so far for Harry Styles , Anthony Bridgerton (below) , Fiyero Tigelaar (below)
Harry Styles
one shots:
Backstage Hearts - Navigating tour life and love isn’t easy, but stolen moments and romantic gestures make it unforgettable. Every city, every stage, and every kiss brings them closer.
I belong with you - you fell asleep when watching a movie with Harry
There’s always sunshine after rain - you are in a secret relationship with harry. He is currently shooting a movie and you work on the set as a hairstylist. Everything is great until… is not.
Coming Home to You - Harry comes home late from the studio, guilt-ridden after missing a planned movie night with Y/N.
The Unattainable Princess - Prince Harry is captivated by Princess Y/N, but when she coolly declines his invitation to dance, he interrupts her dance with another prince to claim her attention.
The First Day of Forever - As Y/N endures the stress and pain of labour, Harry remains by her side, comforting her with unwavering love and support, despite his own heart aching to see her in pain.
First Christmas as a couple - Spending their first Christmas together, Harry and the reader savour quiet moments filled with warmth and laughter.
Forgotten - After Harry forgets an important anniversary, tensions boil over into a heated argument that leaves both of you hurting. Harry is forced to confront his mistakes and the cracks forming in your relationship. Determined to make things right, he sets out to prove that his love for you is stronger than his faults.
Out of Place, Held in His Arms - When Harry’s world makes you feel small, the cruel whispers from his friends push you to your breaking point. But Harry refuses to let anyone make you doubt your worth, proving his love is louder than their judgment.
Through the Darkness - When the depression you thought you’d outrun pulls you back under, you hide your struggle from Harry to avoid dimming his light while he’s on tour. But when he discovers the truth, he drops everything to come home, proving that his love doesn’t waver, even in your darkest moments.
Where the Quiet Feels Safe - On a quiet, hollow evening, you find yourself wrapped in Harry’s unexpected warmth as he gently pulls you back from memories that ache. With soft words and steady comfort, he reminds you that you don’t have to face your heaviness alone, he’ll meet you wherever you are.
I’ll Always Come Get You - Harry is taking care of his drunken girlfriend.
Say It’s Not Too Late - A moment of jealousy pushes Harry to walk away, leaving you shattered in the quiet of your living room. But when he returns, heart in pieces and apology on his lips, he vows never to let his fear make you question his love again.
If You Come Home, I’ll Stay - After forty-three days apart, the distance finally breaks you open, leaving you wondering if love is enough when you feel him slipping further every day.
All three of us now - Harry never leaves your side after the birth, caring for you with a tenderness so fierce it almost breaks you. And when he places your daughter in your arms, he realizes he’s never loved anything or you more in his life. PART 2
series:
The Space Between Us - This is a Harry Styles x OC fanfiction, where Harry plays himself—a global superstar—and the story explores his reunion with Sophie Pearson, his childhood best friend (and maybe more…). Expect moments filled with angst, tension, and heart-warming memories as they navigate the challenges of reconnection. PART 2 PART 3
Anthony Bridgerton
series:
The Weight of a Name - When Anthony Bridgerton’s relentless pursuit of you reaches its breaking point, a fiery confrontation reveals the depths of his feelings. PART 2
one shots:
The Viscount’s Very Small Shadow - Anthony Bridgerton has been called many things, but fatherhood turns the fearsome Viscount into something softer, warmer, and entirely undone. A sunlit afternoon in the gardens reveals just how deeply he loves his wife and daughter
The Breaking Point - A single kiss stolen in the shadows leaves your reputation hanging by a thread and forces Anthony Bridgerton to confront the truth he has spent far too long denying. What follows is a desperate, intoxicating confession neither of you can take back—and neither of you truly want to.
The Midnight Lesson - On the eve of your wedding, doubts steal your sleep, and a moonlit walk leads to an unexpectedly tender confession from Anthony Bridgerton. In the quiet of the garden, he shows you the depth of his love, the security of his presence, and the promise of a future built side by side.
Chasing Desire - After a heated argument, you attend a ball while trying to make Anthony jealous, but the game quickly escalates as his desire and possessiveness boil over, leading him to confront you and assert his claim in a secluded garden. Sparks, tension, and raw emotion collide as both of you fight pride and fear, only to find yourselves drawn irreversibly together.
The Things That Break A Man - When a drunk, dangerous man threatens you, Anthony Bridgerton’s fury explodes, leaving nothing but raw violence and desperate protectiveness in its wake. From the terrace to the quiet of home, fear melts into tender reassurance as your Viscount proves you are his…and his alone.
Fiyero Tigelaar
one shots:
Ozdust Confessions - Everyone knows you like each other. But what about you two?
Warnings / Triggers: difficult labour, childbirth complications, panic attacks, mentions of death, blood, medical trauma, fear of losing a spouse, emotional distress, crying, discussions of maternal mortality, anxiety, pain during childbirth
Summary: The night Anthony Bridgerton becomes a father is also the night he is forced to confront his greatest fear: losing the woman he loves. As labour turns dangerous and impossible choices loom over Bridgerton House, Anthony must become the steady hand his terrified wife clings to, even while his own heart is breaking.
Author’s Note: Found this one in my drafts 😅 Enjoy!
By the time the first real contraction struck, Anthony Bridgerton already knew something was wrong.
Not because the physician had said so. Not because the maids had begun moving too quickly through the corridors of Bridgerton House or because Violet Bridgerton’s calm voice had sharpened ever so slightly with concern.
No.
Anthony knew because the sound that left your mouth did not resemble pain.
It resembled fear.
Pure, blinding fear.
He was beside you instantly, crossing the room in two hurried strides just as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you, and the moment his hands settled around your waist you clung to him with trembling fingers, burying your face against his chest while another contraction tore through you hard enough to force a cry from your throat.
“Anthony,” you gasped, your voice cracking apart. “Anthony, I cannot do this.”
His heart nearly stopped.
Anthony wrapped both arms around you immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other pressed firmly against your spine, grounding you against him as though he could physically shoulder some of your pain himself.
“Yes, you can,” he whispered, though his own voice shook violently. “Yes, you can, my love. Look at me.”
You lifted tear-filled eyes to his, and Christ, the terror in them nearly destroyed him.
“I am frightened,” you admitted in a whisper so small it sounded childlike. “Something feels wrong.”
Anthony felt every ounce of blood drain from his body.
But he could not break.
Not now.
Not when you were already trembling apart in his arms.
So he cupped your face with both hands and forced himself to become steady, even while panic clawed viciously at his ribs.
“You listen to me carefully,” he said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “You are not alone in this. Do you understand? I am here. I shall remain here. You may scream, cry, curse my name if you must, but I will not leave you.”
