imjustanarrogantharrie @imjustanarrogantharrie - Tumblr Blog

MASTERLIST

welcome welcome, this is my updated masterlist. if you have any requests please do not hesitate to ask. likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated i love knowing how my work is viewed. if you wish to join my taglist click here.

ONE SHOTS:

flashlights and flirtations + where the flirtations led

pairing: famous harry x famous reader

summary: you both meet at your album release party, one glimpse of that smile and next thing you've woken up next to the most talked about popstar with pictures everywhere.

less

pairing: famous harry x singer reader

summary: a once sweet relationship now turning cold. A trip to Japan to attempt to mend things, followed by a display of heartbreak and paparazzi catch it.

It’s all waiting there for you

pairing: famous harry x reader

summary: The end of a wembley residency, tears are shared, Gemma speech and a celebration dinner at Anne’s.

headlines after midnight

pairing: famous harry x reader

summary: meeting harry styles at Glastonbury and you both have an unforgettable night together, waking up with videos of you two kiss everywhere

agora hills

pairing: famous harry x reader

summary: completely and utterly obsessed with each other, harry determined to show you off while you decide to say yes.

wish list

pairing: famous harry x reader

summary: you never wanted children but seeing harry with them makes you think it might not be as bad

please, baby

pairing: needy harry x reader

summary: harry is desperate for you after a show and your always there for him

SERIES

together, together

pairing: famous harry x famous reader

summary: series about joining harry on tour as an opener

offside

pairing: popular boy x quiet girl

summary: a story about fake dating and tutor sessions. the popular athlete turns to anna miller a girl who’s trying to catch the attention of her crush.

high stakes

coming soon…

hihi dare i say i’m yearning for a pregnancy trope after rewatching that video of harry being so cute with the baby over and over again?? 🫣🫣

would you consider doing a pt 2 of wish list where she gets pregnant and it’s all the milestones (good and bad?) he comforts her through them all and is very protective! possibly a complication that leads to early labor and it’s angsty but happy ending for them all!

OKAY I LOVE!!!

i will definitely write this and do the months as milestones and birth and after 💗💗

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic rec #anon ask

eileenrry

TO LOVE TO STAY

.ᐟ.ᐟ read part 1 TO LOVE TO LET GO first! pairing: current older boyfriend! Harry Styles x fem! reader summary: After a month long break to think through your future plans, Harry comes back to you and life that sorted itself word count: 8.6K contains: age gap (Harry is 32 & reader is 23), angst, talks about marriage and kids, pregnancy, brief mentions of abortion, fluff, multimedia

MASTERPOST⋆˚౨ৎ⋆.˚ | TAGLIST ALL MY LOVE & TPWK, E

#harry styles fic rec

purplecoffee13

Roll The Dice*

Summary: “Y/N jokingly gifts her roommate (and best friend) Harry viagra. But then, Harry actually takes it, and then gets left mid-date with a painfully hard situation.”

Tropes: best friends & roommates to lovers

Warnings: SMUT, dirty talk, little bit of possessiveness, basically just H being down bad, some pov switching

Wc: 4.2k

A/N: no proofreading we die like men.

Enjoy🤍

General Masterlist

Harry and Y/N had been friends since the first day of college. Contrary to many assumptions, the relationship had always been platonic. When the two met, Harry had a girlfriend, so romance had never been an option to begin with. Even after he broke up with Shelly, Harry and Y/N's friendship had become so established that any other type of dynamic had become unthinkable. At least, that is what they always shouted whenever someone started prying into their relationship. When separated from each other, their friend did manage to get Harry to admit to finding Y/N sexy, and Y/N to confess that yes—Harry's tattoos did have a little something to them.

PLEASE, BABY

based off: this ask!

warnings: none. just fluff. harry basically being needy for you

masterlist taglist

The second Harry walked off the stage with his chest heaving and sweat stuck to his forehead, he was scanning backstage like he’s searching for something. His eyes froze once his gaze landed on you.

A tired grin breaks across his face and he’s moving before you even spot him.

“Baby,” he breathes, and in long strides he’s near you and wrapping his arms tight around your waist, burying his face right in the crook of your neck.

He’s warm and soaked with sweat.

His body still thrumming with the buzz of performing and applause of the crowd, he’s pulling you so close there isn’t an inch of space between you.

You chuckle, hands coming up to wrap around his neck as you squirm in his hold. “Harry, baby - you’re sweaty! You’re gonna get me wet!”

He hums and squeezes you tighter, his arms locking you tighter like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go. “Don’t care. Need you. Missed you the whole time I was up there. Just need you to hold me.”

You run your fingers through his damp hair softly before turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “You were incredible tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

He lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft and filled with exhaustion. Then he drops his forehead against yours. “Thank you. The best part of this whole thing is seeing your face in the crowd every night.”

He doesn’t pull away or step back, he just stays there, leaning his whole weight on you - until you gently pry his arms loose from you to head for the car.

Even then he doesn’t let you go.

He keeps one hand tangled tight with yours the whole ride to the hotel, his thumb brushing back and forth over your knuckles as if he's trying to remind himself you’re real.

Back in the hotel, it’s like he’s your own personal shadow.

When you go to the bathroom to wash your makeup off, he leans in the doorway with a pout on his mouth.

You head to turn the shower on until the steam fills the room. You step under the warm spray, allowing yourself to soak in the warmth of the water covering your skin. Until the door creaks open, you peek through the glass and see Harry standing there, already stripped, pouting.

“Can I join you?” he asks, voice quiet. “I don’t wanna be apart from you.”

You smile and open the door wider, “C’mere. Thought you’d never ask.”

He steps in and pulls you against him the second he’s under the water, the warm streams washing the grime and sweat away from the both of you.

He grabs your favourite vanilla body wash, lathering it slowly over your shoulders, arms and back - taking his time, like he’s memorising every inch of you with his hands.

“Let me do yours,” you murmur, taking the bottle from him. You work the shampoo gently into his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp and he lets out a relaxed sigh leaning his whole weight onto you.

He keeps his arms loose around your waist the entire time, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“Feels so good,” he mumbles against your skin. “Take such good care of me.”

When you’re both clean, you step out together drying each other off - Harry stealing soft kisses every chance he gets.

Even then he can’t leave you alone, trailing behind you to the suitcases, leaning on you when you pull on your pajamas - following you like a lost puppy.

“Harry,” you laugh, stepping on your tip toes to give a kiss to his lips. “What is it? You’re being so clingy tonight.”

“Wanna be close to you. Can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles, tugging you closer.

When you get into bed, you shift onto your side and open your arms. “C’mere. Turn around.”

He blinks, then smiles softly before twisting around so his back is pressed to your chest. You wraps both arms firmly around his waist, tucking your chin over his shoulder, legs tangling with his.

