyes has been one of the greatest gifts of my life,â he says. âYou made me realise that sometimes home isnât a country, or a city, or a house. Sometimes home is a person. Sometimes itâs the person you look for in every room, because everything feels better when theyâre there.â Your hand presses over your mouth. Around you, fans are filming, crying, whispering your name with his, but the world has narrowed to Harryâs voice and the warm lights around him. âYou saved me in ways no one else could have,â he says. âAnd I can never thank you enough for that. I never thought loving someone could be easy, but loving you is the easiest thing Iâve ever done.â The sound from the crowd is soft now, scattered and emotional. A few people call out that they love him. Someone behind you sniffles dramatically. Harry looks down at you like no one else exists. âThank you for changing my life,â he says. âFor changing me. For making it better every day. I love you. And Iâd choose you in every lifetime.â
For a moment, you can't move, you can only stand there with tears on your face, shy and overwhelmed and so loved you have no idea where to put it all. Harry sees the embarrassment catch up with the emotion. He sees the way you glance down, laughing through tears, wishing you could hide behind Mark despite being the entire focus of the arena. So he grins. âAlright,â he says, turning slightly back to the crowd, âbefore she passes out from embarrassmentâŚâ The audience laughs, warm and adoring and Harry looks at you one more time. âHereâs Love of My Life.â
The first notes begin, and the arena erupts. Not with the wild chaos of the opener, but with something bigger in a different way â a collective release, all that held breath turning into cheers and applause and sobbing voices. Harry starts to sing, and you stand beneath him with both hands wrapped around your phone, tears still slipping free despite your best efforts. He sings it differently tonight. Maybe that is only because you know, maybe because everyone knows now, but every line feels touched by the speech before it, re-shaped by the fact that he chose this song, on this night, in this city, for you.
You don't sing much, you mostly just listen while the girls behind you cry openly. By the time the song ends, Harry gives you one last look that nearly undoes you all over again, before the encore takes over for two more songs.
The arena comes alive again, louder than before, as if everyone needs to dance off the emotion. Harry runs, sings, smiles, lets the energy lift him all the way through the final stretch when during As It Was, the whole room is moving with him. You dance too, even with tear-sticky cheeks, because Harry keeps glancing down at you with that ridiculous proud grin, and you refuse to let him think he has completely ruined you. He has, of course, but he doesn't need the satisfaction. The final note hits, the crowd screams, Harry sprints beneath the lights, sweat shining on his face, breathing hard, smiling like the world has been kind to him. He waves, blows kisses, presses a hand over his heart, and then he disappears from the stage.
Mark is already moving. âCome on,â he says, though his smile is softer than usual. He leads you quickly backstage, through the side route away from the crowd, past crew members cheering and clapping as the band comes off first. The noise changes back here, less thunderous but more alive in its own way. People laughing, congratulating each other, calling out timings and good nights. You barely have time to step into the backstage corridor before Harry appears. Sweaty, breathless, and glowing. The second he sees you, his entire face breaks open. âHi,â he says.
âYou're insane.â
âHappy anniversary.â Before you can answer, he scoops you up.
You yelp, laughing as your arms fly around his shoulders and he spins you once, completely careless of the fact that he is still damp from stage and running on pure adrenaline. âHarry!â
âWhat?â
âYouâre sweaty!â
âIâm romantic.â
âYouâre disgusting.â
âYou love me.â
âI do, unfortunately.â
He sets you down but keeps his arms locked around your waist, pulling you close until there is no space left between you. His grin softens as he looks at your face, thumb lifting to brush carefully near the corner of your eye. âYou cried,â he says.
âYou gave an anniversary speech in front of an entire arena.â
âThought it was subtle.â
âYou dedicated Love of My Life to me.â
âVery understated.â
âYou told fifty thousand people Iâm your home.â
His smile fades into something gentler. âYou are.â
And just like that, the teasing leaves you. The hallway is still busy around you, people passing, equipment rolling, the world continuing as if yours has not tilted slightly on its axis. Harry doesn't seem to notice any of it. His attention stays on you, steady and bright.
âYouâve never done that before,â you say quietly.
âNo.â
âWhy tonight?â
He leans closer, brushing his nose against yours. âBecause itâs true. And because Iâm tired of pretending the best part of my life isnât standing right in front of me.â
You laugh softly, emotional all over again. âYouâre really trying to make me cry twice in one night?â
âOnly twice? Iâm losing my touch.â
You shake your head, smiling through it. âCrazy man.â
âYour crazy man.â
âUnfortunately.â
âStop saying unfortunately.â
âNever.â
He laughs, then kisses you. This one is not quick like the one before the show. There is no countdown now, no stage waiting, no final call. It's warm and happy and a little messy because he's still breathing hard from the encore and you are still smiling too much to make it elegant. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. âTwo years,â he murmurs.
âTwo years.â
âBest two years of my life.â
âMine too.â
He closes his eyes for half a second, holding you there in the middle of all the noise, still shining from the stage, and still yours in the quietest way.
CW: Smut (use of a sex toy), minor language, dirty talk, light banter and Harry is a menace
Word Count: 5.7K
A/N: I feel rusty when it comes to smut so this was a good opportunity to get back into the swing of things so if you wanted plot Iâm sorry there really isnât a lot đ but enjoy this little thing and feel free to let me know your thoughts!!â¨
Summary: Harry misses you and uses making a video to your favorite song as a way to get you to visit himâ¨
You watch Harryâs eyes darken as they stare down at the open suitcase thatâs situated on the edge of the bed in the hotel youâll be staying in with him for a few nights, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he reaches down and grabs an item he didnât expect to see right when he unzipped your bag so he could help you unpack seeing as heâs already been in Amsterdam for a little over a week so heâs made himself at home in the sprawling suit thatâs on the top floor of a luxury hotel in town. He had begged you to come visit him for a few days, sending you long over dramatic voice notes about how he canât focus without you and needs his creative muse around, and while that was lovely and fed into the twisted part of yourself that craves hearing how miserable he is without you it wasnât until he mentioned filming a music video for one of your favorite songs off his new album that you really started to take his requests for you to come see him more seriously.
Itâs not as if you didnât miss him as well, of course you did but you just know Harry and know he gets lonely very easily and it didnât help that you had already planned on being with him at the start of his tour that kicks off in just two weeks so you didnât see the need to come earlier until he tossed the dance no more video out like a shiny lure on the end of a fishing hook. Needless to say you were on a train to see him the very next day, he could barely contain his excitement when you told him to book you a ticket because he really felt a little off without having you just an arms length away. The two of you have been nearly inseparable during his break from music and to say Harryâs been struggling with the distance sometimes forced between the two of you due to his now hectic schedule is a massive understatement. So he plans on making the most out of your trip to see him and has already warned you that youâll be lucky if he lets you out of his sight during the next few days, not that youâd ever care if he follows you around and is extra handsy because youâre well past getting used to his clingy behavior and now itâs something you encourage, loving the feeling of his sloppy kisses and grabby hands.
As Harry raises the object up and his eyes flicker over to where youâre sitting with your back resting against the headboard of the bed and your legs stretched out with your hands in your lap fiddling with the hem of your t shirt not feeling an ounce of embarrassment, you just give him a smile because youâve never been one to shy away from telling him what you want or what you like, especially when it comes to the bedroom. He tears his eyes away from you and looks back over to the bright pink silicone dildo his long fingers are securely wrapped around and he canât help but let out a laugh as he lightly shakes his head because while he might not have been expecting to find it resting so casually on top of your fancy black dress you brought for a night out, he canât say heâs all that shocked you decided to bring it with you. The sound of his laughter sends a welcomed warm tingle down your spine, having missed being able to witness how his face manages to light up as the sound bubbles up from deep in his chest.
âYou couldnât have packed this in your toiletry bag or something?â He asks teasingly as he places it down on the bed beside your suitcase so he can move on to unpacking your clothes, not really caring in the slightest that you didnât try to hide it by shoving it into a bag or cramming it into the bottom of your suitcase.
âNo because then it wouldâve taken you longer to find it.â Your answer has him looking at you with a raised brow as he pauses his movements, his hands let the silky material of your black dress slip through his fingers and land back into your suitcase when your lips curve upward into a smile that Harry knows means youâre up to something. âYou always unpack my toiletries last.â You watch the wheels start to turn in his mind as you tell him a simple fact about the way he always goes about unpacking your bags, something heâs been doing for you ever since you went on your first trip together years ago because making sure you donât have to lift a finger while heâs around is just one of the ways Harry likes to show you he cares about you.
âOh I see.â He says with the beginnings of a smirk on his face as his eyes roam over your features, he lets them linger on your lips for a beat longer than he should before he brings them back up to meet your eyes. âAnd that wouldâve been a problem? Not finding your pinkâfriend until later?â He asks making you give him a nod as you move so you can crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed until your suitcase is the only thing separating the two of you.
âIt wouldâve been tragic.â Harry holds back a chuckle as you poke out your bottom lip in a pout as you rise to your knees only an arms length away from him, the softness of the comforter feels nice on your skin and Harry canât help himself from letting his eyes get their full of your plush thighs that your sad excuse for shorts leave exposed to him since they really only keep a small portion of your backside and your most intimate bits from being on display. âI wouldâve had to sit and wait and-â
âYouâve never been good at waiting have you baby?â You roll your eyes at his question while he gives you a playful wink that you know is all an act because youâve always been able to read Harry like one of your favorite books, easily seeing through the cocky and smug facade he tries to build up in moments like this and seeing the needy and sometimes desperate man hidden underneath.
âYouâre not so good at it yourself.â You remind him to which he just gives you his sad attempt at a casual shrug as he looks down at your suitcase trying his hardest to act as if he doesnât want to reach out and grab you so he can get the comforting feeling of your skin under his palms. âBesides itâs been-â
âNine days.â He says finishing your sentence for you as his hands clench into fists at his sides. âItâs been nine days.â He repeats but this time with an added sigh, and when you watch him close his eyes and let out a deep breath through his nose you know heâs on the verge of coming undone because nine days apart is a record for the two of you and youâre honestly not sure how heâs managed to keep it so together for the past hour and a half youâve been in the same room.
âExactlyâdonât you think weâve waited long enough? I know you missed me and itâs been so hard for you but Iâm here now.â Your voice doesnât have even the smallest trace of playfulness to it, instead itâs soft and each word that rolls off your tongue has a sticky type of sweetness wrapped around it that seeps into the small cracks that have formed in Harryâs heart with every passing day he had to spend alone, mending it back together in a way that only you know how.
Before your brain can process whatâs happening Harry has a hand on the side of your face only giving you time to blink before his lips are crashing into yours in a hungry and desperate kiss. You hear the sound of your suitcase crashing to the floor as Harry uses his free hand to slide it out of the way letting him have all the room he needs to pull you closer to him, your hands grab onto his face as his tongue slips into your mouth making him let out a small moan when he gets a taste of the mint gum you were chewing on earlier. Your eyes fall closed as you let yourself melt into Harryâs touch, having missed the feeling of being able to let him guide and move your body however he pleases because you know his pleasure is derived from your own so you enjoy the moments where you can turn your mind off and let him take control.
Harry can sense the subtle shift in you as your cheek presses into his palm thatâs keeping you from getting too far away from him, he smiles against your lips when yours hands slide down the front of his t shirt until they end up back down at your sides. He uses his hold on you to gently urge you down onto your back, moving so heâs standing between your legs that are halfway hanging off the edge of the bed and he tries his hardest not to laugh at the frown that takes over your face as he pulls away from you so he can stand up. When you open your eyes you find Harry just staring at you, his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he lets his eyes freely roam over your body only pausing when they land on the waistband of your shorts.