Another contraction hit.
You cried out sharply and doubled forward, clutching at the front of his waistcoat while Anthony held you upright, his jaw clenching painfully at the helplessness of hearing you suffer.
“Breathe for me,” he whispered desperately. “Please, sweetheart, breathe.”
The hours that followed blurred together into something feverish and endless.
The bedroom grew unbearably warm despite the rain battering against the windows outside. Candles flickered low. Maids rushed in and out carrying fresh cloths and steaming water. Violet remained near the bed with a composure Anthony suspected was only held together by years of practice, though he noticed the way her hands shook whenever your cries grew too loud.
And through all of it, Anthony never once let go of you.
Not once.
He held your hand through every contraction until his fingers were numb. He wiped tears from your cheeks with trembling thumbs. He pressed shaking kisses against your forehead whenever the pain became too much and you began sobbing openly into his shoulder.
At some point during the night, your fear began infecting him completely.
Because the physician had stopped reassuring him.
That was what Anthony noticed first.
The older man had initially spoken calmly, confidently, but as the hours dragged on his expression grew increasingly grim. He exchanged too many looks with the midwife. Too many quiet whispers. Too much silence.
And Anthony Bridgerton had always been clever enough to recognize when people were hiding the truth.
Another scream ripped from your throat, raw enough to make Violet close her eyes briefly in visible anguish.
“I cannot,” you sobbed, clutching Anthony’s hand so tightly it hurt. “Anthony, please, I cannot do this anymore.”
“Yes, you can,” he said immediately, though tears were already burning behind his own eyes. “You are the bravest woman I have ever known.”
“I am tired,” you whispered brokenly.
Anthony nearly shattered right there beside the bed.
Because you sounded defeated.
Because your voice had gone weak.
Because beneath the sweat and pain and exhaustion, your face had begun losing colour in a way that made terror crawl steadily up his spine.
Then the physician approached him quietly.
“Lord Bridgerton,” he murmured carefully. “A word, if I may.”
Anthony’s stomach dropped instantly.
You noticed too.
Your hand tightened around his weakly. “No,” you whispered immediately, panic flooding your exhausted features. “No, do not leave me.”
Anthony bent down at once, pressing his forehead against yours.
“I am not leaving,” he promised quickly. “I shall be right outside the door. Only a moment.”
You looked unconvinced.
Terrified.
Anthony kissed your forehead shakily before forcing himself upright and following the physician toward the hallway, every instinct screaming at him not to walk away from you even for a second.
The moment the door shut behind them, Anthony turned sharply.
“What is happening?”
The physician hesitated.
That hesitation alone nearly drove Anthony mad.
“My lord,” the physician said carefully, “the labour is not progressing as it should. Her Grace has lost a concerning amount of blood already, and the child remains in distress.”
Anthony stared at him.
No.
No.
“She is frightened,” Anthony said immediately, as though saying it aloud could somehow fix the situation. “That is all. She has been in pain for many hours.”
The physician’s silence was unbearable.
Then came the words that would haunt Anthony for the rest of his life.
“If matters worsen…” the physician began quietly, “I may need to know who you wish me to save.”
Anthony stopped breathing.
The hallway tilted violently around him.
“What?”
The physician lowered his gaze. “I pray it shall not come to that. But if I am forced to choose between mother and child, I must have your instruction beforehand.”
Anthony physically recoiled.
“No.”
“My lord-”
“No.”
His voice cracked so violently that Violet appeared at the far end of the corridor, alarm flashing across her face immediately.
Anthony dragged a shaking hand through his hair, breathing hard now, panic threatening to suffocate him whole.
“You save my wife.”
The physician nodded once.
Anthony grabbed his arm before he could leave.
“But you save them both,” he said, his voice suddenly vicious with desperation. “Do you understand me? You do not let her die.”
Violet reached him just as the physician disappeared back into the room.
Anthony looked utterly destroyed.
His mother had not seen him like this since Edmund died.
“Anthony,” she whispered softly.
He turned toward her with red-rimmed eyes.
“I cannot lose her.”
And suddenly he was no longer Viscount Bridgerton.
No longer the composed head of the family.
He was simply a terrified husband.
A frightened little boy who had already buried one parent and could not survive burying the love of his life too.
Violet cupped his face gently.
“You must be strong for her now.”
Anthony let out a broken laugh.
“I am trying.”
Then another scream tore through the door.
Anthony was moving before thought could catch up to him.
He rushed back into the room and immediately crossed to your bedside, taking your face into both hands as tears spilled freely down your cheeks.
“There you are,” you sobbed weakly. “You left.”
“I came back,” he whispered instantly. “My love, look at me. I came back.”
Your fingers clutched desperately at his sleeves.
“I do not want to die.”
The words hit him like a blade directly through the chest.
Anthony’s composure broke entirely.
“You are not going to die,” he said fiercely, though tears were streaming down his own face now. “Do you hear me? You are not leaving me. I forbid it.”
A weak sound escaped you that might once have been a laugh.
“You cannot command death, Anthony.”
His mouth trembled violently.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I shall fight it for you if I must.”
The physician instructed you to push again.
Anthony held you through it all.
Through the screams.
Through the tears.
Through the moments you nearly gave up entirely.
He whispered constantly, desperate encouragement spilling from him between shaking breaths.
“That’s it.”
“You’re doing beautifully.”
“I have you.”
“Just a little longer.”
“I love you.”
And when your body finally began failing beneath the strain, when your head lolled weakly against the pillows and the physician’s expression turned urgent, Anthony felt true terror consume him for the first time in years.
“Stay with me,” he begged, gripping your hand tightly enough to hurt. “Do not you dare close your eyes.”
“I am so tired,” you whispered faintly.
“No.” Anthony bent over you immediately, his forehead pressing desperately against yours. “No, no, no, sweetheart, stay awake for me. Look at me. Look at me.”
Your eyes fluttered weakly.
Anthony was crying openly now.
Violently.
Helplessly.
“You promised me forever,” he whispered brokenly. “You cannot leave me here alone.”
Then suddenly, chaos erupted.
The physician barked orders.
The midwife moved quickly.
And a sharp cry split the room.
The baby.
Your baby.
Anthony barely heard it, because his eyes were fixed entirely on you, on your frightening stillness. “Why is she not moving?” he demanded, panic rising instantly. The physician was saying something. Violet was praying quietly somewhere behind him.
Anthony could not hear any of it over the roaring terror flooding his ears.
Then finally.
Finally.
Your eyes opened.
A weak breath left your lips.