For a minute he goes completely still before letting out a long, shaky breath and every bit of tension leaves his body at once, melting into you. He laces his fingers through yours where they rest over his heart, placing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Perfect,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “This is exactly what I needed tonight. You’re my favourite place to be.”

You press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, holding him a little closer. “I’ve got you. Sleep. I’m here, my love.”

And he does - safe, warm and utterly in love with you.

pls pls pls write something about needy bf harry and he’s so desperate for cuddles after his show and reader is waiting backstage and he’s so so clingy hahaha

OMG YESS!!!

thank you so much for this ask i will get to writing it soon i promise xx

HI IM HERE WITH A REQUEST :)

idk if you’ve ever noticed before but in the intro of cinema (at 0:06 and 0:08 to be specific) there’s a looped moan and heavy breathing — and i have had the question: ‘how, where, and why tf was that recorded and later layered into the intro’ for YEARS

so here i am requesting some sort of smut one shot with the backstory behind this — and also just the image of harry having sex with the reader after everyone left the studio and purposely recording it and later adding it into the intro (which everyone (kid harpoon/mitch/whoever was in the studio at the time) obviously notices the next day 😭) is just sexy LMAO IDK <3

OKAY FIRST OF ALL I LOVE THIS. i will ABSOLUTELY write this!!

also harry was so sick for trying to distinctly add those breathy moans at the beginning 🙈

i shall get to writing this soon xxx

ASKS AND REQUEST BOX IS OPEN!!!

#harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #brits harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles one direction #harries #harry styles fic #harry styles fic rec #ask blog #asks open

ijustmissyouraccenths

I Met Someone And It Was Easy (Raya Harry)

You change your jumper twice, drink the best coffee you’ve had since LA, and meet the woman who already knew everything about you without having met you yet.

word count: 4.4k

authors note: cover photo by @zclhes

You wake up and don't know where you are for approximately three seconds.

Then it comes back. All of it, in order. The arrivals hall. The wrong side of the car. The eggs. The empty room at the end of the hall. The couch.

London.

You lie there and let it settle. The light coming through the curtains is grey and soft and nothing like New York morning light. New York morning light has an insistence to it even on cloudy days, a quality of the city already being in motion. This is quieter. More patient. Like the day is taking its time deciding what it wants to be.

His side of the bed is empty.

You sit up slowly, jet lag sitting somewhere behind your eyes like something unfinished, and look around the room properly for the first time in daylight. It's a good room. The kind that doesn't try too hard. A chair in the corner with a jumper thrown over it. Books on the nightstand, his, a receipt tucked between the pages as a bookmark.

You can smell coffee.

You find your phone on the nightstand. Just past eight. Your body thinks it's three in the morning. That explains a great deal.

There's a message from Cami.

Cami: good morning from New York. how was the first night 👀

Cami: and I mean ALL of it

Cami: did he find the thing

You look at the ceiling for a second.

You: he found the thing

Cami: AND

You: and it went well

Cami: I need more than that

Cami: did he dick you down real good or not this is important information

You press your lips together.

You: yes Cami

You: extremely well actually

You: are you happy

Cami: EXTREMELY

Cami: I knew it. I knew it I knew it I knew it

Cami: something about a man who is that calm and patient in regular life

You: please don't

Cami: no I'm just saying. it transfers.

You: Camille.

Cami: I need a popstar

Cami: like genuinely. after hearing this. I need one immediately.

Cami: do you think he has friends

You laugh out loud alone in his bedroom in London at eight in the morning and the sound bounces off the walls and feels very good.

You: I'll ask

Cami: please do it's urgent

Cami: also how's London

You: grey. quiet. I can smell coffee from downstairs.

Cami: go get your coffee babe. I love you. tell him I said hi and also thank you.

You: I'm not telling him that last part

Cami: he already knows 🫶🏼

You put the phone down and push the duvet back. The oversized shirt from last night is folded on the chair. You did not do that. He did. You pull it on and follow the smell of coffee downstairs.

The kitchen is warm and lit and he's at the counter with his back to you, two mugs out, the coffee already made. He hears you on the stairs and glances back over his shoulder.

"Morning," he says.

"Morning," you say, and your voice is still doing what voices do at eight in the morning, slightly unreliable and not quite your own yet.

He looks at you for a second. Hair everywhere, his shirt, the general state of someone who slept hard in a new time zone and is still catching up to the day.

"You look good," he says.

"I look like jet lag," you say.

"You look good," he says again, and turns back to the coffee like that's entirely settled.

You pull out a stool and sit and watch him and think about Cami's text and press your lips together.

"Cami says hi," you say.

He slides a mug across the island to you. "Tell her hi back."

"She also says thank you."

He looks at you.

"For the flight," you say. "Obviously."

He holds your gaze for just a second. The corner of his mouth moves. "Obviously," he says.

You pick up your coffee and look somewhere else.

He leans on the counter across from you, his own mug in hand, and you both drink in the morning quiet of the kitchen, London doing its grey patient thing outside the window. It's a comfortable quiet. The kind you don't have to fill.

"How's the jet lag?" he says eventually.

"Present," you say. "Manageable. My body thinks it's the middle of the night."

"It'll be worse tomorrow," he says.

"That's not helpful."

"It's true though." He looks at you over his mug. "The bakery will help."

"Is that a medical opinion?"

"It's a load bearing coffee opinion," he says. "Which is more reliable."

You smile at your mug. Outside the light is doing something interesting, the grey shifting slightly, not quite committing to anything but considering it.

"Can I see the garden?" you say.

He looks momentarily surprised, then not. "Yeah," he says. "Come on."

He opens the back door and you step out and the cold hits you immediately, sharp and clean and damp, the cold of an English morning that has been cold for a long time and isn't apologizing for it. The garden is small and tidy, a little overgrown at the edges, the kind of garden someone tends occasionally but not obsessively. A tree in the corner stripped of most of its leaves. A bench along the back wall that looks like it's been there forever.

You stand there in his shirt and your bare feet on the cold stone and look at it.

It's quiet out here. That's the thing that gets you. New York doesn't have this, not really, not even in the smallest backyard. There's always something. A siren, a neighbour, a dog three buildings over. This is just birds and distant traffic and the sound of the city existing somewhere that isn't here.

"It's nice," you say.

"In summer it's better," he says, beside you. "Everything comes back."

You look at the tree. At the bench. At the grey sky above it all.

"I'm going to sit out here," you say. "When it's warm. With my laptop."

"I know," he says. Like he's already pictured it.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, easy and unhurried, hands around his mug, completely unbothered by the cold in a way that suggests he's stood out here in worse than this and found it perfectly fine.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go get you that coffee."

You go back inside and upstairs. He leaves you to get ready while he takes his call, as planned, and you appreciate it because you need at least twenty minutes to negotiate with your hair and find something to wear that says I'm a person who lives here now and not I just got off a plane yesterday. Both are true. Only one is useful right now.

You stand in front of your suitcase for longer than you'd like.