âNeed these off.â He says as he reaches his hands out, you automatically lift your hips so he can easily tug your shorts down your legs until they fall to the floor near his feet. âIâm gonna tell you whatâs about to happen okay baby?â His voice is more relaxed now that he has his hands running up and down the tops of your thighs, when you reach your hands out for him Harry already knows what you want so he smiles as he moves a hand so itâs resting next to you letting him lean over and place a quick kiss to your lips.
âOkay Iâm ready now.â Harry lets out a chuckle as he pulls away and you give him a grin. âWhatâs about to happen?â Thereâs an unmistakable giddiness to your voice as you stare up at Harry and itâs a reminder of how much trust you have in him, that the idea of him taking control not only relaxes you but brings you a sense of excitement because you know you donât have to worry about anything when it comes to him.
âFirst Iâm gonna take this off,â his hand softly pulls at the fabric of your t shirt making you nod as his eyes move down to your pink and yellow polkadot panties. âThen Iâll do my best to not rip these but-â
âWait a minute-â Harryâs eyes instantly bounce up to lock with yours as you sit up onto your elbows with your brows scrunching together and a tiny hint of concern hiding behind the color of your eyes. âThese are too cute to end up in shreds Harry just take them off now if you need to because I am not leaving here with less clothes than I came with okay?âI actually want to have the opposite problem.â
âThe opposite problem?â He asks with a raised brow, you just give him a nod before you sit up just enough so you can pull your t shirt up over your head so you can toss it to the side along with your bra making Harry bite back a smile at how eager you are.
âYes I want to leave with more clothes and things than I came with.â You answer with a smile as one of Harryâs hands slides up from the side of your thigh to your hip. âI know you like spending money on meâyou like the looks people make when you hand me your shiny black credit card and tell me to have fun.â
Itâs no secret that one of the many things Harry likes about his relationship with you is knowing he can offer you a lifestyle none of your previous boyfriends could, it makes it a bit more exciting for him when he does something for you that you didnât expect simply because youâre not used to being taken care of the way Harry takes care of you. He knows youâd still be with him if he was broke or worked a normal job because none of the extra stuff really means anything to you but still, he likes to spoil you in any kind of way youâll let him.
And itâs true, he enjoys the sideways glances and small gasps of shock whenever he just appears in a store youâve been shopping around in just to pay the bill before giving you a kiss and rushing off to his next meeting or studio session before anyone can really put together who it was that just swiped their card and left. He gets a bit of a rush of satisfaction anytime he gets to flaunt his wealth, not getting the opportunity very often since he runs in a very small circle of people who donât discuss things like money so he feels a small twinge of pride in his chest when he gets to simply show up, hand you his card without even bothering to look or ask you what the total is all while you smother his face in kisses and mumble a few thank yous against his neck.
âWell if you already planned on doing some shopping-â your eyes narrow into a glare as you watch Harry stand up so he can slide his thumbs under the waistband of your panties. âAdd another pair of these to the list.â You let out a huff that he knows is all for show as you let yourself fall back onto the bed making Harry laugh as he does exactly what you knew he would, rips the thin fabric with a simple tug that subtly shows off how little effort it takes him to turn the pretty pair of panties into a useless pile of fabric.
âI donât know how I didnât see that comingâshouldâve known youâd say something annoying like that.â
âYou really shouldâve.â Harry teases as he leans over you, a hand on either side of your head with a look thatâs a mixture of love and something hungrier on his face that has your heart doing flips in your chest. âNow can we get back to what I was saying or do you have anymore silly requests like donât pull your hair or keep the lights on while-â
âI asked you to keep the lights on one time because we had just watched that scary movie about the thing that lives in the shadows and-â
âAnd what? You thought Iâd let some creepy creature get you while I had you bent over the bathtub?â
âWell I mean you were a little preoccupied so how would you even have noticed if there was a creepy thing in there with us? Especially since you only had on the vanity lights.â Itâs moments like this, when the two of you are in such intimate positions but having extremely normal conversations that get to Harry the most because itâs just another thing that solidifies the fact heâs finally found his person and itâs you. âBut I guess you wouldâve gotten eaten first so I wouldâve had a decent chance at getting away.â You add with a smile as you reach up and run a hand through Harryâs hair, as you stare up at him you canât help but feel a strong sense of desire for the man hovering over you because in this moment the comfort level the two of you have with each other serves as a different type of turn on, knowing he isnât in a any sort of rush so he can take the time to indulge in silly conversations with you just makes you want him that much more.
âExactly you wouldâve been fine.â He tells you softly as he leans down and presses his lips against yours for a quick little kiss. âNow are you ready to listen?â He asks between kisses down your jaw, your hands grab onto his shoulders as you give him a nod.
âYes Iâm ready to listen.â You tell him already knowing he needs more from you than a simple nod, you feel him smile against the skin of you neck making a shiver run down your spine from his stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin.
âYeah? Youâre ready to be a good girl now?â You swallow thickly as he lifts his head just enough so his eyes can find yours, the anticipation of what he has in store for you has your mind racing and your insides buzzing.
âYes.â A grin spreads across Harryâs face as he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before he slowly starts to kiss and lick his way down the length of your body, only stopping just an inch or two past your belly button.
âI know you brought this for a reason.â You look down at him as he reaches a hand out so he can grab the pink toy resting on the end of the bed. âYou want to tell me why or should I just take a guess?â He asks as he keeps one hand on your hip so you donât get the familiar pout on your face at the complete lack of contact when he stands up making your arms fall off his shoulders and down to your sides landing on the soft comforter of the bed.
âI want you to use it on meâplease.â Harry nods as he soothingly runs the pad of his thumb up and down the soft skin of your hip helping your body relax just a bit.
âOkayâsince you asked so nicely.â You canât help the giggle that falls out of your mouth at the little wink he shoots you before he looks away from your face and down to the glistening mess between your legs. âCanât even use your own toy properly can you baby? Itâs like you need me to do everything for you.â Your eyes snap closed when you feel Harry teasingly drag the tip of your dildo up and down your slick folds making you clench around nothing. âAfter I get you off with this Iâm going to make you come on my cock over and over until all that pretty little mind of yours can think about is meâhowâs that sound baby? Does that sound good?â His eyes flicker up to your face as you bite down on your bottom lip when he slowly pushes the tip of your pink silicone toy into you, he smiles when your hands grip the sheets at your sides when he pushes it in just a bit more.
âYâyes.â Is all youâre able to say before a soft moan slips past your lips and it has Harry quirking a brow as he moves his hand down from your hip to the outside of your knee.
âYes what?â He asks as he gently grabs at your leg so he can place it over his shoulder letting him inch the pink toy deeper into you, allowing you to feel itâs soft ridges press against your warm wet walls. âAnswer me sweetheartâyes what?â
âYes thatâthat sounds good.â You say with a loud moan as Harry uses his grip on the base of the toy to push it all the way in until you feel the side of his hand pressing against you. âSounds soâso good.â You mumble as Harry looks down and lets out a rough sounding groan at the sight before him.
âI think pink is your color baby.â His voice is deep as he starts to pull the toy out, licking his lips as he sees the familiar sheen of your arousal clinging to the pink silicone, he only lets it get half way before pushing it back in making you moan his name as he repeats the same motion a few more times. âI mean itâyour needy little cunt looks so good getting fucked with this pretty pink toy of yours.â You feel your hips try and match the steady pace Harry has set as his free hand keeps a firm grip on the side of your leg thatâs over his shoulder, the gentle pull and push of the toy as it slides in and out of your center has your body craving more.
âHarry I-â your words get cut off by a loud moan when you open your eyes and find Harry staring at you as he turns his head and starts kissing down the inside of your leg, leaning down just enough so he can lightly nibble on the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh while he quickens the pace of his hand thatâs wrapped around the base of your toy, the new angle letting him get it a bit deeper than before. âOh god.â You moan as you feel his hand slide down your thigh and up over your hip until the pad of his thumb is rubbing tight circles over your clit.
âCome on babyâbe a good girl and make a mess all over your pretty little toy.â He coos sweetly as his eyes lock with yours, you watch a smug looking smirk work its way onto his face as he adds more pressure to your bundle of nerves earning him a loud cry of his name, your back arches and your grip on the sheets tightens and you swear thereâs some sort of glittery haze surrounding Harry as you feel the pressure in your lower belly finally snap.
âHear that baby?â Harry asks as he continues his quick pace, plunging the silicone toy in and out of your soaked hole making a squelching sound fill the room as he helps you ride out your climax. âThatâs the sound of you doing what youâre toldâbeing a good girl and making a pretty mess everywhere.â You smile at his words of praise, feeling your arousal starting to drip down onto the bed but you know by the pleased grin on Harryâs face itâs exactly what he wanted.
You try to catch your breath as Harry gently moves your leg off his shoulder after giving the inside of your knee a quick kiss that you know is just to distract you from the feeling of him slowly sliding your pink toy out of your soaked center. Thereâs a flash of something in Harryâs eyes as he looks over at you and before you can open your mouth to ask him whatâs wrong heâs bringing your arousal covered toy up to his mouth and licking it from where he hand is gripping the base all the way to the tip. The sight of him licking your toy clean of your juices has your thighs trying to squeeze together but Harry keeps them spread open with his body nestled between them.
âCouldnât just let that go to waste.â He explains as he places the toy down on the bed. âYou okay? Need anything?â He asks as he starts to pull his shirt up over his head letting you get a good view of his well defined chest and stomach that has you practically drooling.
âJust you.â Harry smiles at your answer as you watch him unbutton his pants and shimmy them down his legs along with his boxers, not bothering to make a show out of getting undressed because he thinks the two of you have waited long enough so no need to prolong it with a striptease that would more than likely end up with him getting a foot stuck in his pants and falling over.
âIâm all yours baby just gotta tell me how you want me.â His voice is strained as he wraps a hand around his painfully hard cock, you sit up and scoot down to the edge of the bed and pat the spot next to you.
âWant to ride you.â You tell him excitedly making him let out a small chuckle as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hands grab onto your hips as you move to straddle his lap placing one knee on either side of his thighs. When you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance you take in a deep breath and grab onto his shoulders, Harryâs hands give your hips a loving squeeze as your eyes lock with his green ones.
âTake your time loveâthereâs no rush.â He reminds you as you slowly start exhale through your nose as you begin to lower yourself down onto him, his lips places kisses to the tops of your shoulders as the all too familiar sting that comes with your body trying to adjust to the size of Harryâs thick shaft pulses through you. âMissed you so much baby.â He mumbles against your neck as you pause only lowered halfway down his cock, needing to allow yourself a moment to breathe before taking the rest of him into your tight cunt since itâs been nine whole days since youâve gotten to be in a position like this so you want to savor it just a bit.
âDonât wanna do that againânine days is too long to be without you.â His voice is low and you feel his hold on your hips tighten as you continue to lower yourself down until youâre taking in the last inches of him making a muffled groan escape him as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.
âI missed you too.â You say with a sigh as he lifts his head up so he can look you in the eyes. âI love you.â You tell him as his hands come up and cup the sides of your face.
âI love you too.â His lips are on yours before you can even smile at how quickly he responds, you swallow down Harryâs moan as you lift yourself up so just the tip of Harryâs cock is snug inside your went center and then lower yourself back down with a quick drop. Your hands tangle into his hair as your tongue licks into his mouth, one of his hands slides down to the side of your neck as your hips start to find a rhythm, itâs as if a flip has been switched inside your body and muscle memory takes over as you bounce on Harry lap. Your knees dig into the plush mattress and your head tilts back as your swollen clit rubs against the patch of hair at the base of Harryâs cock creating a delicious friction, Harry wastes no time in attaching his mouth to your exposed neck, licking and sucking at the skin until heâs satisfied with the blotchy red marks that he knows will be a dark purple color by the end of the day.