And Anthony collapsed. Actually collapsed beside the bed with a broken sob tearing from his chest as he seized your hand and pressed it desperately against his mouth. “There she is,” he choked out through tears. “There you are. God, do not ever frighten me like that again.” You smiled weakly despite your exhaustion. Then the physician carefully placed your daughter into your arms.
The room fell silent.
Anthony stared at the tiny infant in complete disbelief, his entire face crumpling with emotion as your daughter let out another soft cry.
“She is beautiful,” you whispered tearfully.
Anthony looked between the two of you, utterly devastated by love.
His wife. His daughter.
Alive.
Both alive.
He reached out with visibly shaking hands and touched the baby’s tiny fingers.
And then he cried harder than he ever had in his life.
—————
like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.
This might genuinely be one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written for Anthony Bridgerton. I poured every drop of angst, fear, devotion, and raw emotion I could into it, and writing a version of Anthony who is both feral with protectiveness and heartbreakingly tender afterward was… honestly, such a ride.
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader
Summary: When a drunk, dangerous man threatens you, Anthony Bridgerton’s fury explodes, leaving nothing but raw violence and desperate protectiveness in its wake. From the terrace to the quiet of home, fear melts into tender reassurance as your Viscount proves you are his…and his alone.
Triggers: violence against a woman, physical assault, shoving, grabbing, forced kiss, hitting, slapping, choking, fear, panic, emotional distress, bruises, injury, jealousy-fueled violence, threats of harm, trauma, crying, vulnerability, heavy angst, protective rage
MASTERLIST
Everyone in the ton knew two things the moment Anthony Bridgerton married you: first, that you were the one woman capable of softening him in a way nobody had ever managed before, and second, that nothing on this earth, not God nor king nor country, could ever stop him from protecting you with his entire soul, which - unfortunately - only made certain men, desperate, jealous, or foolishly curious, even more determined to test the boundaries of the Viscount’s temper by seeking your attention, your smile, your presence, as though you were a prize rather than a person, as though they did not fear the consequences of stepping too close to the edge of the man who had already proven himself willing to burn for the ones he loved.
Tonight, at Lord Hawthorne’s spring ball, their hunger became a little more obvious, their gazes lingering too long, their whispers too bold, their nightly drinks loosening the caution they should have held close to their chests; and while Anthony was called away by his brothers for a brief discussion about some estate matter, you felt it - an unease settling under your ribs, a prickle up the back of your neck - until a man whose name you barely remembered but whose reputation was well-known for arrogance and indulgence stepped too close, his breath thick with drink, his smile sharp in a way that made you instinctively step back, only to find the ballroom too crowded to move freely.
“Lady Bridgerton,” he drawled, eyes flicking over you with a familiarity he had not earned. “Your husband… always leaves you unattended. A pity, truly.”
You stiffened, keeping your voice polite. “The Viscount will return shortly. If you will excuse me-”
But his hand shot out, fingers clamping around your wrist with a strength heightened by drink and entitlement, his nails digging in just enough to make your breath hitch as he tugged you forward with a force that left the floor tilting slightly beneath your feet.
“No need to scurry away,” he murmured, his grip tightening even as you attempted to twist free. “We are quite alone here, aren’t we?”
You swallowed. “This is highly inappropriate-”
“Oh, come now,” he whispered, leaning too close, his breath fanning over your cheek, “surely the Viscount cannot blame a man for admiring beauty when it is so very tempting.”
You jerked your arm back, but he only laughed, guiding you, step by step, toward the terrace doors - dark, half-open, unguarded - until the cool night air spilled over your skin and the room disappeared behind you, the sounds of violins muffled as he closed the door with a slow, deliberate click.
“Let go,” you said, your voice shaking despite your attempt to remain steady.
He did not.
Instead, he crowded you against the stone balustrade, the pressure of it pressing coldly into your lower back, his fingers sliding up your arm until they reached your jaw, tilting your face toward his with a horrifying gentleness that made your stomach drop. “You deserve someone who sees you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the corner of your lip in a gesture that made revulsion crawl up your spine. “Someone who is not too busy being Viscount to remember he has a wife.”
You twisted your head away just as he dipped toward your mouth, his lips skimming the edge of your cheek, damp and unwanted, sending a jolt of panic straight through your chest as his other hand seized your waist, pulling you closer, closer-
And something inside you broke.
You reacted without thinking, teeth sinking sharply into the skin of his cheek, just below his lip, tasting copper, hearing the hiss of pain as he reared back, shock flashing across his face before it twisted into something dark, ugly, dangerous.
“You little-”
The slap came before you could brace for it, white-hot and stunning, snapping your head sideways, the world tilting violently as his hand shoved you, hard, sending you stumbling into the stone railing, pain blooming along your ribs as your breath punched out of your lungs in a strangled gasp.
You barely had time to catch yourself before he grabbed your shoulders, shaking you once, twice, his grip unforgiving as you tried to push him away, voice trembling: “Stop… please… stop-”
And then-
A sound you had never heard from Anthony before tore through the night.
It wasn’t a shout.
It wasn’t a call.
It was a roar.
Animal.
Raw.
Murderous.
“TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE.”
The man barely had time to turn before Anthony collided with him, the impact so violent you heard the air punched from his lungs as they hit the terrace floor, Anthony’s fists already swinging, relentless, punishing, each blow a horrific crack of knuckles against bone as he straddled the man’s chest, eyes wide and wild, breathing like a man who had been denied oxygen for too long.
“You touched her,” Anthony growled, voice low and shaking with rage so deep it bordered on madness. “You dared lay a filthy hand on her-”
Another punch.
“And you think you will breathe after that?”
Another.
Your voice scraped out of your throat. “Anthony-”
He didn’t hear you.
He couldn’t.
He was gone.
Lost.
You watched with trembling limbs as Anthony seized the man by the collar, dragging him upward only to slam him back down, the sickening thud echoing in the night as the man whimpered, blood already streaking down his chin.
Anthony’s hands moved to his throat.
“No-” you gasped, stumbling forward, “Anthony, please-”
But Anthony’s fingers tightened, squeezing, pushing the man’s head back into the stone, his jaw clenched so hard the veins in his neck stood out, his entire body shaking with the sheer force of his fury as he leaned over the man, voice low and lethal: “I should end you for touching her. I should end you right here.”
The man choked, struggling weakly.
Anthony pressed harder.
“ANTHONY!” Benedict’s voice cut through the night like a blade.
Suddenly there were hands grabbing Anthony’s shoulders, arms wrapping around his torso, pulling, tugging, fighting him; Benedict on one side, Colin on the other, both straining from the sheer strength of a man gone feral with fear and rage.