You settle on something. Jeans, a good jumper, the coat that isn't quite warm enough for a Manchester winter but is fine for London in November. You do your makeup lightly, the kind that looks like nothing. It takes more effort than it should. You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

You look like yourself.

That'll do.

He's waiting at the bottom of the stairs when you come down, coat on, keys in hand, looking at his phone. He looks up when he hears you and takes you in, unhurried, top to bottom.

"Ready?" he says.

"Ready," you say.

Outside the morning has decided on something grey but dry. He tells you this is actually quite good for this time of year. You choose to believe him. The street looks different in daylight than it did last night coming home from the airport. More itself. Terraced houses on both sides, all slightly different shades of the same thing, the occasional window box, a cat sitting on a wall two doors down watching you both with complete indifference.

You walk close beside him, shoulders occasionally touching, and look at everything.

"That's the corner shop," he says, nodding at a small place on the end of the block. "Open at six every morning, run by a man named Raj who knows everyone on the street and has opinions about everything."

"I like him already," you say.

"You'll meet him," he says. "He'll introduce himself. He always does."

You turn a corner and the street opens up slightly, a small square with a bench and a tree in the middle of it, and there on the far corner is the bakery. Small, warm looking, the kind of place with a handwritten menu in the window and a small queue already forming outside despite the cold.

"This is it," he says.

"It's already got a queue," you say.

"I told you," he says. "Load bearing."

You join the queue and stand there in the cold and he stands behind you slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, and you look at the handwritten menu in the window and try to read it and feel, for the first time since the car last night, the strangeness of being somewhere completely new. Not bad strangeness. Just awareness of a person standing in a place they don't know yet, reading a menu they've never seen, about to try coffee that someone they love has been drinking for years without them.

"What do you normally get?" you say.

"The flat white," he says. "And the thing with the almond."

"What thing with the almond?"

"You'll see," he says.

The queue moves and then you're inside and it's warm and smells extraordinary, coffee and butter and something sweet underneath it all, and a woman behind the counter looks up and sees Harry and smiles the smile of someone who recognizes a regular.

"Morning," she says. "Usual?"

"Two," he says. "And two of the almond things."

She nods and starts making it. He pays before you can say anything. You were going to. You give him a look.

"Don't," he says.

"I was just going to—"

"I know what you were going to do," he says. "Don't."

You close your mouth.

He takes the cups when they come and hands you yours. You both take the almond things. They turn out to be small golden pastries with something inside you can't identify but that tastes like the best decision you've ever made. You push back out into the cold and stand on the pavement outside the bakery in the grey London morning and take your first sip of the coffee.

You stop.

You look at him.

He is watching you with the expression of someone who already knew and has been waiting for you to catch up.

"Okay," you say.

"Yeah," he says.

"That's really good coffee."

"I told you."

"You told me it was load bearing," you say. "I didn't know what that meant until right now."

He smiles, properly, and takes a sip of his own and you stand there on the pavement outside the bakery eating almond pastries and drinking the best coffee you've had since a rooftop bar in LA, and London goes on around you, grey and old and unhurried.

You think about the window he talked about last night. The strangeness before somewhere becomes normal.

You are standing right in the middle of it.

You want to remember this exact moment. The cold on your face and the coffee in your hand and him beside you and the cat on the wall down the street and the handwritten menu and the woman who already knew his order. The almond thing you can't identify. The grey sky doing its patient thing above it all.

You take a mental photograph of it. File it away somewhere careful.

First morning in London. Load bearing coffee. Him.

"Can we walk for a bit?" you say. "Before we go back?"

"We've got time," he says. "Come on. I'll show you the park."

The park is five minutes from the bakery, tucked behind a row of houses where things appear without announcing themselves, a gate in a wall and then suddenly there's all this space, trees and paths and a stretch of grass that is very green despite the grey sky above it.

You walk through the gate and your breath clouds in front of you and the gravel path crunches underfoot. Quiet here, the weekday morning kind, just a few people with dogs, a man on a bench with a newspaper, a woman pushing a pram with the focused determination of someone who has been up since five and is making the most of it.

"This is the one?" you say.

He looks at you.

"The park where you used to come and think," you say. "You told me about it. In LA. On the rooftop."

He looks around at it. At the trees and the path and the bench by the far wall. "Yeah," he says. "This is the one."

You walk beside him and look at it and try to picture him younger, before any of it, sitting on one of these benches working something out. It's not hard. He has always seemed like someone who needed space to think, who found noise useful in the studio and quiet useful everywhere else.

"What did you think about?" you say. "When you used to come here."

He's quiet for a moment, just the gravel underfoot and the distant sound of a dog somewhere behind you.

"Everything," he says. "When I was young it was music mostly. Whether it was going to work. Whether I was making the right decisions." He pauses. "Later it was other things. Life things. The kind of questions that don't have clean answers so you just have to sit with them until something shifts."

You look at the bench by the far wall.

"Do you still come?" you say.

"Sometimes," he says. "Less than I used to. But sometimes."

You walk a little further down the path and the park opens up slightly, a wider stretch of grass with a few trees at the edges, their branches bare and black against the sky. A pigeon does something purposeful near your feet and then thinks better of it.

"I want to write about this park," you say. Not to him specifically. Just out loud.

"Yeah?"

"Not about you," you say quickly. "Just about the park. The idea of a place you go to think. Everyone has one. The man on the bench with the newspaper probably has a whole history with that bench." You look around. "There are a hundred stories in here right now."

He's looking at you with that expression, the quiet attentive one, the one that means he's actually listening.

"Write in the window," he says.

"I know," you say. "I will."

You finish your coffees and your almond pastries and walk a full loop of the park before you head back, not in a hurry, just walking, your shoulder against his, the cold settling into something almost comfortable. He points things out as you go. The cafe on the corner that does good soup in winter. The bookshop a street over that he's been going to since he was a teenager. The church at the end of the road that has a market in its courtyard on Saturdays.

"The market you mentioned?" you say.

"That one," he says. "It's good. We'll go this weekend."

You look at the church as you pass it, the courtyard behind the iron gate, quiet and empty now but easy to picture full of stalls and people and that specific Saturday morning energy of somewhere that takes its weekends seriously.

"I'm going to find someone to write about there," you say.

"I know you will," he says simply.

You walk back in a comfortable quiet, the street familiar already in the small ways that streets become familiar when you pay attention, the corner shop and the cat wall and the turn that takes you back to his road. His house appearing at the end of it, warm light in the downstairs window even in the morning, like it's been waiting for you to come back.

You stop at the gate.

"Thank you for showing me," you say.

He looks at you. "It's your neighbourhood too," he says. "You should know it."

You look at him standing there in his coat in the grey morning light outside his house, completely unbothered by the cold, completely at ease, and you think about a park bench and a rooftop in LA and a diner in Midtown and a hotel room on the forty second floor and all the improbable distance between that first conversation about boats and standing here right now on this pavement in London.