âMy cock is better than your little toy isnât it love?â He asks as he gives the side of your neck a squeeze, you let out a loud cry of his name as he bucks his hips letting the tip of his cock nudge the spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl.
âYes yourâyour cock is so much better.â You pant as Harry gives you a few harsh thrusts of his hips. âI missed it so fucking muchâoh god.â Harry looks down as you start to squeeze and pulse around him, he lets out a groan as he watches his thick shaft disappear into your needy hole as you expertly bounce on him. âHarry Iâmâoh fu-Harry.â Your vision goes blurry as Harryâs arms wrap around you and in a quick movement youâre being lifted up and then your back is being pressed into the mattress, you let Harryâs strong hands move you around until your legs are wrapped around his middle and you can barely catch your breath before he starts thrusting his cock in and out of you at a brutal pace.
âFuck baby you feel so good.â Harry groans as your walls start to clench around him, your heels dig into his lower back as his name falls out of your mouth. âNeeded this so badâyou have no idea how much Iâve missed your pussy baby you always feel so perfect when youâre wrapped around me like this.â He tells you as he keeps up the quick pace of his thrust, he watches your eyes fall closed as you start to come undone around him. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as Harry continues to work you through your orgasm, your hands white knuckle the sheets as your back arches making Harry lean down and place a hand next to your head while his other one grips the outside of your leg chasing his own release.
âLook at me babyâwanna see your eyes please need those pretty eyes.â Harry says between kisses all over your face, he feels your body relax as he pulls away just in time to see your eyes slowly peel themselves open and the smile that you give him has his heart pounding in his chest as you reach out and cup his face in your hands.
âYour eyes are pretty too.â All Harry can do is smile at your half mumbled words, he feels his stomach tighten and when you use your legs and pull him closer to you while your hands bring him down for a kiss he canât hold himself back any longer and with a few quick thrusts heâs spilling his warm load deep inside you making you smile as your name tumbles out of his mouth when he pulls away.
âHoly fuckâyouâre so perfect baby I love you so much.â You giggle as Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble tickles your skin as he tries to catch his breath.
âI love you too.â You whisper into his ear as your hands run up and down his back, neither of you ready to move just yet because youâve spent nine days apart so you want to let the moment last as long as you can before separating.
âI think I broke your suitcase.â You let out a laugh as Harry lifts his head up and looks down at the floor and sure enough your suitcase is sprawled out on the ground with a wheel missing having rolled under the bed after Harry shoved it to the floor to get it out of the way.
âThatâs okayâit was yours anyway.â
âOkay so just have fun and get comfortable with the microphoneâtwirl it around or do whatever feels good to you in the moment.â Harry nods as the director of the dance no more music video gives him a little bit of direction for what heâs meant to be doing for this part of the video, you have a grin on your face as you sit in one of the chairs near the back of the gymnasium with a few of the backup dancers who arenât needed in this shot.
âYeah okayâI can do that.â Harry says with a smile before walking back over to where heâs meant to be standing, he grabs the silver microphone and shakes his arms and jogs in place to loosen up his limbs while the director takes his spot behind the camera.
You watch in awe as Harry instantly turns into the charismatic man people have posters of taped on their walls and spend copious amounts of money to watch perform on stage every night the moment he hears the word action. Youâre so entranced by the movement of his hips in his silky red shorts you almost miss the way his eyes find yours in the back of the room, thereâs a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grabs the base of the microphone with both hands and you feel your face get hot as he stares directly at you while he licks the microphone the same way you had watched him lick up the length of your pink sex toy the day before.
âSorry H letâs go again in fiveâI really love that but this time letâs add some dancers.â Harry just nods and walks over to where youâre sitting with a playful grin on his face.
âThat was for you.â He tells you with a wink that makes you just shake your head as he stands in front of you. âKnew youâd like that.â He teases as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your lips.
âYouâre so annoying.â Harry just shrugs as you wipe off the remnants of your lipgloss off his bottom lip. âThank you for letting me be here for this.â Your voice is soft and sweet and has Harry placing a hand on the side of your face.
âYouâre always welcome to come to work with me baby you know thatâI know how much you love this song.â You smile as you lean into his touch. âI perform better when youâre with me.â
âYouâre just saying that so Iâll agree to going on tour with you.â
âWell yeahâthatâs exactly why Iâm saying it but itâs also just the truth.â
Summary: At soundcheck, you decide to surprise Harryâs fans by going live from his Instagram and the internet immediately loses its mind.
Amsterdam, N2 â 17 May 2026
At exactly twelve minutes past noon, Harryâs Instagram account goes live. It happens quietly from your side of things. No announcement, no teaser, and no carefully edited caption approved by three different people and saved into drafts. Just your thumb hovering over the button for half a second before you press it, standing in the empty pit of the arena with a lanyard around your neck, your phone in your hand, and Harryâs voice already echoing from the stage. For the rest of the internet, however, it is anything but quiet as the little notification goes out:
harrystyles âď¸ started a live video. Watch it before it ends!
And within seconds, the numbers begin climbing so quickly that you almost laugh.
3,000.
18,000.
74,000.
122,000.
The comments appear in a waterfall of disbelief.
IS THIS REAL????
HARRY?????
NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY OMG
I WAS IN A MEETING I JUST LEFT
WHO IS HOLDING THE PHONE??
OH MY GOD HEâS LIVE
Y/N IS THIS YOU????
WE MISSED HIM SO MUCH
Hearts rise up the right side of the screen in a constant stream, red and frantic, floating over the image of the empty arena. Seats stretch upwards in silent rows, the stage lit in soft working light instead of show colours. The place looks entirely different at noon, stripped of last nightâs madness. No screaming crowd and no glittering sea of phones, just crew members moving in the distance, cases on wheels, cables taped down, a few people in headsets talking into radios. And Harry.
Harry himself is on the main stage, singing into a handheld mic as if the arena is full anyway. He wears black sports shorts, trainers, a cosy Pleasing jumper, and a black beanie pulled low over his hair. There is something very endearing about it, the contrast between the man who owned the stage last night and the one currently standing there in a jumper from his own brand, doing vocal runs with the focus of someone who absolutely doesnât know that two hundred thousand people are now watching him warm up. You angle the phone towards him and begin walking through the pit. âGood afternoon,â you say, voice warm but amused, because the comments have already become unreadable. âSince a few of you seem to be awake, I thought weâd check what heâs up to.â
The comments explode again.
A FEW OF US???? THERE ARE 300K PEOPLE HERE
Y/N YOU QUEEN
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
HE LOOKS SO CUTE
THE BEANIE IâM GONE
PLEASING JUMPER PROMO KING
PLEASE TELL HIM WE LOVE HIM
I CANNOT BREATHE
You laugh under your breath. âWell, heâs busy right now, but Iâll pass it on.â
Harry doesn't look over at first. He is halfway through a line from American Girls, one hand holding the mic, the other gesturing faintly as he listens to whatever adjustment the sound engineer has made in his in-ears. The band is scattered behind him, not fully in show formation. Sarah is at her kit, tapping lightly between cues. Mitch is sitting on a riser with his guitar, looking half asleep in the way he often does when he is, in fact, perfectly aware of everything happening around him.
You keep walking. The pit feels enormous without fans pressed against the barricade. Your footsteps are small against the arena floor, swallowed by the clean sound of Harryâs voice coming through the speakers. It still amazes you sometimes, how familiar and strange this job can be at the same time. You have heard him sing in kitchens, hotel bathrooms, cars, backstage corridors, Rome balconies at ridiculous hours of the night. You know the casual hums, the silly improvised lyrics, the dramatic shower notes. But hearing him like this â alone in a huge room, voice filling every empty seat â still makes you stop for half a second longer than planned.
The live count passes 500,000. âOkay,â you say, mostly to the viewers, âyou lot are fast.â
WE HAVE WAITED YEARS FOR CASUAL HARRY CONTENT
THIS IS HISTORY
Y/N RUN THE ACCOUNT FOREVER PLS
HE LOOKS SO HAPPY
THE WAY HE SMILES WHEN HE SINGS IâM UNWELL
You reach the side of the stage and climb up the short set of steps leading onto one of the side catwalks. A crew member glances at you, recognises the phone, then gives you a small grin and steps out of frame. You walk carefully along the catwalk, keeping the camera steady as Harry moves into another part of the song. He notices you when you are almost at the middle catwalk. His eyes flick towards you, then back, then towards you again. The moment he realises it's you, his face changes. It's immediate and ridiculous, really. One second he is professional, focused, listening to the monitors. The next, his mouth curves into that dimpled smile that has done unnecessary damage to millions of people and, unfortunately, still works on you even after two years of direct exposure. He sings the next line at you. Actually at you. The camera catches it all, and the comments become a disaster.
HE SAW HER
HE SMILED AT HER OH MY GOD
THAT SMILE WAS FOR Y/N IâM SOBBING
I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE
THE DIMPLESSSSSS
HE IS SO IN LOVE BYE
SHE MAKES HIM SO HAPPY LOOK AT HIM
You sit down on the middle catwalk about twenty metres in front of him, legs crossed, phone propped steadily in your hands. Harry is still on the main part of the stage, but he keeps glancing at you between lines, clearly under the impression that you are simply recording him for later. And because of this, he becomes unbearable. He gives you a tiny wink during a lyric and you actually have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing too loudly into the microphone. âEveryone saw that,â you tell the stream quietly, and the comments confirm that everyone did, in fact, see that.
WE SAW IT
WE ALL SAW IT
SIR??????
FLIRTING DURING SOUNDCHECK IS CRAZY
Y/N HOW DO YOU SURVIVE THIS DAILY?????
âI donât,â you say. âI just pretend to be very professional.â
Harry shakes his head from the stage, still smiling as he sings, though he has no idea what you have just told nearly a million people. The number at the top keeps climbing. Your phone buzzes once with a text notification from Jeff.
Jeff: Did you just go live on his account?
You smile and keep filming. Another message appears.
Jeff: Never mind. Numbers are insane. Continue.
You tilt the phone slightly, zooming just enough to frame Harry and the band without making it feel invasive. It's a sweet kind of access, you think. Not polished, not a production, just him, in the middle of the day, warming up in a beanie and jumper, doing the job before the actual job. And the fans know it too.
THANK YOU FOR THIS
THIS FEELS SO SPECIAL
HE SEEMS SO RELAXED
Y/N YOUâRE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE
CAN YOU TELL HIM OPENING NIGHT WAS PERFECT
I LOVE SEEING HIM HAPPY
Then, because the internet can never remain wholesome for more than eight consecutive seconds, the comments take a turn. You read one silently and immediately look away from the screen.
OH MY GOD HE COULD SPANK MY ASS SO HARD I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO WALK FOR A WEEK AND I'D STILL SAY THANK YOU DADDY
âOh, absolutely not.â You whisper.
The comments notice immediately.
WHAT DID IT SAY?
READ IT OUT
DID ANYONE SEE???
Y/N WHAT DID YOU SEE?
TELL US TELL US
You shake your head, still filming Harry as he moves into another vocal run, completely unaware. âNo, because some of you need supervision.â More comments fly by.
WE DO
YES WE DO
PLEASE SUPERVISE US
WAS IT A FREAKY COMMENT?