“Anthony! Stop! You’ll kill him-”
“Let go of him, brother- he cannot breathe-”
“He hurt her,” Anthony shouted, voice cracking with something guttural and shattered. “He hurt her, let me go… LET ME GO-”
But his brothers held him, panting, grunting with the effort, until at last his hands slipped from the man’s bruised throat, leaving him gasping and coughing on the ground.
And then Anthony saw you.
Finally saw you.
The bruises forming on your arm, the reddened handprint on your cheek, the tear tracks you hadn’t even realized were there.
Anthony froze.
Everything inside him - rage, movement, breath - stilled.
He stumbled toward you, eyes wide, horrified, devastated in a way that made your heart twist because you had never seen him look like that, never seen him genuinely afraid.
“Sweetheart…” he breathed, voice breaking, “my love- what has he- what did he -”
He reached for you, then stopped, hands hovering inches from your skin as though he feared he might hurt you simply by touching, his chest rising and falling too fast, too sharply.
“Anthony,” you whispered.
He crumpled.
Quite literally - his knees hit the stone as he pulled you into his arms with a gentleness that contradicted every violent breath he’d taken moments before, his hand sliding behind your head, his other sweeping around your waist, holding you as though he feared you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
“I’m here,” he whispered into your hair, his voice shaking as tears slipped down onto your shoulder. “My darling girl, I am here, I am here, you’re safe, you’re safe now, I swear it-”
You trembled in his hold, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the scent of sandalwood and clove and the warmth of his chest pressed tightly against yours.
Benedict and Colin exchanged a look - relief, horror, pity - before stepping away to retrieve their mother, who emerged moments later with a gasp of horror, hands covering her mouth, her eyes shining with sympathy and devastation as she hurried to your side.
“My dear,” Lady Bridgerton whispered, cupping your uninjured cheek with a mother’s tenderness. “Come, let us get you home.”
But Anthony was already rising to his feet, scooping you into his arms without hesitation, his jaw set, his eyes burning, his voice firm and low as he addressed his mother:
“I am taking her home. No one else touches her. No one.”
His mother nodded softly, surprised by neither his protectiveness nor the terrifying certainty in his tone.
You buried your face in Anthony’s shoulder as he carried you through the house, ignoring the shocked gasps and murmurs that spread like wildfire through the guests. He did not slow. He did not explain. He did not acknowledge anyone.
He simply held you.
As though you were the only thing that existed.
————————
The carriage ride home felt strangely silent despite the pounding of hooves, the creak of wheels, the frantic rhythm of your own heart. Anthony had you gathered in his lap the entire time, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as though you were made of glass and he feared even the vibration of the road might cause you more pain. His chin rested against your temple, his breath shaky every few seconds - he tried to hide it, but he couldn’t, not like this, not when the adrenaline had faded and left nothing but fear and guilt in its wake.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispered into your hair, voice hoarse. “Tell me the moment you feel discomfort, and I will stop the carriage, I’ll carry you the rest of the way, I do not care how many miles remain.”
“I’m alright,” you murmured, your voice still trembling from what had happened. “You don’t need to-”
Anthony flinched. Actually flinched.
“Do not say I don’t need to,” he whispered, pulling you tighter, “because I do. I need to hold you. I need to touch you. I need to know you’re still here. I nearly-” His voice cracked, the words breaking apart. “I nearly lost myself entirely when I saw him shove you. If Benedict and Colin had not-”
You felt his throat move as he swallowed hard.
“…I don’t know what would remain of me,” he finished in a whisper.
You tightened your grip on his waist, and Anthony made a sound - low, raw, relieved - burying his face in your shoulder.
When the carriage finally stopped outside Bridgerton House, Anthony didn’t wait for the footman. He simply stood, lifting you into his arms with a strength that was gentler than anyone would have expected from a man who’d been moments away from killing someone with his bare hands.
The maids rushed toward the door the moment he crossed the threshold, but Anthony’s voice was firm, icy, brooking no argument.
“No one touches her,” he ordered. “No one enters our room. I will tend to her myself.”
They curtsied and disappeared quickly, wide-eyed and whispering - but none dared disobey.
Anthony carried you through the halls with steps that grew faster the closer he came to your room, as though the only place he trusted the world with you was behind that locked door. When he reached it, he nudged it open with his shoulder and set you down only when he had no other choice, his hands sliding slowly down your arms as though afraid you might dissolve the moment he let go.
“Sit, my love,” he whispered, guiding you to the edge of the bed. “Let me… let me take care of you.”
Your throat tightened at the way his hands trembled as he reached for the laces of your gown. Anthony Bridgerton - your husband, your steady, fierce, impossibly controlled husband - was shaking.
“Anthony,” you whispered.
“Please,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your bruised cheek like it physically hurt him to look at it. “Let me do this.”
So you let him.
He unlaced your gown with slow, reverent hands, peeling away the fabric inch by inch, murmuring apologies every time you winced, even when you insisted the pain was mild. His jaw flexed when he found the bruise forming on your shoulder from where you had been shoved. His breath hitched when he saw the angry red marks around your arm where you had been grabbed.
And then he dropped to his knees.
Just… dropped.
As though the sight of the damage had pulled the ground out from under him.
“Anthony-”
“I should have been there,” he whispered, his hands hovering just above your skin. “I should never have let you walk away alone. I will never - never - allow such a thing to happen again.”
“Anthony, it wasn’t your-”
“It was,” he said sharply - not angry at you, but angry at himself, furious in a way that trembled beneath the surface. “Your safety is my charge. Your wellbeing is my duty. Your happiness is-” He broke off, dragging a shaking hand through his hair. “I failed you tonight. I failed my wife.”
You lifted his chin gently.
His eyes were wet.
“Anthony,” you whispered, “I’m not afraid of you.”
He froze.
Actually froze.
You cupped his face more firmly, bringing his forehead to yours. “Look at me,” you whispered. “I’m not afraid of you. Not your anger. Not your temper. Not your fists. Not your voice. Not anything you did tonight. You were protecting me.”
He inhaled sharply, a wounded sound that split your heart in two.
“You cannot know how that comforts me,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “You have no idea what a mercy that is to hear.”
You brushed your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Come here.”
He climbed onto the bed slowly, almost cautiously, as though afraid he might break something by moving too quickly. You lay back, pulling him with you until his body was half draped over yours, his head on your chest, his hand pressed over your heart like he needed proof it was still beating.
For a long time, he didn’t speak.
He simply breathed you in, his fingers tracing your ribs, your waist, your thigh, as though reacquainting himself with every piece of you he had feared losing.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft, vulnerable, shattered in the way only a man deeply in love can be shattered.