"Come on," he says. "She'll be here in two hours. I should probably warn you about a few things."

You look at him. "Warn me about what?"

"Nothing bad," he says, opening the gate. "She's just very."

"Very what?"

He smiles. "You'll see," he says.

You follow him inside.

The house feels different in the morning than it did last night. Warmer somehow, more itself, the light coming through the front windows and landing on the wooden floors in long pale strips. You can see things you couldn't see at midnight. The small details of a life lived here. The stack of records beside the player in the sitting room. The collection of mugs on the kitchen shelf that don't match each other. The patch of wall by the back door where someone has written a measurement in pencil, a child's height, old enough that you can barely make it out.

You stand in the kitchen while he makes more coffee and look at all of it.

"What do I need to know?" you say.

He leans against the counter. "She's going to hug you straight away," he says. "Before you've said anything. Just so you're ready."

"Okay," you say. "I can do that."

"She's going to ask you about your family," he says. "Not in a pointed way. She's just interested in people. Where they come from. She thinks it explains a lot."

"Does it?"

"She thinks so," he says. "She's usually right."

You pull your knees up on the stool. "What else?"

"She might cry," he says. Completely matter of fact.

You stare at him. "Why?"

"She cries when she's happy," he says. "Don't let it worry you. It means things are going well."

"Your mother might cry at brunch and that means things are going well."

"Lunch," he says. "And yes."

You look at him. "Is there anything else I should know?"

He thinks about it genuinely. "She's going to love you," he says. "I've told you that. But she's also going to tell you things about me that I would prefer she didn't and there's nothing I can do about that because she's my mum and that's just what mums do."

"What kind of things?"

"Embarrassing things," he says. "Stories. She has a lot of them."

"I want to hear all of them," you say.

"I know you do," he says. "That's what I'm worried about."

You smile at the island. Outside the morning is still doing its grey patient thing, the light not quite committing, London in November being entirely itself.

"Harry," you say.

"Mm?"

"What did you tell her about me?"

He picks up his mug. Looks at it for a second. Then looks at you.

"The truth," he says simply. "That I met someone and it was easy and I didn't want to stop."

You look at him across the kitchen island.

"That's it?" you say.

"And that you're a writer," he says. "And that you care about things properly. And that you made me feel like myself when I was around you." He shrugs slightly, like none of this is remarkable. "She asked a lot of questions."

"She sounds like a journalist," you say.

"She's just curious," he says. "She always has been." He pushes off the counter. "Go get yourself sorted. She's punctual."

You slide off the stool and take your coffee and head for the stairs and then stop halfway up and look back at him still standing in the kitchen, the morning light coming through the window behind him, completely at ease in his own space in his own city.

"Harry," you say.

He looks up.

"She already likes me," you say. "You said so."

He smiles. "I did say so."

"So I'm not nervous," you say. Convincing yourself as much as him.

"You're a little nervous," he says.

You point at him.

"Go get ready," he says.

You go.

You are ready twenty minutes before she arrives. You spend those twenty minutes sitting on the edge of the bed doing nothing useful.

You change your jumper once. You don't need to, the first one was fine, but you change it anyway because you are apparently a person who changes their jumper when they're nervous even though you're not nervous, you're fine, you're completely fine.

You check your phone.

Cami: how are you feeling

You: fine

Cami: you changed your jumper didn't you

You stare at the screen.

You: how did you know that

Cami: because I know you. which jumper did you go with

You: the green one

Cami: good call. she's going to love you. stop sitting on the bed.

You put the phone down and stop sitting on the bed.

Downstairs you can hear him moving around, tidying things that probably don't need tidying. That makes you feel marginally better about the jumper situation. You sit on the sitting room sofa instead and look at the fireplace and the records and the books on the shelves with no system, and you think about what he said in the kitchen.

That I met someone and it was easy and I didn't want to stop.

You are still thinking about that when the doorbell rings.

You hear him go to the door. You hear it open. You hear her voice before you see her, warm and northern and unmistakably his in its cadence, saying something you can't quite make out, and then his laugh, low and genuine, and then footsteps in the hall.

You stand up.

She comes into the sitting room ahead of him and she is exactly what you expected and nothing like what you expected at the same time. Warm eyes, the same green as his. A smile that arrives immediately and completely, no warming up to it, just there. A coat she's already taking off before she's fully through the door because she is someone who makes herself at home without thinking about it, which tells you a great deal very quickly.

She sees you and stops.

Just for a second.

Something crosses her face. Recognition, maybe, or something softer than that. The look of someone finally seeing a thing they've been told about and finding it true.

Then she crosses the room and pulls you into a hug.

It's a proper one. Both arms, no hesitation, the kind that belongs to someone who has been looking forward to this and isn't pretending otherwise. You go into it surprised and come out of it smiling.

"I'm Anne," she says, pulling back to look at you properly, her hands still on your arms. "I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time."

"I've been wanting to meet you too," you say, and mean it completely.

She looks at you. Really looks at you, the same attention Harry gives things, taking her time, not assessing but genuinely interested, like she's actually seeing you and not just the version of you she was expecting.

"He didn't do you justice," she says.

"Mum," Harry says, from the doorway.

"I'm just saying." She doesn't take her eyes off you. "He said you were lovely and you are but he left out the rest of it." She squeezes your arms once and then lets go and sits down on the sofa with the ease of someone who has been here many times before. "Sit down, sit down. Tell me everything. Start wherever you want."

You sit. Harry sits in the armchair across from you with the expression of a man who has accepted his fate and is at peace with it.

"Everything is a lot," you say.

"I have time," she says. "I cleared the whole afternoon." She glances at Harry. "Are you making tea or are you just going to sit there?"

"I'll make tea," he says, and gets up without complaint. You note this. It tells you something about the two of them that makes you like her immediately.

He disappears into the kitchen and she turns back to you and leans forward slightly with her elbows on her knees and looks at you like you are the most interesting thing she has seen in a long time.

"New York," she says. "What's it like? I've been twice but never long enough."

"Loud," you say. "Loud and enormous and it never lets you be still."

"Do you miss it?"

You think about it honestly. "Parts of it," you say. "The parts that are mine. The coffee shop on my corner and the park I walk through and the wine shop where the man never tries to upsell you." You pause. "Not the rest of it. Not as much as I thought I would."

She nods slowly, like this confirms something. "He said you were a writer."

"I am," you say. "I was a journalist. Local stuff, city council, human interest. I've just started something new." You pause. "A travel blog, sort of. About people. Finding extraordinary people in ordinary places."

Her face does something. Opens up slightly.

"What's it called?" she says.

"Strangers I Loved Briefly," you say.

She sits back. Looks at you. Then looks toward the kitchen where Harry is doing something with the kettle.

"Harry," she calls.

"Mm?" he calls back.

She looks at you with an expression that is warm and certain and slightly smug in the best possible way.

"Nothing," she calls back. "Never mind."