IT WAS DEFINITELY A FREAKY COMMENT
You laugh, helpless now. âSomeone just called him daddy in a sentence I am not repeating on his official Instagram account at lunchtime.â
The stream loses its collective mind. Harry, still singing, notices your shoulders shaking with laughter and his brows lift from across the stage as if to ask what you are doing. You wave him off with one hand and keep the camera on him. âAlso,â you add, unable to resist, âyouâre all much braver than I am. I would never type that where anyone could screenshot it.â
Y/N PLEASE
SHEâS LAUGHING AT US
OFFICIAL INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT AT LUNCHTIME đ
ASK HIM IF HE KNOWS HEâS DADDY
NO DONâT ASK HIM IâLL DIE
ASK HIM
You read the comments with growing amusement. âIâm not asking him that while heâs working.â
Harry finally stops singing. Not because of the question, obviously. He still hasn't heard it. He stops because he has now realised that you're no longer silently recording. You're talking to your phone, laughing, and occasionally looking far too entertained by whatever is on the screen. He lowers his voice. âWhat are you doing over there, love?â
His voice carries easily through the speakers, warm and suspicious. You turn the phone slightly so he is fully in frame. âNothing.â
Harry tilts his head. âThatâs your lying voice.â
The comments flood instantly.
HE KNOWS HER LYING VOICE
IâM ON THE FLOOR
THE DOMESTICITY
HARRY LOOK HERE
TELL HIM HEâS LIVE
You smile sweetly. âIâm giving your fans a little show.â
Harry pauses. His eyes move from your face to the phone, then back to your face. âAre you live?â
You nod.
âRight now?â
âYes.â
âOn my account?â
âYes.â
His mouth opens slightly and for one beautiful second, he looks genuinely surprised. Then he laughs. Not a polite laugh, not a stage laugh, a real laugh, head tipping back a little, shoulders loosening, the sound echoing through the empty arena. âOh, youâre trouble,â he says.
âYou hired me.â
âIâm rethinking that right now.â
âNo, youâre not.â
âNo, Iâm not.â He steps closer to the edge of the main stage, grinning now. âHow many people are watching?â
You glance at the number. âJust under 1.4 million.â
Harryâs eyebrows lift. âAt once?â
âYouâre very popular.â
âSo Iâve heard.â
âModest.â
âAlways.â
He gestures at the phone with the mic. âWhat are they saying?â
You look at the comments at exactly the wrong moment and immediately regret it. Of course Harry sees your face. âWhat?â
âNothing.â
âWhat are they saying?â
âTheyâre being very supportive.â
âThatâs not the face for supportive.â
You sigh, because now the comments are moving so fast you can barely keep up. âThey are calling you daddy.â
Harryâs laugh comes faster this time, bright and delighted. Sarah hits a cymbal once behind him as if punctuating the moment and looks up with the smug smile of someone who absolutely heard that. Harry looks at the camera with mock seriousness. âAt this hour? Have some decency.â
The comments go feral at that again.
NO DECENCY
NEVER
HE KNOWS
IâM SCREAMING
DADDY SAID HAVE DECENCY
HARRY PLEASE
You lower your head, laughing. âYou made it worse.â
âI didnât do anything.â
âYou looked into the camera and said decency.â
âImportant word.â
âNot helpful.â
He grins. âWhat else are they asking?â
You scan the comments, grateful when a few actual questions appear between the chaos. âOkay, serious interview portion,â you announce. âMr. Styles.â
Harry straightens dramatically. âYes.â
âHow are you feeling today, after opening night?â
He hums quietly, pretending to consider it like this is a formal press conference and not you sitting cross-legged on his stage during soundcheck. âI feel good,â he says. âA little tired. Very happy. Last night wasâŚâ He pauses, searching for the right word without over-polishing it. âIt was beautiful. Really beautiful. I didnât know how much I missed it until everyone started singing back.â
WE MISSED YOU TOO
THE CROWD LOVES YOU
LAST NIGHT WAS MAGIC
I CRIED THE WHOLE TIME
SO PROUD OF YOU
You read a few of them aloud, and Harryâs smile becomes quieter. âThank you,â he says, looking towards the phone. âReally. Thank you for being so lovely last night. And loud. Very loud. Borderline dangerous.â
You ask, âAre you excited for tonight?â
âVery. Night two always has a different energy. Everyoneâs a bit less terrified.â
âYou mean you.â
âI mean everyone.â
âSure.â
He points at you. âBiased interviewer.â
âExtremely.â
Another comment catches your eye. âSomeone asks if you have a favourite moment from night one.â
Harry thinks. âThe first chorus of Fine Line was special. Felt like everyone decided at the same time that we were going to be alright.â
Your smile softens behind the phone. He looks at you for half a beat longer than necessary, both of you remembering the green room the night before without saying so. Then you clear your throat lightly and read another question. âFavourite snack backstage?â
âBanana.â
You stare at him. âThatâs your answer?â
âWhatâs wrong with banana?â
âItâs a bit boring.â
âItâs reliable.â
âPeople were hoping for insight.â
âThat is insight. Iâm a reliable man.â
"Okay." You shrug.
Then another question flies past. âSomeone asks if you have any advice for people coming to tonightâs show.â
Harry looks back at the camera. âWear comfortable shoes. Be nice to each other. Drink water. Donât throw anything at my head.â
You nod. âStrong advice.â
âAnd sing,â he adds. âEven if you think you sound terrible. Especially then, actually. Makes me feel better.â
The comments fill with love again, fast and bright. You are still smiling at them when Harry suddenly steps off the main stage area and begins walking down the catwalk towards you. You look up. âWhat are you doing?â
He doesn't answer and that is your warning. âHarry.â
Still no answer. âDonât.â
He reaches you with the most innocent expression he has ever worn, which means he is absolutely guilty of whatever he is about to do. Before you can pull the phone back, he bends, snatches it neatly from your hands, and drops down beside you on the catwalk.
âOi!â
âMy account,â he says.
âMy livestream.â
âOur livestream now.â
The comments are too fast to read now. Hearts pour up the screen so quickly they cover half the image. Harry flips the camera to the front-facing view, and suddenly both of you are on screen. You immediately try to lean out of frame. Harry, delighted, loops an arm behind you and gently pulls you back. âWhere are you going?â
âIâm not supposed to be on camera.â
âYou started a livestream on my Instagram.â
âTo show you.â
âAnd now weâre showing us.â
âThat was not in the strategy deck.â
He looks into the camera. âHear that? She made a strategy deck.â
âI did not make a strategy deck.â
âYou absolutely did. It had tabs.â
âIt was a planning document.â
âWith tabs.â
âThatâs how documents work.â
Harry grins at the comments, which are currently full of people typing both your names in capital letters.
HARRY AND Y/N TOGETHER STOP
THEY ARE SO CUTE
SHEâS SHY đ
DONâT HIDE Y/N WE LOVE YOU
BEST SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER EVER
COUPLE CONTENT
You cover part of your face with one hand. âThis is your fault.â
âYou pressed the button.â
âYou stole the phone.â
âTeam effort.â
He shifts into interviewer mode with alarming speed, holding the phone out so both of you fit in the frame. âWelcome people on the internet,â he says solemnly. âWe are here with the new head of my social media platforms. Sheâs very talented, very organised, and currently regretting every professional decision that brought her to this stage.â
You groan. âHarry.â
âFirst question,â he continues. âHow does it feel to be on tour?â
You glance at him, then at the screen, trying not to look too awkward. âItâs been really lovely. Everyoneâs been very kind. The crew are amazing, the band are amazing, and Amsterdam has been a beautiful first stop so far.â
Harry nods seriously. âVery media trained.â
âI studied.â
âSecond question. Are you enjoying working for me?â
âYouâre not my only boss.â
He looks offended. âI am the face of the operation.â
âYou are the face making my job difficult by going inactive for years.â
The comments love that. Harry laughs. âThat was a read.â
âIt was a professional observation.â
âYouâre doing very well.â He glances at the comments, then his grin turns wicked. âFinal question.â
âNo.â
âYou donât know what Iâm going to ask.â
âI know your face.â
He turns back to the phone. âHow does it feel to date daddy?â
You make a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a groan, immediately trying to move away while he laughs so hard the camera shakes.
âHarry Edward Styles.â
âOooooh, full name.â
âThis is still your official account.â
âRight. Sorry.â He looks into the camera, not sorry at all. âHow does it feel to date a man who eats bananas backstage?â
You shake your head, laughing. âExhausting.â
âWow.â
âBut rewarding.â
He brightens. âIâll take that.â
The live continues like that for a while, messy, warm, completely unscripted. Harry reads comments with exaggerated seriousness, answers a question about his favourite city by refusing to choose because he âdoesnât want to start geopolitical drama,â and tells everyone Sarah is the coolest person on tour â she is. At some point, Jeff appears at the edge of the pit, watching the numbers with an expression of pure managerial conflict: horror at the lack of control, joy at the engagement.
You see him and laugh. âJeff looks stressed.â
Harry turns the camera towards him. Jeff immediately points at both of you. âDo not put me on that.â
Harry turns it back. âJeff says hello.â
âI did not,â Jeff calls.
By the time the stream reaches twenty minutes, the viewer count has peaked at 2.6 million. You stare at the number in sheer disbelief. âThatâs absurd.â
Harry looks proud, but not in a smug way. More amused than anything. âYou said it yoursef, Iâm popular.â
âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet.â
âAnd yet,â you agree softly.
He looks at the camera. âAlright, weâre going to go finish soundcheck before my manager starts ageing visibly. Thank you for spending your lunch break with us. Or breakfast. Or the middle of the night. Please sleep if itâs the middle of the night for you.â
You wave, still shy but smiling. âThanks for joining. Be nice to each other tonight. Drink water.â
Harry adds, âAnd maintain decency.â
You snatch the phone back just long enough to end the live before the comments can explode again and the screen goes still.
For a second, neither of you moves. The arena feels enormous around you, quiet now except for the low murmur of crew conversations and someone testing a guitar tone in the distance. Without the comments and hearts, without the live number climbing, the middle catwalk becomes just a strip of stage suspended inside a giant empty room. Harry puts the phone down carefully beside you. Then he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him. You let yourself lean there, tucked into his side, the warmth of his jumper against your cheek as his beanie brushes your temple when he rests his head lightly against yours.
âThat was good,â he says after a minute.
âYou think?â
âYeah.â His thumb moves once against your shoulder. âFelt nice. Not too polished.â
âThat was the goal.â
âYouâre good at this.â
âItâs literally my job.â
âNo.â He turns his head slightly, voice gentler. âYouâre good at knowing how to let people see me without making it feel like Iâm being handed over.â
The words sit between you for a moment. You look out at the empty seats, rows and rows waiting to be filled again tonight. âI just want it to feel like you,â you say.
âIt does.â
That means more than the 2.6 million views. More than Jeffâs relieved texts and more than the comments thanking you for the stream. Harry presses a kiss to the side of your head. âThank you,â he murmurs.
âFor getting you called daddy in front of millions of people?â
âFor that, obviously.â He smiles against your hair. âAnd for being here. On tour. With me. Working, and dealing with my nonsense, and making all of this feelâŚâ He pauses. âLess strange.â
You turn slightly to look at him. âI couldnât ask for a better job.â
He gives you a look.
âAlright,â you add. âMaybe slightly calmer working conditions.â
âThereâll be calmer days.â
âWill there?â
âNo.â
You laugh, and his face does that soft thing again, the one you saw yesterday before he went on stage, the one that belongs only in quiet moments between you two. âIâm happy,â you tell him.
Harry looks at you for a long second, all playfulness fading into something warmer. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
His arm tightens around your shoulders. âMe too,â he says.
The crew keeps working, the tour keeps moving, tonight, the arena will fill again, and Harry will walk out beneath the lights, and thousands of people will scream like they have been waiting their whole lives for it. But for now, it is just noon in Amsterdam. An empty arena, a phone facedown on the catwalk, Harryâs arm around you.