“May I… kiss them?” he whispered, nodding to the bruises.
You nodded.
So he kissed them.
Every one.
Your cheek.
Your shoulder.
The marks on your arm.
The small bruise forming on your hip.
Each kiss was slow, reverent, full of apologies he didn’t have the words to say.
When he reached your lips, he paused, his forehead against yours.
“Tell me what you need,” he whispered. “Name it, and I will give it to you.”
“I just need you,” you murmured, threading your fingers into his hair. “Stay with me. Lie with me. Hold me.”
Anthony exhaled shakily, the relief in his eyes almost painful to witness.
“Always,” he whispered.
He slid beneath the blankets with you, pulling your body against his chest, wrapping himself around you as though trying to form a shield with his own limbs. His hand splayed over your back, warm and steady. His lips brushed the crown of your head again and again, murmuring soft reassurances between breaths.
“You’re safe.”
“You’re mine.”
“I’m here.”
“I won’t let anything hurt you again.”
“I love you. God, I love you.”
The room grew quiet.
Your breathing steadied.
His heartbeat settled.
And in the darkness, with his arms tight around you, with his breath warm against your skin, with the weight of his devotion pressing softly into your bones-
You felt safe.
You felt protected.
You felt loved.
And for the first time since the terrace, the terror finally melted away.
———————
like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.
A) Dad Harry idea. Established relationship. They’ve been married for two years and wife has just given birth to their baby, so we’d get lots of first moments, how they navigate becoming parents, sleepless nights, sweet little moments but also the difficult ones etc.
B) She’s a single mother and Harry is her neighbor. Because imagine the kid calling Harry “dad” for the first time… ugh, so cute.
C) They have mutual friends who set them up on a blind date. A little cliche but I like this idea!
I’m also wondering if we want Harry to be famous or not?
First of all, a huge thank you to @cherriesncrystalballs for sending in this incredibly sweet prompt. The moment I read it, I knew I had to write it because the thought of Harry telling his family that the two of you are expecting was simply too precious not to explore. I have always imagined Harry as the kind of man who would dream about becoming a father long before it ever happened, and when that moment finally arrives, he would be so overwhelmed with love and gratitude that he would cry without even trying to hide it.
This story is pure softness. It is Harry being unable to keep a secret, Anne crying the second she realizes what you are about to say, Gemma becoming the most excited aunt in the world, and two people standing in the middle of it all, completely in awe of the little life they have created together. Thank you, as always, for reading and for continuing to share your beautiful ideas with me. I hope this one feels like a warm hug.
With love, A.
Tags: husband!Harry, pregnant!reader, pregnancy announcement, family fluff, emotional Harry, crying Harry, Anne Twist, Gemma Styles, established relationship, soft Harry
Word Count: ~5.8k words
—————
Harry found out on a rainy Tuesday morning, in the quiet hours before the world had fully woken.
The house was still wrapped in that gentle dawn silence that made every sound feel softer. Rain tapped against the bathroom window in a steady rhythm, and the pale grey light filtering through the curtains painted everything in muted shades of silver. You had slipped out of bed before sunrise with a suspicion you hardly dared to name, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest that you were certain Harry would hear it if he so much as shifted in his sleep.
When he wandered into the bathroom a few minutes later, barefoot and sleepy, curls mussed in every direction and his T-shirt hanging crookedly over one shoulder, he found you sitting on the edge of the bathtub with tears running silently down your cheeks and a pregnancy test clenched in your trembling hand. The sight of you crying erased the last traces of sleep from his face. For one awful second, panic flooded his expression as he crossed the room in two hurried strides and dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands coming immediately to rest on your thighs.
“Baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with concern. “What happened? Are you alright?”
You tried to answer, but your throat tightened too painfully around the words. Instead, you gave a small, shaky laugh and placed the test into his hand. Harry looked down at it, and the moment he saw the two unmistakable lines, the world seemed to stop.
He did not speak at first. His eyes darted between the test and your face as if he needed to confirm this was real, that he was not dreaming, that the life the two of you had talked about in whispers and sleepy conversations was suddenly and beautifully within reach. When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were already filling with tears.
“We’re having a baby?”
You nodded, and Harry broke.
A sob escaped him before he could stop it. He cupped your face in both hands and kissed you with a trembling tenderness that made your own tears fall faster. He laughed into the kiss, cried against your lips, and then sank back onto his heels, his hands sliding down to rest over your stomach with a reverence so profound it stole the breath from your lungs.
“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotion. “It’s me. I’m your dad.”
—————
The next weeks passed in a blissful haze of secret smiles and private wonder. Harry transformed almost overnight into the most devoted, attentive husband imaginable. He kissed your stomach every morning, even though there was no visible bump yet. He downloaded several pregnancy apps and delighted in informing you that your baby was the size of a blueberry, then a raspberry, then a lime. He read articles late into the night, highlighted sections of parenting books, and looked at you with such open awe that you often found yourself blushing beneath the intensity of his affection.
Keeping the secret from his family proved nearly impossible. Harry had never been particularly skilled at hiding his feelings, and now that his heart seemed too full to contain, every interaction with Anne and Gemma became an exercise in restraint. By the time your first scan confirmed that everything was progressing perfectly, he was practically vibrating with anticipation.
“We’re seeing Mum on Sunday,” he said one evening while pacing the bedroom as you folded laundry. “Do you realize how difficult it is going to be to act normal when I know there’s a baby growing inside you?”
You laughed and set one of his shirts aside. “I do seem to recall that I am the one actually growing the baby.”
Harry immediately crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your stomach through your shirt.
“Yes,” he murmured, looking up at you with shining eyes. “And both my favorite people in the world are right here.”
Sunday arrived bright and clear, and Harry was so nervous that he nearly left the house without his wallet. During the drive to Holmes Chapel, he held your hand tightly, glancing over at you every few minutes with a mixture of excitement and disbelief that made your heart swell.
“Do you think Mum will cry?” he asked.
You smiled. “Without question.”
“And Gemma?”
“She’ll cry too, but she’ll tease you for crying first.”
Harry nodded solemnly. “That sounds accurate.”
Anne greeted you both with her usual warmth, pulling you into a hug before embracing Harry. She lingered for a moment, then drew back and studied her son with narrowed eyes.
“Why do you look like you’re about to burst?”
Gemma appeared in the hallway behind her and laughed. “He does, doesn’t he? You look suspiciously emotional.”
Harry shot you a panicked glance. “Can we all sit first?”
Lunch unfolded with increasing difficulty for Harry, who was utterly incapable of behaving naturally. He smiled to himself for no apparent reason, reached for your hand under the table every few minutes, and nearly choked on his drink when Anne casually asked if there was any news. By the time dessert was served, Gemma set down her fork and folded her arms.