She turns back to you and the smile she gives you then is the real one, the full one, the one that says everything without saying anything.

"Tell me about the blog," she says. "Tell me everything about it."

harryskissco

i know what you did (requested)

A/N thanks to the anon who requested this!! here's another jack chambers fic!!!

For the last few days, Jack has been acting incredibly strange around you. Every night, you'd come home from work to find Jack sitting in front of his computer, completely enthralled in Frank's podcasts.

One night, you came home too tired to function. "Jack, I'm home" you said, completely exhausted. No response. You felt like you were literally talking to a brick wall.

"I'm going to bed if you want to join me. If not, goodnight" you said. You woke up later in the night to be met with the feeling of Jack holding you tightly, almost like he was scared he was going to lose you if he let go.

The next morning, you woke up to cold sheets on Jack's side of the bed but you heard the shower running so you thought now would be the perfect time to eavesdrop on whatever is making his attitude change towards you.

When you walked over to his desk, you saw his computer still open to a website for something called the Victory Project.

Before Jack got out of the shower, you quickly sat back down where you were originally sitting so he wouldn't suspect anything, while you researched what exactly the Victory Project is.

When you found out, you were horrified at the thought of your boyfriend turning against the thing he once took pride in, you and your success. Later in the day, you had went to work with the thought still running through your mind.

When you came home, Jack was standing by the door waiting for you with a hot cup of coffee, just the way you liked it. Now he's being sweet, you thought as you hung your jacket and purse up and sat down on your small couch, taking the cup of coffee from him.

When you tasted it, you could feel your senses deteriorating and your body going numb. "Jack, what did you put in this?" You asked, before you totally fell asleep.

When you finally saw yourself again, you almost didn't recognize her. Now, you were living in a retro, 1950s-era house, constantly cooking and cleaning for Jack, while he was at work.

For the first few days, you acted like you didn't know what was going on. But one day, the truth unraveled itself. You were cleaning the kitchen when memories of your real life started to flood your brain, which caused you to have a panic attack.

When Jack noticed, he immediately rushed to your side to comfort you. "Baby, it's ok. You're having a panic attack, just breathe" he said, as you slowly started to breathe.

"Good, keep breathing" he coaxed, hoping that he could try to distract you from revealing what he did to you. But, that didn't work.

"I know what you did to me" you said, trying to catch your breath.

"Baby, I didn't do anything" he lied.

"Jack, don't fucking lie to me. I remember everything that happened that night. How you made me coffee and I fell asleep, then you hooked me to a machine and brought me here" you yelled.

"I did this so that I could give you the life that you deserve. I did this for us, y/n" Jack defended.

"No, you didn't. You did this to fulfill your own selfish fucking needs" you yelled, just before Jack pulled you into a suffocating hug to prevent you from leaving. You then defended yourself against him, and you were back in the real world before you knew it.

taglist: @sassamanda77 @imjustanarrogantharrie

watermelonkiwiharry

hii, i love your writing!!

are you able to write about dad harry x reader and they come home to find their children have thrown a house party without asking them and then they tell everyone to like leave and they find out their children were like smoking wd and drinking and they get mad and tell them off and the next morning harry and reader wake up to the kids making them an apology breakfast 🙈

Are You Kidding Me?!

Pairing: Harry Styles & Reader x Son!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt Comfort, Fluff, Family Domestic, Domestic Angst, Slice-Of-Life, Coming-Of-Age, Dadrry Fluff and Angst

Word Count: ~4k words

Warnings: None :) Just two kids throwing a huge rave party and getting the grounding of their lives for it.

Prompt: When Harry and you return home early from a work retreat to find your teenagers throwing an unsupervised house party—complete with noise, mess, and illegal substances—you and Harry lay down the law with a furious grounding. The next morning, the remorseful kids try to earn their way back into the good graces of their parents with an elaborate, flour-dusted apology breakfast.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

The neon pink glow of the "Backyard Oasis" neon sign usually meant tranquility, a gentle retreat from the blinding flashes of paparazzi lenses and the endless roar of the stadium crowds. Tonight, however, the neon hummed through a dense, hazy fog of cheap vape smoke, heavy bass lines vibrating the very foundations of the north London home, and the unmistakable scent of a teenager’s desperate attempt to mask forbidden substances with expired bath and body works spray.

Harry killed the engine of the Range Rover, the low rumble of the hybrid V6 fading into the suburban night. He sat in the driver's seat for a brief second, his hand resting on the shifter, turning his head slowly to look at me through the dim cabin light. His dark curls were pulled back loosely from his face, stray strands catching the ambient amber light of the streetlamp outside the gated driveway.

"Tell me," Harry murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet that carried the exhaustion of a twelve-hour recording session in Soho, "that our house is not currently pulsating to a TikTok remix of a song I recorded in 2019."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, letting out a long, slow sigh that fogged the passenger-side window. "Harry, I can literally hear the drywall in the hallway shaking. They told us they were going to a movie marathon at James's house."

"James’s house doesn't have a strobe light flashing through the master bedroom windows," Harry muttered, shoving the door open with a heavy thud.

The walk up the paved stone path felt like a slow march toward an inevitable explosion. The front door was unlocked—of course it was, because when you’re sixteen and seventeen, the concept of home security is entirely secondary to ensuring your friends can stumble in through the foyer without knocking.

Harry pushed the door open, his jaw already set into a hard, rigid line, the easy, charming smile that the world knew by heart completely vanished, replaced by the terrifying, protective authority of a father whose boundaries had just been obliterated.

The scene inside was pure, unadulterated chaos. Red plastic cups littered the custom walnut dining table. Someone had managed to stick a neon glow stick to the chandelier in the grand foyer, and the living room looked like a war zone of discarded designer sneakers, spilt soda, and unsupervised adolescents scattering like roaches the second the front door clicked shut.

"Alright! Party's over! Out. Right now. Coat on, shoes on, let's go!" My voice cut through the muffled thrum of the living room speakers with the sharp edge of absolute maternal fury.

Harry didn’t even bother yelling. He just stepped into the threshold of the living room, his broad shoulders squared, his tall frame cutting an imposing silhouette against the warm entryway light. He reached out and hit the wall switch, flooding the room with harsh, unforgiving overhead illumination. The music cut dead.

Gasps echoed through the room. A couple of kids dove behind the sofa; others scrambled for the side exit leading to the garden.

"You heard her," Harry said, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm register that made even seasoned music executives sweat. He pointed a long, ink-stained finger toward the front door. "Out. Every single one of you. My driveway is clear in sixty seconds, or I’m calling your parents myself. Move."

There was a frantic scramble of limbs, the clatter of dropped phones, and the breathless rustle of oversized hoodies as twenty teenagers stampeded toward the front door, desperate to escape the wrath of a furious rock star and his equally terrifying partner.

Within three minutes, the heavy oak front door slammed shut, sealing off the frantic echoes of fleeing youth. The silence that rushed back into the house was heavy, suffocating, and charged with static electricity.