âI love you,â he says quietly.
You smile, leaning into him. âI love you too.â
Warnings: mild anxiety, self-doubt, basically just stage-fright
Summary: Opening night in Amsterdam comes with more nerves than Harry expected. Twenty minutes before showtime, he starts doubting whether heâs ready to step back onto the stage. Luckily, you know exactly how to remind him who he is and why he belongs there.
A/N: This was requested a really long time ago by @sparklejumpropequeen1113 , now that he's back on tour, I finally got the inspiration to write it. I hope you like it. đ
Amsterdam, N1 â 16 May 2026
Twenty minutes before the first show of the Together Together Tour, Harry Styles is trying to convince an entire green room that cancelling is still a perfectly reasonable option. He has been pacing for almost ten minutes. Not casual pacing, either. Not the kind he does when he's thinking through a melody or trying to remember where he left his phone. This is full disaster pacing. Five steps across the room, turn, hand through his hair, three muttered words under his breath, another turn, another glance at the clock as if time itself might take pity on him and stop. It doesn't. The clock keeps moving. The arena beyond the walls keeps roaring. And Harry? Harry keeps spiralling. âNo,â he mutters, shaking his head. âNo, this is mad. This is actually mad.â
Jeff stands near the snack table with his arms crossed, watching him in the tired, patient way of someone who has known Harry long enough to recognise a pre-show meltdown and still find it deeply inconvenient. âItâs not mad,â Jeff says.
Harry points at him without stopping. âIt is. Itâs completely mad.â
âItâs a concert.â
âItâs the first concert.â
âStill a concert.â
âThe first concert in years.â
Sarah, sitting on the arm of the sofa with her drumsticks balanced across her lap, gives him a sympathetic look. âYou rehearsed for this, H.â
âI rehearsed in an empty arena.â
âWith all of us there,â Mitch says from beside her.
Harry turns on him. âYou donât count.â
Mitch blinks. âThatâs hurtful.â
âYou know what I mean.â
âNo, Iâll remember this, mate.â
Sarah nudges her husband with her knee, but her eyes stay on Harry. There is fondness in them, and concern too, though not the frightened kind. Everyone in the room knows this version of him. The dramatic version. The one who spends weeks preparing, checks every detail, cares until it becomes almost ridiculous, and then, right before the thing begins, decides with great conviction that he has made a terrible mistake. Usually, it passes. Usually, one of them can make him laugh, or Jeff can talk him through the schedule, or Sarah can remind him that nerves are part of the deal. Usually, Harry rolls his eyes, calls them all annoying, and steps out anyway.
Tonight, the stakes feel bigger. The Johan Cruijff Arena is packed, the tickets have been sold for months, fans have been posting from outside the venue since morning, dressed in bright colours and handmade outfits, turning the entire area around the arena into a moving, singing celebration before Harry has even touched the stage. That should help. It doesn't. âWhat if I forget the words?â Harry asks.
âYou wrote most of them,â Mitch says.
âThat makes it worse. People expect me to know them.â
Sarah presses her lips together, trying not to smile. âYou will know them.â
âAnd what if my voice goes?â
âIt wonât.â
âWhat if my knees go?â
Mitch looks up, one eyebrow raised. âWhy are your knees involved?â
âEverythingâs involved.â
âYouâre thirty-two, not ancient.â
âThank you for your kindness, Mitch, appreciate it.â
âYou were jumping around at soundcheck,â Sarah says.
âThat was before I realised this whole thing was a mistake.â
Jeff rubs both hands over his face. âThe whole tour?â
âYes.â
âThe album too?â
Harry pauses, then, quieter, âNo. Not the album.â
Sarah softens at that. âThen not the tour either.â
For a second, Harry looks as if he wants to believe her, he really does. His eyes land on Sarahâs face, and for the smallest moment, the pacing stops. But then a fresh wave of noise rolls through the walls, the kind of roar that seems too big for the building trying to contain it, and his attention snaps back towards the door. âNo,â he says again, voice low. âNo, I canâtâ Jeff, I canât go out there.â
Jeff studies him for half a beat. "Yes, you can." Then he looks towards the door himself. âIâll be right back.â
Harry barely notices him leave. He has started walking again, mumbling under his breath like he can talk himself into a solution if he repeats the problem often enough. âToo long away. Shouldâve done a smaller show first. Shouldâve waited. Theyâre all expectingâ I canât give themââ
Sarah stands, placing her drumsticks on the sofa. âHarry,â she says gently, but he keeps pacing. âHarry!â
âIâm listening.â
âYouâre not.â
âI am.â
âWhat did I say?â
He stops, looks at her, and says, âYou said Harry.â
Mitch shrugs. âTechnically true.â
Sarah ignores him and steps into Harryâs path. âLook at me.â
Harry tries, but his gaze keeps slipping past her, to the door, the clock, the dark corners of the room, anywhere his worry can attach itself.
âYou are ready,â Sarah says. âYouâre nervous because you care. Thatâs all this is.â
Harry lets out a humourless little laugh. âThatâs all?â
âYes.â
âFeels a bit bigger than all.â
âIt always does right before.â
He opens his mouth to argue, but the door opens before he can get a word out and Jeff appears first. Then you step in behind him. You have your VIP lanyard hanging around your neck, your phone in one hand, the screen open to the @togethertogether account because ten minutes ago you were upstairs with Anne, checking the final scheduled post for the opening night of the tour. You were supposed to be watching from the box, tucked between Harryâs mum and a few friends, listening to the crowd build itself into a storm. Then Jeff had appeared. He had not said much, he didn't need to, one look at his face, and you had already stood up. Now, the green room turns towards you with embarrassing speed. Sarahâs shoulders drop in visible relief, Mitch lifts a hand. âOh, thank God,â he says. âPlease tell your boyfriend heâs not allowed to cancel the tour because of imaginary knee failure.â
You blink once. âImaginary what?â
âDonât encourage him,â Sarah says.
Jeff leans closer to you, lowering his voice. âHeâs fine. Just very⌠opening night.â You nod, because you understand exactly what that means.
Harry still hasn't noticed you. He is too far inside his own head, pacing again, mouth moving with half-formed worries that barely make it into the room. His stage outfit is already on, except for the jacket, his bare forearms warm under the light, tattoos familiar and vivid against his skin. He looks ready to step in front of thousands, but he also looks as if he has forgotten that every person in the room is on his side. Jeff slips out again, leaving you to it.
You don't call to Harry from across the room, you know him well enough for that. When he is wound this tight, loud concern only gives the nerves more attention. So you walk over to him slowly, passing Sarah, who gives you a small, encouraging smile. The closer you get, the clearer his words become. âGonna mess up the opener. Shouldâve changed the key. Shouldâve never picked that as the first song. Too old to be running around likeââ
âHarry.â Your voice is soft. At the same time, your fingers curl gently around his bare forearm.
He stops at once. His head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise for a second before they find your face. Recognition settles over him like someone has switched on a light in a dark room. âYouâre here,â he says.
âI am.â
âYouâre supposed to be upstairs.â
âYouâre supposed to be breathing.â
Behind you, Mitch makes a noise that sounds dangerously close to a laugh. Sarah must give him a look, because he falls silent immediately.
Harry glances towards the door. âJeff got you?â
âHe came to collect me, yes.â
âBrilliant.â He closes his eyes briefly. âThat bad?â
âYou were apparently making legal arguments for a fake power cut.â
His eyes open. âThat was private.â
âIt was in front of your band.â
âStill private.â
You let your thumb move once over his arm. âApparently someone needed a reminder.â
He looks at you cautiously. âOf what?â
âHow good he is.â
He exhales, then straightens a little, as though he has remembered there are people in the room and pride is still technically available to him. âIâm fine.â
You only look at him. He holds your gaze. One second. Two. Three. Then his face gives up before his mouth does and he sighs. âIâm not fine.â
âI know.â
âCourse you do,â he mutters. âAnnoying.â
âVery.â
His hand finds yours, almost without thinking. He doesn't reach dramatically, and he also doesn't ask. His fingers simply slip between yours, familiar and automatic, and you let him hold on as tightly as he needs. For a moment, the room politely fades away. Not physically, Sarah and Mitch are still there, Jeff is probably hovering outside the door, and a crew member is definitely waiting somewhere with a headset and growing stress levels. But everyone gives you what privacy they can. Harryâs voice lowers. âI donât think I can do it.â
You don't rush to disagree, that matters. He looks down at your joined hands. âI know how stupid that sounds.â
âIt doesnât sound stupid.â
âIt does, love. Iâm standing here dressed for a show I planned, with thousands of people outside, telling you I canât do my job.â
âYouâre telling me youâre nervous before the first night of a massive tour after nearly three years away.â
He pauses. âThat sounds better.â
âItâs also the truth.â
A faint, reluctant smile touches his mouth, then disappears when the noise outside rises again. âI keep thinking Iâll walk out there and itâll feel wrong,â he admits. âLike I missed the window. Like everyone else moved on and Iâm still trying to beâŚâ He shakes his head, annoyed with himself. âI donât know.â
âYou donât have to know. Keep talking.â
He looks at you then, properly. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but it is not the kind that swallows him whole. It is softer than that, more human, the simple fear of caring too much. The fear of returning to something he loves and finding it has changed while he was away. âWhat if they donât want this version of me?â he asks quietly. âWhat if they wanted the one from before? The one who knew how to do all this without thinking so much.â
You step closer, your free hand resting lightly on his arm again. âFirst of all,â you say, âyou have always thought this much.â
Mitch murmurs, âTrue.â
Harry turns his head. âNot helpful.â
âAccurate, though,â Sarah says.
You smile, and Harry looks back at you with a small, offended huff that already sounds more like him. âSecond,â you continue, âtheyâre not here for a version of you that doesnât exist anymore. Theyâre here for you. The person you are now. The person who made this album, who built this show, who spent weeks changing tiny details nobody else would have noticed because you wanted it to feel right.â
âThe details mattered.â
âI know they did.â
âThe intro lighting was wrong.â
âIt was very wrong,â you agree, because sometimes love is telling him the curtain colour mattered. âAnd then you fixed it. You fixed all of it. You rehearsed. You listened. You adjusted. You cared so much that you drove everyone slightly insane, which is annoying for them but very good for the show.â
Mitch points at you. âThat is exactly what happened.â
Harryâs mouth twitches again and you squeeze his hand. âAnd youâve grown,â you continue, softer now. âAs a person. As an artist. As someone who actually lets himself rest sometimes, even if you still act like drinking coffee on a balcony in Rome counts as a demanding schedule.â
âIt can be demanding.â
âYou watched a cat sleep for forty minutes.â
âHe had presence.â
âHe was asleep.â
âHe knew what he was doing.â
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and that does it. Harry smiles properly this time, small but warm, the kind of smile that belongs to you more than to any camera. The knot loosens and you keep your voice gentle. âThose people out there are not waiting for you to prove youâre still worthy of being loved, they already love you. Theyâre here to celebrate with you. Sing with you. Dance with you. Scream every lyric so loudly youâll probably hear none of your own vocals for the first three songs.â
âThatâs not ideal.â
âItâll be fun.â
âYeah, it's fun when they do that, feels nice.â
âI know.â
His gaze moves over your face, and you can see the moment your words begin to land. Not as a miracle cure, and also not as some grand revelation. Just slowly, honestly, because he trusts you enough to let your voice be louder than the doubt. âYou donât have to be perfect tonight,â you tell him. âYou only have to walk out there and start. The rest will come back to you.â
âAnd if it doesnât?â
âThen you look up at me and your mum dancing terribly in the VIP box, and you remember you have bigger problems.â
His brows lift. âTerribly?â
âAnne has confidence. I have rhythm. Together, we are dangerous.â
âPlease donât start a dance crew during my show.â
âNo promises.â
He laughs then, a real laugh. Quiet, but enough that Jeff peeks through the door like the sound alone has added five years back to his life. Harry sees him and rolls his eyes. âStop hovering.â
Jeff immediately opens the door wider. âI wasnât.â
âYou were.â
âI was monitoring.â
âThrough a crack in the door?â
âManagerial instinct.â
Mitch snorts, Sarah picks her drumsticks back up, grinning now. âHow are we doing, H?â
Harry takes a breath, a proper one, then he looks back at you. âBetter,â he says.