“Alright,” she said. “What is going on?”
Harry looked at you, and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly undid you. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small nod. He inhaled shakily, turned to his mother and sister, and tried to speak, though his voice cracked before he could get through the first sentence.
“Actually, we do have something to tell you.”
Anne and Gemma both sat up straighter, their attention fixed entirely on him. Harry swallowed hard and tightened his grip on your hand.
“Mum,” he said softly, his eyes already glistening, “you’re going to be a grandmother.”
He turned to Gemma, his smile trembling.
“And you’re going to be an auntie.”
For one suspended heartbeat, neither woman moved. Then Anne’s hand flew to her mouth, and a sob escaped her before she hurried around the table and threw her arms around both of you. Gemma was only a second behind, laughing and crying at once as she joined the embrace.
“Are you serious?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Harry nodded, his own tears now falling freely.
“We’re having a baby.”
Gemma hugged him fiercely. “Harry, you are going to be the most incredible dad.”
That single sentence shattered whatever composure he had left. Harry buried his face against your shoulder and sobbed openly, his entire body trembling with the force of his emotions. Anne cupped your face with both hands and kissed your cheek, tears shining in her eyes.
“This is the happiest news,” she whispered, her hands settling over yours where they rested on your stomach. “That little one is already so loved.”
The rest of the afternoon dissolved into questions, laughter, and more tears than any of you could count. Anne wanted to know how you were feeling, whether you had any cravings, and if you were getting enough rest. Gemma wanted every detail, from how Harry reacted to whether he had started buying baby clothes already. When Harry protested that he had shown remarkable restraint, both you and Gemma laughed so hard that Anne nearly dropped her teacup.
At one point Anne disappeared upstairs and returned carrying a cream-colored knitted baby blanket. Her hands trembled as she held it out to you.
“I made this years ago,” she said softly. “I always hoped that one day one of my children would need it.”
Harry accepted the blanket as though it were made of something infinitely precious. His fingers traced the delicate stitches, and when he looked up at his mother, tears slipped down his cheeks all over again.
“Mum,” he whispered.
Anne brushed his tears away with the same tenderness she had surely shown him when he was a child.
Later, as the afternoon faded into evening and the house settled into a quieter rhythm, you found Harry standing by the sitting room window. The last golden light of the day cast a soft glow around him, and his expression was so openly emotional that your heart ached.
You slipped your arms around his waist from behind. He covered your hands with his immediately and turned until his forehead rested against yours.
“I’m so happy,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this full.”
You touched his cheek and smiled.
He glanced down at your stomach, then back into your eyes.
“Our baby already has so many people who love them,” he whispered. “And they haven’t even arrived yet.”
“You’re going to be an incredible father,” you said softly.
Harry closed his eyes, and one more tear slipped free.
“I just want to be everything they need.”
You kissed him gently. “You already are.”
He let out a shaky breath and rested his hand over your stomach, his expression transforming into that familiar look of awe.
“Did you hear that, little one?” he murmured. “Your grandma cried, your auntie cried, and your dad cried so hard he nearly ruined dessert.”
You laughed, and Harry smiled before kneeling down and pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach.
“We love you so much already.”
From the doorway, Gemma’s voice rang out with affectionate amusement.
“If you two are being disgustingly adorable in here, I am absolutely taking a picture.”
Harry laughed and rose to his feet, slipping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
Together, you returned to the sitting room, to the warmth of family, to the sound of laughter and the comfort of knowing that this tiny life was already surrounded by more love than words could ever express. And as Harry pressed a kiss to your temple and your hand settled over his where it rested protectively on your stomach, one truth settled deep within your heart.
Your baby was already home.
—————
like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.
It feels a little surreal to be posting again after being away for a while. Life has a way of pulling us in different directions, but there is something so comforting about returning to a place that once felt like home. Writing Harry has always felt soft and familiar to me, and this story is my gentle way of finding my way back. Thank you for being here, for reading, and for allowing me to share these little pieces of my heart with you again. I hope this one wraps around you like a warm blanket.
Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Tour Life, Established Relationship
Tags: pregnant!reader, protective Harry Styles, backstage moments, husband!Harry, Together Together tour, soft Harry, emotional support, sleeping reader, song dedication, domestic fluff, expectant parents
Word Count: ~6.5k words
—————
The first thing you noticed when Harry returned to touring was how differently he looked at you.
Not because he loved you more than he had before. That seemed impossible. Harry had always loved you with a kind of all-encompassing devotion that settled into the smallest moments of your life together. The way he tucked your hair behind your ear while you read. The way he reached for your hand in the middle of the night just to reassure himself you were there. The way he said your name like it was both a prayer and an answer.
But now, with your child growing beneath his hands, with your body carrying the living proof of the love you had built together, Harry looked at you as though you had become something sacred. You were six months pregnant, your stomach beautifully rounded now, impossible to hide, and Harry had spent the better part of those six months in a constant state of awe.
Every morning he kissed your belly before he kissed you. Every night he rested his palm over the curve of your stomach and whispered sleepy little conversations to the baby in a voice so soft it nearly made you cry. He read parenting books. Researched strollers with the seriousness of a man preparing for battle. Saved videos of nursery ideas and asked your opinion on tiny knitted jumpers with a level of enthusiasm that was both adorable and slightly alarming.
And when the Together Together tour was was being discussed, there was no question in his mind that you were coming with him. “You are not stayin’ home by yourself for months while carrying our baby,” he had said, kneeling in front of you on the bedroom floor with his hands spread protectively over your stomach. “Absolutely not. You’re comin’ with me. Both of you.” You had laughed and run your fingers through his curls.
“Harry, I would survive.”
He pressed a kiss to your belly. “I would not.”
So here you were. In another city. Another arena. Another night of watching your husband command a stage like he had been born under a spotlight.
You stood backstage with one hand resting under your stomach, supporting the extra weight the way your doctor had shown you, and watched Harry move under the lights with a kind of effortless magic that still stole your breath no matter how many times you had seen him perform. The crowd screamed his name. Thousands upon thousands of voices lifting toward him in adoration. And yet, somehow, when Harry turned and his eyes found you in the wings, it felt like the two of you were alone.
His entire face softened. The smile that spread across his lips was different from the one he gave his audience. Smaller. More intimate. So full of love that your chest tightened painfully. He pressed a hand to his heart.
You smiled and rested your palm over your stomach. The baby kicked.
You laughed quietly to yourself. “Daddy’s showing off again,” you whispered.
Harry launched into the next song, but every few moments his eyes drifted back to where you stood. Each glance lingered just a little longer than the last, as if he needed reassurance that you were still there.