"Lainey! Alix!" Harry roared, his voice bouncing off the high ceilings of the open-concept kitchen.

Footsteps pounded softly upstairs, followed by a guilty, collective silence on the second-floor landing. Slowly, two sheepish figures materialized at the top of the sweeping staircase. Lainey, seventeen, stood with her arms crossed tightly over a vintage band t-shirt, her mascara slightly smudged under her left eye. Alix, sixteen, stood right behind her, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of a grey hoodie that swallowed his frame, his eyes fixed firmly on the polished oak floorboards.

"Down here. Now," I demanded, walking over to the kitchen island and leaning my palms against the marble surface to steady the tremor in my hands.

adore-styles

Tastes Like Strawberries *

Summary: You really like the floral tie that Harry wore during night two of Mexico. Luckily for you, Harry knows just how to use it.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Words: 5K

Warnings: Sexual themes (oral sex; female receiving), bondage, use of sex toys, and occasional bad language.

Tastes Like Strawberries

“I like this one.”

You’d whispered those words to him when you got back to the hotel room, coy in your mannerisms as you toyed with the tie around his neck whilst you hugged him.

Night two in Mexico had Harry adorned in a black shirt and trousers, paired with a red blazer which he’d discarded at some point during the show.

But what really caught your attention was the tie — a black, floral one. It was printed with an array of bright yellow, red, and blue flowers. It was a simple outfit, but the tie was the cherry for you.

“I like this one.”

That’s how you found yourself to be in your current position — wrists bound to the headboard of the bed, the floral tie keeping you in place, with Harry hovering above you, his knees either side of your body.

WISH LIST

summary: you never once wanted children but seeing the way harry is with babies, changes your heart completely and you decide maybe it's not as bad as you thought.

authors note: watching that video with harry and the baby interaction caused my uterus to flutter and also inspired this.

word count: 1.7k

masterlist taglist

—-

Here you both were curled on his sofa on a quiet evening, his head resting on your chest, fingers laced loosely with yours.

That’s how the conversation ended up about your future together.

Harry lifted his head, eyes soft and curious when he asked the question that so many people did.

“Y’know.. Sometimes I think about what our future will look like from now. Us. Maybe mini versions of us running around. What do you see, darling?”

You took a slow breath and spoke honestly, your voice steady and sure.

“Harry, I don’t see children in the future. Not for me. I’ve never felt like pull for something small and ours. I like the life we have - the freedom, the quiet, just me and you. I hope you can understand.”

Harry sat up and turned to you fully, cupping your face with both hands. “Love, I completely respect your decision. If that’s what you want, that’s what we have. Nothing changes, okay? I love you, not the version that fits a picture someone else drew. Okay? “

Your face softened, leaning into his touch. “Okay. I love you so much for understanding. More than I can say.”

He kissed your forehead. “Good. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

—

A few weeks later, you met up with some closest friends for brunch at a cafe in Soho.

The sunlight streamed through the windows, and you laughed with your girls, catching up on the past couple of months.

Until Freya leaned over the table, grinning over her coffee cup asking the question everyone seemed to be asking lately.

“So.. when are you and Harry going to give us some adorable little styles babies to awh over?”

Amelia nodded. “Right? You’d make the cutest babies. And you’d be such a wonderful mum! It’s only a matter of time, surely?”

Iris chimed in, smiling. “I can already picture it - little ones running around with those green eyes and curly hair! How soon are you two planning to start?”

You smiled gently, shaking your head before you spoke clearly, meaning every word.

“Honestly, guys? We’re not. I’ve thought about it, and I just don’t want children. Not right now, not ever. I’m happy with it just being us. Harry and I have this beautiful life, this freedom, this quiet little world that’s just ours. I don’t need a baby to feel complete. I’ve got him. And that’s more than enough.”

They looked surprised, but nodded respectfully.

“Wow… I admire that,” Amelia said softly. “It takes courage for you to say that. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Exactly,” you said, taking a sip of your iced frappe. “Just us. Forever. That’s my plan.”

You meant it.

Or at least you thought you did.

You walked away from brunch feeling confident, sure of yourself, certain that’s exactly what you wanted.

You had no idea that in just a few weeks later, everything would turn upside down and just because of seeing Harry holding a baby at a family BBQ.

—

It was time for Harry’s family summer BBQ.

Warm sunshine, smoke curling sweet from the grill and laughter spilling bright across the lawn.

Harry’s family was gathered, cousins and aunts and children running barefoot through the grass. You stood near the patio, glass in hand, watching him from a distance.

He was sitting on the grass beneath the big oak, surrounded by his nieces. One had climbed into his lap, arms wrapping tight around his neck while another pressed a crumpled dandelion into his palm.

Harry leaned down, voice soft and bright. “For me? How lovely. Thank you sweetheart. It’s the prettiest flower I've seen.”

He brushed hair from her face with gentle hands, and your chest tightened. You have seen Harry happy before - seen him kind, seen him loving but you’ve never seen him like this. Light. Complete. Like something deep in him has been waiting for this moment.

A little while later, he walked over to you carrying his baby niece tucked secure against his chest, one large hand cupped soft beneath her head. She was tiny, her little fist curled loose around his finger. Harry was holding her out toward you, eyes shining bright and warm.

“Look at her, baby. Look how perfect she is. So small. So full of love. Look how precious she is.”

You looked down at her, then up at him and your heart felt like it might split open.

“She’s beautiful, Harry. And the way she looks at you.. She adores you.”

“Kinda hard to not adore her,” he murmured, gazing down at her. “Feels so natural. Like I was made to hold something this small.”

Those words settled deep inside you.

And for a moment, you imagined him holding your baby like this.

Speaking in that same gentle tone, brushing hair from a small face. Loving them with an open heart.

That feeling swelled warm and overwhelming - a longing for a child so deep it almost ached.

Harry looked up, catching your expression. “You okay? You’ve gone quiet on me.”

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “Just watching you with her. It suits you.”

He smiled, “Think so? You’d be a wonderful mum Y’know. I’ve always known that.”

Your chest tightened. “Harry…”

“Hey, “ he said almost quickly. “I’m not pushing it. I know where we stand. I’m just saying.”

Then reality set in.

Tours, travel, suitcases, constant movement.

How could you give a little one a steady home?

All afternoon, his family leaned in smiling.

“When are you two going to have one of your own?”

“Harry would be such a wonderful dad.”

“Don’t wait too long!”

Harry would squeeze your hand gently and laugh. “We’re taking our time. Everything happens when it’s meant to, right?” But you caught him looking at the babies a little longer, holding them tighter and the feeling returned.

—-

Months later, you were halfway through his tour.

One afternoon, walking through the streets, fans had gathered. Harry stopped for everyone - photos, autographs, kind words.

Then he paused and his face softened completely.

A mother stood there, holding a baby boy barely six months old. Harry had stepped closer, voice dropping to a gentle tone.