The word is small, but everyone hears it. You do too, and your heart settles with relief. Harry pulls you into him then, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, the other around your waist. You go willingly, your face turning into the warmth of him. He smells like cologne, clean fabric, and just himself. For a moment, he just holds you. No jokes, no pacing, no countdown. Only his arms around you and his breathing finally steadying against your cheek. âThank you,â he murmurs.
Your hand moves slowly over his back. âAlways.â
âNo, I mean it.â He draws back enough to look at you, but keeps you close. âFor coming down. For knowing when Iâm being an idiot and still being nice about it.â
âIâm not always nice about it.â
âNo, youâre quite smug sometimes.â
âYou like that.â
âI love that.â His expression softens. âI love you.â
The others suddenly become extremely busy with pretending not to hear. Mitch looks at the ceiling, Sarah looks at her shoes and Jeff checks his phone even though the screen is off.
You smile. âI love you too.â
Harryâs eyes hold yours for one more beat, and then the knock comes again, this time, it's not a warning, it's the final call. âFive minutes,â someone calls from the doorway. âActually five.â
Harry nods. The nerves are still there. You can tell by the way he flexes his fingers once before letting his hands fall at his sides. But they have changed shape now, they no longer look like something dragging him backward. They look like energy, sharp and bright, waiting for somewhere to go. He turns to you immediately. âMark can take you back.â
âI can find the VIP box.â
âI know.â
âSo whyââ
âBecause Mark can take you back.â
You narrow your eyes. âYou are about to go on stage in front of an entire arena, and youâre worried about me walking down a hallway by myself?â
âYes.â
âThatâs ridiculous.â
âThatâs love.â
âThatâs control issues.â
âThat too.â
You laugh, and he grins, pleased with himself now that he can actually breathe again. A security guard appears by the door, waiting with polite patience. The hallway behind him is alive with movement: crew rushing past, headsets crackling, someone calling timing cues, someone else counting equipment, the whole machine of the show shifting into its final seconds. Harry looks at you one last time. You reach up and smooth the edge of his stage shirt near his shoulder, a tiny gesture that gives you an excuse to touch him again. âGo be brilliant,â you say.
He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles. âYouâll be watching?â
âEvery second.â
âWith Mum?â
âYes.â
âDance with her.â
âI already promised.â
âShe gets competitive.â
âSo do I.â
His smile turns boyish. âThatâs my girl.â
Then he leans in and kisses you. It's quick because it has to be, but it's not careless. His hand rests at your cheek, his thumb warm for one second against your skin, and when he pulls away, his face is close enough for you to see the last trace of worry giving way to excitement. âTheyâre waiting for you,â you whisper. He nods, and this time, he smiles like he believes it.
You leave with Mark while Harry is guided in the opposite direction. For a few steps, you look back over your shoulder and catch him doing the same. He lifts two fingers in a tiny wave, and then someone from the crew steals his attention, ushering him towards the stage entrance.
By the time you reach the VIP box, the house lights have dimmed and the intro is starting on the big screens. Anne turns the second you step inside. âThere you are,â she says, taking your hand. Her eyes search your face with a motherâs quiet precision. âIs he alright?â
You look down at the stage, where darkness has gathered and the crowd is chanting his name in waves. âHeâs okay,â you say. âJust nervous.â
Anneâs face softens. âHe always is before the ones that matter.â
âHe asked Jeff to cancel because of an imaginary power cut.â
Anne closes her eyes briefly, smiling. âThat boy.â
âHeâs good now.â
âI know,â she says, squeezing your hand. âHe has you.â
The first notes of Are You Listening Yet? move through the arena before you can answer and the reaction of the crowd is instant. A scream tears through the room so loudly that the floor seems to vibrate beneath you, lights sweep across the stage, the screens flash, and then, a heartbeat later, Harry walks out. For one second, he stands in the light while the arena welcomes him like no time has passed at all, no hesitation, no polite warming up either. Just thousands of people on their feet, screaming his name with enough force to make the whole building feel alive. Harryâs face changes, you see it even from the VIP box, the moment the noise reaches him properly. The moment he understands that they are not waiting to judge him or measure him against who he used to be. They are simply happy he is there. His smile appears, bright and disbelieving and so very Harry that Anne laughs beside you, emotional before the first lyric has even landed. âLook at him,â she says. You are already looking.
Harry lifts the microphone, and sings the first line, clear, steady, beautiful. The crowd sings it back at him like they have been waiting years to do it, which they probably have. By the chorus, Anne has pulled you into dancing. You laugh and let her, the two of you moving together on the balcony, probably terribly, but definitely happily. Harry crosses the catwalk below, growing more comfortable with every step, the nerves turning into movement, into charm, into that familiar spark that makes an arena feel somehow intimate. Near the end of the song, he looks up, straight up to the VIP box. He finds Anne first, dancing with no shame at all. Then he finds you. Your eyes meet from across the noise and lights and impossible distance, and his smile shifts into something softer. Something private, even with thousands of people watching. You lift your hand and wave. He shakes his head a little, fond and amused, then turns back to the crowd just as the final chorus hits.
And just like that, he's back. Not the Harry from before. Not some old version he has to chase. Just him. Thirty-two, nervous, loved, ridiculous, brilliant and exactly where he is supposed to be.
Pairing: cardiac!surgeon!Harry Styles x escort!Reader
POV: text messages, reader's POV
Setting: London, first contact
Warnings: none
Summary: Harry is used to keeping people at a distance. You are used to being paid to understand boundaries. So when he hires you for one wedding and a perfectly controlled lie, neither of you expects it to become anything more.
Summary: Youâre a 1950s housewife and Harry just got back home from a long day of work.
Type: Blurb
Inspired by this song.
⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠⥠âĄ
The door creaks open at half past five, right on time. Iâve just pulled the roast from the oven, the scent of rosemary and butter filling the house, but itâs not the dinner Iâm thinking about. Itâs him.
Iâve been waiting for him all day.
Not just in the way a wife waits for her husband to walk through the door and kiss her cheek. No â this was different. This was the kind of waiting that settled deep in my bones, that ached low in my belly, that made me restless with every passing hour.
Some days are just like this. Some days I need more than a kiss. More than a hello and a smile. Today, I needed to be satisfied â in that way only Harry can. The kind of satisfaction that comes from being seen, touched, taken apart slowly, thoroughly, completely.
Harry steps into the kitchen, looking every bit the man of the house in his white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, hair slightly tousled like heâs been tugging on it all day. His eyes land on meâpearls around my neck, apron tied around my waist, heels clicking on the hardwood as I cross the roomâand something in him shifts.
I see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way he tosses his keys aside like suddenly nothing matters more than whatâs right in front of him.
âGod, look at you,â he breathes, grabbing me by the waist and pressing me into the wall like heâs starved. âMy perfect little wifeâŚâ
He gives me a deep kiss.
âI missed you, baby,â heâd say between kisses.
âI missed you, too, Harry.â
âOne second,â he says as he steps back and detours to the record player in the living room to select his music. Harry never went an evening without playing a tune. The music begins to play as he walks back to me.
His hands are rough from work, but theyâre gentle with meâtrailing up my thighs, slipping beneath my dress like he already knows Iâve been waiting for this. I hum against his mouth, curling my fingers into his hair as he kisses me deep and slow, like he needs the taste of me to unwind from the day.
He doesnât even make it to the bedroom. The roast sits forgotten in the other room as he lifts me onto the hallway credenza, sending a framed wedding photo clattering to the floor.
âOh, noâŚâ My eyes flick to the broken frame, but Harry cups my cheek and draws me back in, kissing me slow before whispering, âLeave it. Just focus on me.â
âBeen thinking about you all fucking day,â he growls against my skin.
âYou wait here all day for me dressed like this, lookinâ like a wet dreamâŚâ His laugh is low and wicked, and his beltâs already undone.
âI missed you so much,â I moaned in excitement.
His slacks hit the floor with a heavy thud, belt still looped halfway through the waistband as he kicks them aside. His eyes never leave mineânot onceâas he steps between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs, rough from the dayâs work but gentle with me.
âYou wore the lace ones, didnât you?â he murmurs, already tugging at the hem of my dress. âThe ones I like.â
He bunches the skirt up around my waist, revealing soft ivory lace barely clinging to my hips. He lets out a slow, reverent curse. âChrist, babyâŚâ
His fingers hook into the band, knuckles grazing my thighs as he pulls them down, slowlyâlike he wants to savor the moment. The panties drop to the floor, forgotten like the rest of the world, and he tosses them aside like heâs unwrapping his favorite gift.
Iâm already soaked. He closes the space between us. I feel him like himself up between my thighs.
âThis what you wanted?â he breathes, voice rough, eyes dark. âWaitinâ all day for me to come home and fuck you like this?â
He rubs the head of his penis against my clit.
I nod, lips parted, heart racing. âYes, HarryâŚ.Please.â
He thrusts into me in one smooth, deep stroke, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands fly to his shirt, nails digging into the soft cotton stretched over his back as he begins to moveâslow at first, savoring every inch of me, then faster, harder, like all that restraint he holds out in the world finally crumbles in our hallway.
âOh!â I cry.
âSo goodâŚâ he moaned.
The credenza shakes under us with each thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet house. His tie swings loose from his neck, his jaw clenched tight as he drives into me again and again.
I slip his button-down from his shoulders, then lift his white undershirt off, revealing every inch of his bare skin.
His muscles tensed, every line of him looking mouthwateringly good. He glanced down at where our bodies met before lifting his eyes back to mine.
âFuckâso tight,â he groans, forehead pressed to mine. âAlways so fuckinâ perfect for me.â
My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he picks up the pace, hips snapping forward, deep and desperate. The kind of rhythm that has my eyes rolling back and my cries muffled against his shoulder.
His hips donât stop moving, each thrust strong and deliberate as the credenza rocks beneath us. Iâm breathless, already on the edge, but then his hands drift higherâup my sides, over the curve of my ribsâand reach for the buttons of my dress.
âI need to see you,â he pants, eyes dark and hungry. âNeed to see those perfect tits bounce while Iâm inside you.â
He fumbles a little, still buried deep in me, trying to undo the row of buttons stretched tight across my chest. I help him, fingers trembling as I work from the top while he works from the bottom. We meet somewhere in the middle, eyes locked, heat radiating between us.
My dress parts open, exposing my brassiereâsoft satin, pale, delicate. He groans like heâs seeing it for the first time, even though he knows it by heart. His hand cups one breast over the fabric, thumb teasing my nipple through the material.
âFuck, baby⌠look at you.â
I reach behind me and unhook the clasp, letting the straps fall from my shoulders. The cups slip down, baring my breasts fully. They spill free, full and soft, nipples peaked from arousal and the cool air brushing my skin. His breath catches.
âFuck me,â he murmurs, transfixed. âYouâre unreal.â
All the while, he never stops moving inside meâslow now, deep and grinding, like he wants to feel every shiver his gaze sends through me. One hand grabs my waist, holding me in place as he thrusts, while the other cups my bare breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.