Later, he moved to the center of the stage, breathing a little heavier from dancing, cheeks flushed and curls damp around his forehead. He grinned into the microphone.
“My wife is here tonight.” The crowd erupted. Harry looked toward the wings, his eyes immediately finding you. “She’s six months pregnant with our little one,” he said, his voice warming with unmistakable pride. “And she still came all this way to keep me company, which I think deserves a round of applause, yeah?” The roar that followed was deafening.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Harry’s expression softened into something achingly tender. “This next one is for my two favorite people in the world.” Your hand flew to your mouth as the opening chords began.
Harry sang with his gaze fixed on you so often that by the end of the song you were blinking back tears. The baby moved again, a gentle flutter beneath your ribs. “Your dad’s a menace,” you murmured, smiling through tears.
By the time Harry launched into another high-energy set, fatigue had begun to settle into your bones.
Tour life was thrilling, but pregnancy made everything feel just a little heavier. Your feet ached. Your lower back throbbed. Your eyelids felt increasingly difficult to keep open.
One of Harry’s assistants approached you. “Would you like to rest in his dressing room?”
You hesitated, glancing toward the stage. Harry was dancing under a wash of blue light, radiant and entirely in his element.
“He’ll understand,” the assistant said kindly.
You smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
Harry’s dressing room smelled like him. Clean cotton, bergamot, and the faint trace of his cologne lingering in the fabric of the blanket draped over the sofa. You eased yourself down carefully, one hand bracing your back, another supporting your stomach.
The couch was soft.
The room was warm.
And the distant sound of Harry’s voice drifting through the walls wrapped around you like a lullaby. You curled onto your side, one hand resting over your belly. “I’m just closing my eyes for a minute,” you whispered.
The next thing Harry noticed was that you were gone. He had just finished the song he dedicated to you when he glanced backstage out of habit. The space where you had been standing was empty.
His smile faltered.
He looked again.
Nothing.
For anyone else, it would have been a minor detail. For Harry, whose mind was already perpetually attuned to your wellbeing, panic hit instantly. He forced himself through the next song, but his concentration was fractured. By the end of it, he was already moving toward the edge of the stage.
“Give me one second,” he told the audience, breathless. His manager intercepted him the moment he stepped offstage.
“Harry, what are you doing?”
“My wife’s gone.”
“She probably went to sit down.”
“I’m checking on her.”
“You’re due back in ninety seconds.”
Harry was already walking. “I don’t care.” He moved quickly through the corridors, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. By the time he reached his dressing room, his hands were shaking.
He pushed the door open.
And stopped.
You were curled on the sofa, one hand tucked beneath your cheek, the other resting protectively over your stomach. Your breathing was slow and even. Your hair spilled across the cushion. The soft rise and fall of your belly beneath Harry’s sweatshirt nearly brought him to his knees. Relief crashed through him so powerfully that he had to brace himself against the doorframe.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered. Harry crossed the room quietly, moving with the same reverence he always used when you slept. A blanket lay folded nearby. He lifted it carefully and draped it over you, tucking it around your shoulders and over the curve of your stomach.
Then he crouched beside the sofa and brushed his fingers through your hair. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Your eyes fluttered open. “Harry?”
His expression softened instantly. “Hi, sleepy girl.”
You blinked up at him, disoriented and adorably drowsy. “Was trying to stay awake.”
“I know, love.” He kissed your temple. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
You shifted slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on stage?”
Harry smiled and slid his hand over your belly. “Our baby needs sleep.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“And if our baby needs sleep, then mummy needs sleep.”
You looked at him with so much love that his chest tightened. “Sorry I disappeared.”
He frowned, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Do not apologize for taking care of yourself.”
Your eyes drifted toward the door. “Your manager’s going to kill you.”
Harry let out a quiet laugh. “He can get in line.”
You smiled sleepily.
Harry leaned closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You scared me for a minute.”
Your expression softened. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” His fingers threaded through yours, then settled over your stomach as if he could not resist touching both of you at once. “Just needed to see you.”
The baby kicked against his palm. Harry’s eyes widened. “There you are,” he whispered, his whole face lighting up. He pressed another kiss to your forehead, then another to the curve of your belly. “Look after your mum for me, yeah? Daddy’s got a few more songs to sing.”
You laughed softly. Harry stood reluctantly, smoothing your hair back one final time. “You rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”
You caught his wrist before he could step away.
“Harry.”
He turned immediately.
“I love you.” The words struck him with the same force every time. His eyes softened until they almost glistened.
“I love you more than anything.”
He bent to kiss you, slow and sweet and impossibly tender. When he pulled back, he tucked the blanket more securely around you.“Sleep, baby.”
You were already drifting again by the time he slipped from the room.
Back on stage, Harry seemed lighter. Brighter. As if simply knowing you were resting nearby had restored something inside him. Near the end of the show, he stood before thousands of screaming fans, chest heaving, sweat dampening his curls.
He smiled into the microphone. “My wife’s asleep backstage.” The crowd erupted. Harry grinned, his eyes shining. “She’s carryin’ our baby, and I think she deserves all the rest in the world.” His voice softened. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
—————
When the show finally ended, Harry did not linger.
He thanked the crowd, waved goodbye, and all but sprinted backstage.
You were still asleep exactly where he left you.
Harry changed quickly, then gathered you into his arms with practiced care. You stirred, blinking sleepily as he lifted you. “Show over?”
“Mm-hmm.”
You nestled closer, your head falling against his shoulder. “How was it?” Harry laughed quietly, kissing your hair. “Best one yet.”
You smiled without opening your eyes.
Harry carried you to the car waiting outside, shielding you from the night air, one hand spread protectively over your stomach the entire way. As the car pulled away, you slept against him, wrapped in his jacket and his arms. Harry rested his cheek against your hair and stared down at the two people he loved most in the world.
He thought of the dedicated song.
Of your sleepy smile.
Of the tiny kick beneath his hand.
Of the future waiting for all three of you.
His throat tightened with emotion. He kissed your forehead. And whispered into the quiet darkness. “Thank you.”
You stirred slightly. “For what?” you mumbled.
Harry smiled, tears pricking unexpectedly at his eyes. “For making me the happiest man alive.” Your fingers curled weakly around his shirt.
Outside, the city lights blurred past.
Inside, wrapped around you and your unborn child, Harry felt exactly where he was meant to be.
Home.
Because home was never a place.
It was you.
And the little life growing between you both.
—————
like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.