“Hello, little one. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing ever? Hi there.. Hi.”

He reached out slowly, carefully allowing the tiny fist to wrap tight around his finger. The baby cooed, kicking his legs and Harry laughed - soft, bright and completely roped.

“Look at you. So strong. Such beautiful eyes. You’ve got the whole word ahead of you.”

He stood there for a couple of minutes, completely captivated, leaning in close. You stood a little way back, watching him and that feeling came rushing back - stronger than before, pushing every doubt aside.

Your heart swelled so full it might explode.

You pictured it clearly.

A little one with his smile and eyes.

Harry holding them like that.

Loving them like that.

And suddenly none of those fears and doubts mattered. Not the travel. Not the tour. Not the busy life you both led. Because if you had it with him. If you were doing it with him - nothing mattered.

—

Back in your hotel room, the city glowing soft outside the windows while Harry brushed his hair back when you walked over and took his hands in yours as you looked up at him.

“Harry.. Can we talk?”

He turned instantly, eyes filled with concern. “Of course, love. What’s on your mind?”

You took a deep breath, heart racing. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About us. About what I said before - to you, to my friends, to everyone. And today seeing you with that baby and the way you are with your nieces. It changed something in me.”

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. “Changed how?”

“I realised I was scared,” you said, your voice trembling. “Scared of having a small one with the travel, tour and things being too messy and uncertain. But watching you with them makes me realise none of it matters. Not if it’s with you. And everything I said about it being just us was true. But now.. Now I want more of us. I want a baby with you.”

You looked deep into his eyes. “I want to give you a family. I want to see you hold our child and love them the way you love babies. I want everything - if you still do.”

Harry froze. His breath caught in his throat. He searched your face, eyes glistening.

“Are you - are you serious? Do you really want this with me? After everything you said?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

He pulled you close, arms wrapping tight around you, burying his face in your neck. His voice was thick and emotional.

“God.. you have no idea. How long I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I’ve never pushed, never asked because your heart matters more to me than anything. But I’ve always hoped. Always.”

He pulled back enough for you to look at each other.

“And what about everything else? The tours, the travel, the chaos? You sure were ready to bring a baby into this?”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “Because we’ll make it work. Together. They’ll have us. They’ll have love. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he smiled radiantly.

“That’s exactly what matters. We’ll figure it out. Every step. Tour or no tour, home or away. We do it together. That baby will be loved more than anything in the world. Because they are ours.”

He leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you absolutely certain? Once we start.. There’s no going back.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush hair from his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want a baby with you, Harry. I want your eyes, your heart.. Everything about you, in a little person we make together.”

Harry kissed you then - slow, deep and full of promise and love. He walked you backwards towards the bed, hands never leaving you, voice low and warm against your skin.

“Let’s make one,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your lips. “Let’s make our family. Let’s make something beautiful. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, Harry. So much.”

“And I'm going to love our baby.. More than life itself.”

THE DEAL

𑣲 quarterback harry styles proposes the idea to help get your crushes attention and his grades up

word count: 4.8k

warnings: sexual content, swearing, drinking, mentions of childhood abuse

a/n: oh.my.gosh it’s finally here and i’m so excited for you to read it. please let me know what you think love you xx

masterlist taglist

It was the beginning of September.

The cold fall nights draped Westbrook University in soft, honeyed gold - sunlight filtering through ancient oak trees, turning the red brick pathways warm underfoot.

The air hummed with electric excitement, sharp with the scent of cut grass, fresh paint and the faint sweet promise of everything new.

You stood before the open doorway of Room 302, suitcase handle gripped tight in one hand and you breathed it all in.

This was it.

Your very first place, away from the crowded, noisy freshman dorms where you could hear everything through the thin walls.

Sunlight streamed through the single window at the far end of the room, turning dust motes to gold as they danced in beams. Gliding the empty oak desk and the two narrow beds draped in crisp white covers.

It was blank and quiet.

Waiting for someone else’s presence to grace the room, and so were you.

“Hi! You must be Anna Miller!”

You turned quickly, and there stood in the doorway a girl with honey blonde waves falling loose and soft over her shoulders. A dusting of freckles across her nose and the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen. Her arms were loaded with cardboard boxes, a striped duffel bag slung over one shoulder and she leaned in the frame like she has been looking forward to this moment all summer.

“I’m Willow,” she said, shifting her load easily and stepping inside the room. “Your roommate! I’ve been dying to meet you - I feel like I already know you from all our emails. I hope you don’t mind, but I would really want the bed by the window - the light is just too good to pass up. But if you really want it, we can absolutely flip a coin!”

You laughed instantly, stepping forward to take the top box from her stack, your chest starting to feel lighter already. “Willow, it's perfect. And honestly? I was just standing here wondering where on earth to start. So.. thank you.”

For the next several hours you worked side by side, turning the blank white room into yours.

Willow had strung warm golden fairy lights along the headboard of her bed and draped them around the window frame. You taped up vintage music posters and stacked your books along the shelves by the desk. You both bickered playfully over who got the largest closet, argued naturally over which corner the mirror should hang and paused only to share chocolate bars and laugh at how many times you’d both accidentally packed the same exact brand of coffee.

By the time the sun began to dip low below the rooftops, painting the sky soft orange and rose. The room felt warm, lived in and bright like home.

“Alright,” Willow announced, eventually flopping back onto her fully made bed with a dramatic, satisfied sigh and stretching her arms above her head. “I am absolutely starving. And I’ve heard things, very specific, very reliable things - about the pizza place just off campus. Apparently it’s legendary. We’re going.”

You grabbed your jacket off the back of the door, grinning. “Lead the way. But fair warning - I’m on a very tight budget, so I’m paying in leftovers and gratitude.”

You both wandered out into the golden hour, arm in arm, the campus buzzing with energy around you. Oak leaves rustled overhead, groups of students called out to one another as they walked somewhere down the path and someone was playing a guitar on a porch.

You talked easily about your course, favourite books, the things you couldn’t wait to do and by the time you reached the pizza place, it felt like you had been friends for years, not just a few hours.

—

A few days settled into a comfortable rhythm of early lectures, hours in the library and rushing between classes with books tucked tight against your chest.

You walked out of your history class one afternoon beside Milo, your best friend since freshman year, the only person who could ever make you laugh so hard you’d snort in the quiet section of the library. You stepped out into the warm afternoon sun and flipped your graded test paper over in your hands, still in disbelief.

“An A, Anna? Again?” Milo nudged your shoulder with his, grinning wide as he leaned in to look, “You are completely unreal. I swear, you’re practically our professor’s favourite student. He looked at it like it was a masterpiece.”

“Barely,” You laughed, tucking the paper safely into your bag. “That last essay question? I stared at it for twenty minutes convinced I’d completely misunderstood the prompt. I’m still half expecting him to come running after me with a red pen.”