I arch into him, whimpering as he leans down, capturing one nipple with his mouth. He sucks gently, tongue flicking, groaning low as he feels me clench around him.
I moan, feeling lost in the pleasure. He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, hips never faltering, fucking me slow and worshipful.
I arch my back against the wall, offering him a better view, a better angle. Without hesitation, Harry buries his face between my breasts, dragging his mouth along the soft curves like heâs starving for the feel of me. He glances up at me, eyes dark, before rising just slightlyâonly to take one into his mouth again, slow and greedy.
I donât look away, not for a second. I watch him take me into his mouth, and he watches me fall apart for him. Then he pulls back, slipping out of me completely.
Before I have the chance to ask what happened, heâs on his knees.
Harryâs mouth finds my centerâand I can already tell heâs not coming up until heâs wrecked me.
âYouâre dripping,â he groans.
His tongue slides over my clit, slow and deliberate, and I arch off the floor with a cry. He just grins, pleased with himself, then does it againâfirmer this time, circling, teasing, until Iâm grinding up into his face.
He flattens his tongue and drags it from my entrance all the way up, groaning into me like heâs the one being fed. Then he sucks my clit into his mouth, just enough pressure to make my legs tremble. I swear I see stars behind my eyelids.
My hands tangle in his hair, tugging, desperate for more. He hums at the feelingâlike he likes it when I get roughâthen slips a finger inside me, curling it just right.
The wood is cool beneath me, smooth under my thighs, but it does nothing to steady me.
Iâm perched on the edge of the credenza, dress hiked up to my waist, legs spread wide while Harry kneels between them. His hands grip my hips, keeping me in place â though barely â because the way his mouth is working me, Iâm shaking so hard I can feel myself slipping.
âOhâHarryâŚâ I gasp, fingers curling around the edge of the furniture, knuckles white with effort. My heels dig into the polished drawers beneath me, searching for anything to ground me as his tongue swirls over my clit with maddening precision.
He groans into me, the sound vibrating through my core, and I swear I jolt forward a full inch.
âDonât run from it,â he murmurs against my skin, licking a long, slow stripe up my center. âTake it, baby.â
âIâm gonna fall,â I whisper, breathless, desperate.
âNo, youâre not.â He tightens his grip, pulling me closer, practically anchoring me to the edge. âIâve got you.â
But I donât feel stable at all. I feel like Iâm going to fly apart. My back arches, my thighs tremble, and Iâm holding on for dear life while he feasts on me like itâs the only thing heâs craved all day.
My fingers claw at the credenzaâs edge, wood creaking beneath the pressure as he sucks my clit into his mouth and moans like he loves the way I taste. My hips buck forward, and I let out a strangled cry.
âOhâHarryâplease, I canâtââ
âYes, you can,â he growls, licking me harder, rougher, almost punishing in how perfect it feels. âYouâre gonna come right here. Right on the edge. Right in my mouth.â
Iâm a mess. Wet, shaking, hips rolling in rhythm with his tongue and fingers. He doesnât rush. He doesnât let up. He stays right there, determined, obsessed with my pleasure. Like nothing else matters but pulling me apart and licking up every bit of it.
âYou gonna come for me, sweetheart?â he murmurs, kissing my inner thigh. âAll over my mouth?â
âYesâyes, HarryâpleaseâŚâ
My whole body seizes, back arching, thighs closing around his head as I come with a cry that echoes through the hallway. And Harry doesnât stop. He moans into me, licking me through it, like my pleasure is the thing heâs been craving all day.
Iâm still shaking from the first orgasm, legs spread wide on the rug, dress bunched up around my waist, chest rising and falling as I try to catch my breath.
But Harryâs not done.
Not even close.
He picks me up off the credenza and takes me against the wall.
He closes the space between us, licking his lips, chin slick from where heâd buried himself between my thighs. His eyes are dark, wild, and his cock is hard, flushed, already leaking as it presses hot and heavy against my entrance.
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me open while Iâm still sensitive, still fluttering from the orgasm he gave me with just his mouth and fingers. I gasp, nails digging into his arms, and he drops his forehead to mine.
âShit, babyâso tight,â he pants, bottoming out with one deep thrust.
âOh,â I whisper, breathless. âHarry, pleaseâŚâ
He starts to moveâlong, slow strokes at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in deep, filling me to the hilt. I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, completely at his mercy.
âYouâre still so wet from coming,â he groans, one hand gripping my hip while the other slips between us to rub my clit again. âGonna make you come again, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you until you youâre screaming my name.â
His rhythm builds, faster now, rougher, hips slapping against mine as the sound of our bodies fills the hallway. His cock hits that perfect spot over and over, the edge rushing back up so fast it steals the breath from my lungs.
I moan his name over and over, and it only spurs him on.
He leans down, mouth on mine, kissing me hard as he pounds into me. His thumb circles my clit, pressure perfect, and I fall apart around him againâtightening, squeezing, crying out into his kiss as I come hard, body clenching him like I never want to let go.
Thatâs all it takes.
âFuckâfuck, babyâIâm gonnaââ he chokes out, thrusts turning sloppy as my orgasm milks him. With one final, deep stroke, he groans loud, spilling inside me, forehead pressed to mine as his whole body shakes.
He stays there for a long moment, buried deep, our bodies tangled, breath mingling in the space between us.
âIâll never get tired of this,â he murmurs against my lips. âOf you.â
Pairing: Lawyer Harry x Teacher Reader (curvy or plus size, whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference đ)
Summary: Harry was best known as one of the top business lawyers of his generation. But somehow, all the power and success were slowly dwindling his love for the world.
A/N: This is a series that Iâve been working called soft meadows hope you enjoy it.
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: None. Fluff
â¨masterlist⨠read the rest of my fanfics here
Before a life with you and Clover, Harry was untouchable.
Not in the way people admired from afar (though they did), but in the way no one could ever quite reach him.
He built himself that way.
By the time he passed the bar, he already had a reputation: sharp, relentless, the kind of mind that didnât just understand the law, but bent it, shaped it, used it like a weapon. Winning his first case wasnât a milestone; it was a confirmation. Proof that everything he had sacrificed, sleep, friendships or relationships, softness, had been worth it.
Opening his own firm? That was inevitable.
Harry didnât dream small. He never had.
His office sat high above the city, all glass walls and quiet power, the kind of place where deals worth millions were spoken about in low voices, where every handshake meant something binding, where people either left victorious or ruined.
And Harry?
He was always the one who decided which it would be.
Clients trusted him because he was ruthless. Opponents feared him because he was precise. He didnât waste words, didnât entertain emotions, didnât lose.
He couldnât afford to.
But the thing about reaching every goal youâve ever set for yourself⌠is realising that nothing is waiting on the other side. No quiet sense of fulfilment. Happiness is numbered.
His days blurred into one another, early mornings, late nights, contracts stacked neatly on his desk, assistants filtering his life into manageable pieces. Coffee had gone cold more often than not. Meals were skipped. Calls were taken in moving cars, in hallways, and in between breaths.
Win after win after win.
And stillâ
Just silence with no substance.
It didnât feel the same anymore. When he was younger, every praise and every win gave him power, gave him control.
His office lights were the last thing on at night, long after everyone else had gone home. Harry would sit there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled, staring out at a city that never seemed to sleep, wondering why he felt detached from it all.
There were no celebrations anymore. No one to call. No one he wanted to call except his family, but he rarely calls them anymore.
Because somewhere along the way, in becoming the best, he had stripped himself down to only the useful parts.
Efficient and cold.
A beast in a tailored suit and beasts donât get tired, donât hesitate, donât feel.
At least thatâs what he told himself.
Until the routine started to feel less like control and more like a cage.
Harry checked his watchâ12:17 a.m.
Too late for dinner by most standards. Too early to call it a night.
But hunger didnât care about schedules, and neither did the dull ache sitting behind his eyes. He loosened his tie as he walked, thumb already swiping across his phone, scanning through the rigid grid of his calendar. Every hour accounted for. Every meeting is planned with intention. Every second is optimised.
Tomorrowâno, todayâwas already suffocating.
A client call at eight. Internal review at ten. Court appearance by one. Dinner meeting that wasnât really dinner, just another negotiation disguised under dim lighting and expensive wine.
He paused.
There wasnât a single blank space.
Not even for something as simple as breathing.
Harry locked his phone with a quiet exhale, jaw tightening as he stepped into his car, quietly thanking the valet. The door shut with a muted thud, sealing him into the familiar silence. For a moment, he just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at nothing in particular. Then he inhaled, reminding himself how to breathe.
The engine started, smooth and obedient, and he drove without much thought, just instinct guiding him through near-empty streets washed in amber streetlights. The city at this hour felt⌠different. Less demanding. Less loud.
Almost honest.
He passed by the usual late-night spots heâd frequent, upscale places still open for men like him, where staff knew his name and never asked unnecessary questions.
But tonight, something in him resisted.
It felt exhausting to be known or acknowledged that way.
So he kept driving.
Until the skyline gave way to quieter roads, until polished glass buildings turned into older structures, until he found himself slowing down in front of a small diner tucked between a closed hardware store and a dimly lit laundromat.
The neon sign flickered.
Unimpressive. Unimportant.
Perfect.
Harry hesitated for only a second before pulling into the empty lot. The gravel crunched softly under his tires, a stark contrast to the smooth, silent garages he was used to.
He turned off the engine.
Silence settled again, but this time, it felt different. Not heavy. Not suffocating.
Just⌠still.
He stepped out, the cool night air brushing against his skin, carrying the faint scent of grease and something warm, comforting, in a way he couldnât quite place.
The bell above the diner door chimed softly as he walked in.
The vinyl seat creaked softly as Harry slid into the booth, the table cool beneath his fingertips. A laminated menu sat propped against the napkin holder, edges worn, corners slightly curled. He picked it up more out of habit than interest, eyes skimming past items without really reading them.
Something fried and indulgent.
Fuel.
Thatâs all it was.
âGood morning, sir. Have you found what youâre looking for?â
The voice was gentle and light, but grounded. Not rehearsed. Not the polished tone he was used to hearing from assistants, receptionists, or anyone trying to impress him.
Harry looked up.
And for a secondâ
Nothing moved.
Not the quiet hum of the fridge behind the counter. Not the faint buzz of the flickering light overhead. Not even his own thoughts.
Love at first sight was for people who had time for distractions. For people who werenât him.
He didnât believe in things like this. Never had.
But youâ
You stood there like something completely out of place in his carefully structured world. Not because you were loud or extravagant, but because you were⌠real. Warm in a way that didnât feel forced. Awake in a way he hadnât felt in years.
A breath of fresh air in a life that had long gone stale.
âSir?â
Harry blinked, the moment snapping just slightly, though something in his chest lingeredâtight, unfamiliar.
"Right, give your order, Harry," he thought.
âIâll have the chicken special,â he said, voice steady, almost too controlled. He placed the menu down carefully, like he needed the extra second to gather himself. âJustâhold the gravy. Thanks.â
You nodded, scribbling it down with a small, easy motion. âGot it. Chicken special, no gravy.â
No hesitation. No unnecessary chatter. Just⌠simple.
Effortless.
You turned to leave, but Harry found himself watching, something he never did. He didnât linger. Didnât indulge. Didnât⌠care.
Yet his eyes followed you anyway.
The way you moved between tables. The way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The quiet focus on everything you did.
It was ordinary.
And somehow, it felt more captivating than anything heâd ever seen in the high-rise offices, the luxury restaurants, the world he had built for himself.
Harry leaned back slightly in his seat, exhaling under his breath, one hand coming up to rub along his jaw.