˗ˏˋone I two I three I ao3 I gif @/rhaenyratargeryen ˎˊ˗
꒰ masterlist • stranger things • 12/12/25 ꒱
ᝰ.ᐟ key: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I ~S- implied smut I H/C -comfort
☆ you missed the memo ── @suprclark I A + F
your best friend shows up at your house after breaking your heart a little, only to fix it a lot. turns out the boy you thought you lost is actually the boy who’s been in love with you this whole time.
☆ let somebody love you ── @luveline I F
You ran out on Steve almost three years ago in the middle of a sweet fling, but now you’re back in Hawkins, and there’s a little girl on your hip that looks just like him.
☆ mom!reader ── @/luveline I F
Steve’s misses his girlfriend and her sweetheart son.
☆ bitter ── @/luveline I F
Steve hates that you don’t like him, and you love how much he hates you.
☆ please, please, please! ── @lovebugism I F
when steve struggles to tell you about his feelings, rockin' robin helps him do it through song.
☆ request ── @/lovebugism I A
☆ grump!reader pt2 ── @/lovebugism I F
the worst part about hating steve is that he loves how mean you are to him
☆ shy!reader ── @/lovebugism I S
steve teaches you how to use your voice in the bedroom
☆ grump!reader ── @/lovebugism I F
steve harrington's plan to win your older brother's favor almost backfires, until it doesn't
☆ the placeholder ── @little-miss-dilf-lover I A
romantic feelings are complicated enough as it is, it’s only worse when it's amongst those in your friend group.
☆ false god ── @pretty-little-mind33 I F
You've liked Steve since forever, while he's only now just realizing you're exactly the girl he's been searching for.
☆ a tad on the nose ── @starrvsn I F
☆ blurb ── @cha0ticstranger I F
☆ weird girl!reader ── @bruisedboys I F
steve gives his curious girlfriend her first hickey
☆ request ── @/bruisedboys I F
☆ rules of the crawl pt2 ── @levanswrites I S
you don’t do dates. you do the backseat. you do frantic, messy sex on hideous shag carpet, killing time in a metal box while you both wait for the world to change, or maybe for it to just end. the rules of the crawl are simple. but whatever this thing with steve is? it's not even close.
☆ the babysitter ── @roanofarcc I H/C
while Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler leave you with their youngest for the evening, an unwelcome guest crashes the party.
☆ eighteen months ── @/roanofarcc I A
in which you're the one to fall under vecna's curse, stuck inside the monster's mind as steve is forcedd to grieve you from the outside
☆ flicker light ── @spider-stark I A + F
steve gives you a ride to the hospital when your brother gets sick and finds out boogers are (basically) the reason you hate him so much
☆ in a lonely room ── @radiowavesteve I A + F
☆ bump pt2 pt3 ── @upsidedownwithemmy I A
☆ he’s an idiot ── @mild-lust I A + F + S
After being stood up by Eddie Munson, you run into Steve Harrington on the walk home from the trailer park. He lends you listening ear and a ride—and instead of taking you home, he takes you to his.
☆ blurb ── @usedtobecooler I S
the person who breaks steve harrington’s dry spell.
☆ i think we’re alone now ── @missmanlykink I S
steves been cranky all month long. he's grumpy, never wants to fool around, tense...but finally, you two have the station to yourself, and you have a way to help your boyfriend blow off some steam
☆ court jester ── @queers-gambit I A + F + ~S
after running into his old crew, Steve thinks he can save face by calling you clingy, but your best friend hears. though, they say Christmas is the time for forgiveness!
☆ drabble ── @tearsandtechno I A + F
☆ king!steve ── @ddejavvu I F
☆ pinching pennies ── @/ddejavvu I A + C
☆ frog and toad ── @/ddejavvu I F
☆ casual conversations ── @supernovafics I F + S
in which what you and steve have isn’t serious by any means, but an honest conversation starts to change that
☆ operation love me ── @justburningdaylight I A + F
Reader has been with Steve for almost two years. Recently he’s been pulling away. She believes he’s fallen out of love, so she devises a plan to gain his love back.
☆ injured pt2 ── @saltcxrcle I A + C
steve patches you up when you get hurt by the demodogs.
☆ time after time ── @beckys-satellite I A + C
Thank God Steve knows your favorite song.
☆ king sized ── @munson-blurbs I A + F + S
Back in high school, Steve Harrington and his friends made your life miserable. Now you have your chance to get your revenge...unless something unexpected gets in the way.
☆ sunscreen ── @yasministration I F
you and steve share a tender moment before facing hawkin's chaos, barely disturbed by the annoying teenagers and adults around you
☆ dark silhouettes, open windows ── @/yasministration I F
your relationship with steve finally crosses from platonic to romantic, and luckily for you, you don't even have to tell your friends about it.
☆ doubt ── @iheartyouyou I A + F
Steve is still in love with Nancy. It’s so obvious because who races to the top of a 500 ft tower?
☆ two lines, one disaster pt2 ── @/iheartyouyou I A
You find out you’re pregnant with Steve’s child right before the Crawl.
☆ love song ── @vividxpages I F
a slow night at the radio station. or: Steve is just so in love with you.
☆ call out my name ── @keeryhours I S
No one knows you and your best friend Steve are a thing. In fact, everyone is very much under the impression that Steve is still in love with Nancy. When Nancy calls while Steve is in your bed, you have to keep your secret - and Steve isn’t making it easy.
☆ there is no other love (it’s only yours) ── @/keeryhours I F
5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.
☆ jealousy, jealousy ── @colouredbyd I A + F
you can’t shake the sharp sting of jealousy when you catch your boyfriend, steve, engrossed in conversation with his ex, nancy wheeler.
☆ lost in the woods ── @munsster I F
You, the party, and Steve attend an annual winter festival while he's feeling utterly lost in the woods.
☆ to the boy i loved before ── @buckyarchives I A
Dustin’s disappointed by his sister recent decline into loneliness, and after a new discovery that gives him an opportunity to unite his two favorite people—a certain light comes back into you life
☆ make it up to you pt2 ── @munsonsmixtapes I F + C + S
You accidentally stand Steve up and decide to make it up to him the only way you know how.
☆ under the mistletoe ── @g1rld1ary I F
all you want for christmas is for steve to kiss you.
☆ henderson! ── @bunnyscr1bbles I F
steve harrington has a hopeless crush on dustin’s hot older sister
☆ don’t say a word ── @beapeas I F
While stuck in the middle of Steve and Jonathan's arguing, you out your secret relationship with Steve to shut them up.
☆ anklet ── @hungharrington I S
☆ cherry slushies ── @spencersmopbucket I A + F
you kick the shit out of steve harrington for messing with your brother -- from that moment on, he's sickeningly infatuated with you.