Ridiculous.
Heâd been in this diner for less than five minutes, and he's already a different man.
...
Harry hadnât realized heâd been staring at nothing until the soft clink of a plate pulled him back.
âHereâs your chicken special and no gravy,â you said, setting it down. âAnd a green juice on the house.â
He glanced at the pale glass. Fresh. Unexpected.
âSorry, I didnât order that.â
You shrugged, smiling lightly. âYou look like you need it.â
That caught him off guard.
People didnât speak to him like that. They anticipated, calculatedâbut never just⌠decided for him.
âAnd what does that mean?â he asked, quieter now.
You tilted your head. âYou look tired. Not sleepy. Just⌠tired-tired.â
No hesitation. Just truth.
He didnât argue.
Because you werenât wrong.
âRight,â he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass. He took a sip, and it was light and delicious.
âThank you.â
The words felt unfamiliar.
âYou do that often?â he asked, glancing up. âOffer unsolicited remedies to strangers?â
Dry, but softer now. Almost reaching.
âWell⌠everyone needs a little bit of kindness.â
Somehow, it landed heavier than anything heâd heard in a long time.
Harry stilled. Kindness?
In his world, everything was earned. Traded and Controlled.
âThatâs a dangerous way to live,â he said quietly. âPeople take advantage of that,â he thought, given from his own experience.
His gaze lingered, trying to understand how someone could be so open when he had built his life on the opposite.
Walls. Distance. Control.
"Still,â he added, looking down as he picked up his fork, âdoesnât mean it isnât appreciated.â âEven if itâs misplaced.â
Harry finished his meal in quiet, though not in the same detached way he usually did. There was a lingering awareness now of the place, of the night, of something subtle shifting under his skin that he couldnât quite name.
He didnât stay long after that.
His pen hovered over the receipt before he wrote down a number, far larger than what the meal called for. Not out of habit or obligation. But a bit of kindness for the waitress who served him.
âI hope you enjoyed your meal,â you said softly, offering him a small, polite smile as he pushed his chair back.
Harry glanced down at you, something warmer flickering behind his usual composed expression. âThank you⌠compliments to the chef,â he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
You let out a light giggle before you could stop yourself. âOh, Iâll absolutely tell that to Enzo.â
The sound seemed to catch him off guard, just for a second.
Your eyes widened slightly as you realized. âSorry, that wasnât very professional.â
Harry shook his head, already reaching for his coat. âNo, it wasâŚâ He paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully than necessary. âIt was nice.â
There was a brief, quiet beat between you, something unspoken, but not uncomfortable.
You stepped back, giving him space, hands clasped neatly in front of you again. âGoodnight, sir.â
You gave a small wave.
He didnât leave right away.
Instead, Harry looked at you for a moment longer than usual, like he was trying to memorize something he couldnât quite place.
Then, softer this time, âGoodnight.â
And only then did he turn, heading for the door, though not without a subtle glance back before he disappeared into the night, thinking of the girl who generously gave him a green juice.
...
AHH, here it goes, I want to create a cutie story that's all. (â§âĄâŚ) âĄ
authors note - hi!! ive missed each and everyone of you so so much, ive had this one on the drafts and was specifically saving it for this day, so please enjoy, a little tour gift from me to you xx
word count - 1.6k
in which, the day has finally come, after almost three years, the together together tour is finally starting, and your husband is starting to feel a little blue at the thought of getting back on the stage again.
Amsterdam wakes slowly beneath the early morning sun.
Golden light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel suite, warming the tangled white sheets and making the canals below sparkle softly. Boats drift lazily through the water while cyclists move along the streets already buzzing with life. The city feels awake before either of you really should be.
Youâre curled beneath the duvet in one of Harryâs hoodies, legs tucked underneath you as breakfast sits spread across the bed between you both. Fresh fruit. Croissants. Coffee. Tiny jars of jam heâd insisted on ordering because he liked the little glass pots they came in.
Usually, tour mornings are chaotic in the best way.
Harryâs normally all energyâsinging nonsense songs while getting dressed, stealing pieces of your breakfast, pulling you around the room because he canât stand still for more than thirty seconds.
But today feels⌠different.
You noticed it the moment you woke up.
The empty space beside you.
At first, still half asleep, you assumed heâd gone to the bathroom. But then you heard the shower running. And running. And running.
Long enough that youâd rolled over to check the clock.
Long enough that youâd started wondering if something was wrong.
Now, sitting opposite you against the pillows, Harry looks freshly showered and fully dressed despite it barely being morning. Damp curls fall messily around his forehead, and the sleeves of his black hoodie cover most of his hands as he fiddles absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers.
He looks gorgeous.
He always does.
But somethingâs off.
You can tell by the way his knee keeps bouncing beneath the duvet. By how he keeps staring out toward the city instead of eating. By the fact heâs barely touched his coffee, which honestly might be the biggest warning sign of all.
âBabe,â you say softly, lifting an eyebrow. âYouâve been awake since sunrise and all youâve eaten is half a strawberry.â
Harry glances down at the plate.
âOne and a half strawberries,â he corrects quietly.
You narrow your eyes at him. âDonât get smart with me.â
That gets the faintest smile out of him, small and fleeting, but it disappears almost immediately.
Silence settles between you again.
Not awkward.
Just⌠heavy.
Today is the first show of the Together Together Tour.
His firs tour in almost three years.
Usually heâs excited for opening night. Nervous, yesâbut in an electric way. The kind that makes him restless and playful all at once.
This feels different.
You shift closer across the bed until your leg brushes his.
âHey,â you murmur, reaching for his hand. âTalk to me.â
Harry lets your fingers intertwine with his instantly, like he needs the contact more than he realised. His thumb rubs slowly across your knuckles while he stares down at your joined hands.
Then he sighs softly.
âI dunno,â he admits after a moment. âFeels different this time.â
Harryâs eyes stay fixed on your intertwined hands for a moment longer, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your skin.
You donât rush him.
Youâve learned over the years that when Harryâs mind gets loud, silence is sometimes the only thing that gets him talking.
Finally, he exhales softly through his nose, shoulders sinking slightly.
âItâs been a long time,â he says quietly.
You tilt your head. âSince touring?â
He nods.
âNearly three years.â A humourless little laugh leaves him. âWhich sounds ridiculous considering I used to live on stage.â
Your fingers squeeze his gently.
âYou still do.â
He shakes his head a little at that, curls falling into his eyes.
âNo, but seriously,â he murmurs. âBack then it all felt⌠automatic. Like I knew exactly what I was doing every night.â
He pauses, jaw tightening briefly. âAnd now it feels like everyoneâs expecting this massive thing and I keep thinkingâwhat if I walk out there and I canât do it anymore?â
Your heart aches a little hearing the uncertainty in his voice.
Harry Stylesâthe man who can command an entire stadium with one smileâis sitting in front of you doubting himself.
You shift closer until youâre properly beside him now, your breakfast long forgotten. One of your hands moves up to brush curls back from his forehead, fingertips lingering against his temple.
âHarry,â you say softly. âYou know thatâs not true.â
His eyes finally meet yours then, vulnerable in a way only a handful of people ever get to see.
âI know logically,â he admits. âBut itâs different actually standing there again. People bought tickets. Theyâve waited all this time andââ he swallows slightly, ââwhat if I disappoint them?â
You donât even hesitate.
âYou wonât.â
He opens his mouth to argue, but you continue before he can.
âDo you know what people love most about your shows?â
He gives you a look. âThe songs, hopefully.â
You canât help smiling a little.
âYes, obviously. But itâs you, Harry.â Your hand rests against his cheek now, warm from the sunlight pouring through the windows. âItâs the way you make every single person in that stadium feel important. Like they matter. Like theyâre safe with you for two hours.â
His gaze softens slightly.
âYou could forget every lyric tonight and theyâd still adore you.â
âThatâs reassuring,â he mutters dryly.
You laugh quietly, relieved when the corner of his mouth twitches again.
âI mean it,â you whisper. âYou havenât toured in a while, sure. But you havenât lost any part of yourself. If anythingâŚâ
Your thumb brushes beneath his eye gently. âYouâre better now. Happier. More grounded.â
Harry watches you carefully, like heâs trying to decide whether to believe you.
Then, quieter this time, he admits, âI think Iâm scared I wonât feel the same up there anymore.â
That one catches you slightly off guard.
Your expression softens instantly.
âOh, sweetheart.â
You move without thinking, climbing fully into his lap beneath the duvet, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He lets out a small surprised breath before immediately pulling you closer, burying his face against your neck like he needs the comfort.
âYou know,â you murmur into his curls, âitâs okay if it feels different.â
His hands settle at your waist.
âPeople change. Youâve changed. That doesnât mean itâll be worse.â
He stays quiet, listening.
âYouâre not the same person you were back then. And honestly?â You pull back just enough to look at him properly. âThatâs a good thing.â
Harryâs eyes search yours carefully.
âYou think?â
âI know.â
For the first time all morning, his shoulders seem to relax properly.
Just slightly.
Enough that some of the tension leaves his face.
âYou always know what to say,â he murmurs.
You grin softly. âItâs part of my charm.â
A real laugh escapes him thenâsmall, sleepy, but genuineâand finally, finally, it sounds like your Harry again.
The laugh lingers between you both for a moment, soft and warm in the golden morning light.
Harryâs arms stay wrapped securely around your waist, fingertips absentmindedly tracing patterns against the fabric of the hoodie you stole from him weeks ago and never gave back. His forehead rests against yours now, eyes closed briefly like heâs letting himself breathe properly for the first time all morning.
You brush your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck gently.
âAnd anyway,â you murmur, quieter this time, âif you get nervous tonightâŚâ
Harry opens his eyes again, watching you carefully.
âJust look for me.â
His brows pull together slightly.
âYouâll probably barely even be able to see me.â
âYou always find me.â
That earns the faintest smile from him because itâs true.
No matter how massive the stadium is. No matter how blinding the lights get. Somehow, Harry always finds you in the crowd.
You lean back slightly in his lap before gesturing toward the small cot positioned near the end of the hotel bed.
Inside, your son sleeps peacefully beneath a tiny cream blanket, completely unaware that his father is currently spiralling about performing in front of thousands of people in a few hours.
Freshly one year old.
Tiny curls sticking up everywhere.
One chubby hand curled near his cheek.
âHeâll be there too,â you whisper.
Harryâs entire expression changes the second he looks over at him.
Everything softens.
The tension in his shoulders eases completely as his eyes settle on your sleeping little boy, and suddenly the huge stadiums and pressure and expectations donât seem quite so heavy anymore.
You feel his grip on your waist tighten slightly.
Then he looks back at you.
Really looks at you.
At your sleepy face, your messy hair, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, the way youâre sitting in his lap trying to piece him back together before the biggest night of the year.
And the fondness in his expression is almost overwhelming.
His hand comes up slowly to cradle your cheek.
âAnd that,â he says quietly, thumb brushing across your skin, âis exactly why I married you.â
You canât help smiling softly. âOh yeah?â
Harry nods once, eyes flicking briefly between you and the cot again.
âBecause when I look at you bothâŚâ His voice lowers slightly, thick with emotion heâs trying not to show too much of. âIâve got nothing to be nervous about.â
Your heart physically aches at the sincerity in his voice.
For a second neither of you say anything.
The city buzzes quietly outside the windows, sunlight flooding the suite while your little boy sleeps peacefully only a few feet away, and Harry keeps looking at you like youâve hung every star in the sky yourself.
Then, softly, you grin and whisperâ
âYouâre getting emotional before breakfast again.â
Harry lets out a quiet laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours once more.
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