“Please. You’re brilliant. Stop being so surprised.”

You were still chatting as you both walked across the grass, when Willow came bounding over, her bag bouncing against her hip, eyes bright and curious. She fell into step on your other side, glancing between you and Milo before leaning in with a knowing, excited look.

“Okay - enough about tests,” she said lowering her voice like she was about to say something cancel worthy. “Spill. Have you finally spoken to James yet? The music major you keep staring at from across the dining hall? The one with the British accent and nice smile?”

Your face heated up instantly, and you glanced away. “Willow - shh! Keep your voice down! And no - I haven’t. I haven’t exactly found the perfect moment, okay? It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Make a move,” Willow said simply. “He’s probably waiting for you to notice him too!”

Before you could reply, a shadow fell over you stretching long and dark across the grass. You looked up and there he was.

Harry Styles.

Westbrook University’s star quarterback.

Broad shouldered and striking, his dark hair falling in soft, messy waves over his forehead and a faint stubble gracing his jawline. He wore a faded grey hoodie and loose jeans, hands tucked casually into his pockets, moving with unhurried confidence that seemed to follow him everywhere. The kind that made people turn their heads as he passed. He stopped right in front of you, his vivid green eyes locked directly onto yours, warm and steady.

“Anna Miller?” His voice was low and certain, like he’s said your name a hundred times before.

“What do you want, Harry Styles? Petals to walk on, or more money for your stupid frat gym even though the drama department is literally falling apart,” Willow says.

“I mean if you wanted to throw petals, I wouldn’t oppose to the idea,” he said while smirking. “Anyways, anna you’re the only one who passed that test and I failed.”

“Yeah, it seems like a lot of people did.”

“I need a tutor badly. If I don't pull my grade up, I will get benched. Seasons over before it barely starts. Think you could help me out?”

You blinked, completely caught off guard - not just by the request but by the fact that Harry Styles knows your name. You hesitated, then shook your head gently keeping your tone firm but kind.

“Harry, I’m sorry. But I’ve got a full schedule, work shifts three evenings a week and my own studying to keep up with.. I honestly don’t have the extra hours to tutor anyone right now. And besides -” you gestured vaguely, knowing full well half the campus would jump at the chance - “plenty of people would be more than happy to help. You should ask someone else.”

Harry’s easy smile faltered, just for a moment, his expression softening into something earnest. “C’mon - I’ll pay you. Buy you coffee, dinner, whatever you want. Just think about it?”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, meaning it a little more than you showed. “But don’t get your hopes up.

With that, you gave him a small smile, turning away, leaving him there standing on the patch watching you go.

—

Later on in music class the afternoon had ended on a much heavier note. Professor Hayes pulled you aside after everyone else had left, his expression gentle but serious as he leaned against the edge of his desk.

“Anna,” he said quietly. “I need to be honest with you. The scholarship funding you’ve been relying on - it’s running out. The department’s had to make cuts. And unfortunately if you want to stay here next semester.. You’re going to have to find a way to get a scholarship.”

Your heart sank.

“What? H-how can I get another scholarship? I don’t want to get another work study job. I'm barely surviving with this one and studying.”

“Well.. you could do the annual pop showcase.”

“Pop showcase?”

“Yeah. It's open to all students. You write and perform an original song. Win first place and a full four-year scholarship is yours.

He reached over, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “You’ve got one of the best voices I’ve heard in years, Anna. You’ve got the talent. Just bring something to the class. Okay? “

“Okay,” you said, giving a smile.

That evening you sat at your desk in your room, pen in hand, staring at a completely blank sheet of paper. The lamp casting a warm gold light across the wood, but your mind just felt empty as the page before. Words tangled and slipping away every time you tried to grasp them. You kept writing then drawing your pen over them and it was a repeat cycle until the frustration took over. You dropped your pen with a clatter and buried your face in your hands, fighting off the tears threatening to escape.

—

The heavy wooden door swung open and Harry stepped inside, bass thumping up through the floorboards, laughter echoing off the high ceilings. The air was thick with beer, cedar and warm smoke.

Heads turned instantly.

“Styles!” someone called, lifting a cup.

“Harry, over here!” another patted the empty spot beside them.

“Hey Harry! Voices chimed, everyone grinning like he was the main event.

He nodded, offering quick smiles and quiet “hey’s” as he wove through the crowd. He felt their eyes - the star quarterback, golden boy and carried the weight of it all quiet and distant. He turned to the kitchen where most of the guys had gathered around the counter laughing loud. He leaned against the doorframe, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink, listening as one of the house mates snickered and shook his head.

“Alright - who’s the lucky one?” Logan called out. “Just went up to use the bathroom shower and it’s completely clogged. Pulled the cover off and yeah. Someone has been too busy having fun and forgot to throw it away properly. Condom jammed right in there. The whole thing’s backed up.”

A roar of laughter went up around the room.

“Mate - really?” Jack hooted, slapping his thigh. "At least buy a decent one!”

“Come on, fess up! Luca teased.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Dean yelled, grinning. “And who’s the idiot who can’t aim?”

Harry just shook his head, huffing out a quiet laugh and taking another sip, keeping his face neutral. “Not me,” he said. “Been busy.”

“Sure Harry,” Luca said, shooting a wink. “Whatever you say, golden boy. We’ll believe that when we see it.”

The guys joked around a little longer, ribbing each other and pretending to be scandalised, until Harry pushed off the doorframe, setting his empty bottle down. He had barely taken a step away when he felt her. The soft perfume drifting over him, then her hand light on his shoulder, fingers dragging slow down his neck.

He looked down.

Isla was stood there, hair loose, eyes dark and bright and fixed right on him with a knowing hungry smile curving on her lips. She leaned down close until her breath was warm against his ear, completely ignoring the other in the room.

“Look who finally showed up,” she murmured, thumb brushing slowly over his jaw. “Been waiting for you all night. Missed you so badly, Harry.”

Harry didn’t speak.

Just looked at her - saw the wanting in her face and nodded towards the stairs. She laced her fingers through his and led him away from the noise, up the stairs to his room.

The door clicked shut and the world fell away.

Isla turned in his arms, pressing flush against him, kissing him hard and deep like she wanted to consume him. Harry kissed her back roughly, hands gripping her waist and pulling her tighter. She walked him backward towards the bed, fingers fumbling with his shirt.

“Missed feeling you,” she breathed against his mouth, tugging his shirt over his head. “Missed how big you feel against me. How you take over every single part of me.”

Harry groaned low, hands roaming over her, pushing her top aside, mouth hot on her skin. “You talk too much,” her murmured, voice rough and dark. “Gonna make you forget how to speak. Gonna fucking ruin you, Isla.”

“Then ruin me,” she gasped, arching into him. “Please, Harry - I need it hard. I need you to take what you want from me. I’m yours - all yours. Use me however you like.”

“Careful what you ask for,” he growled, pushing her back onto the mattress covering her body with his own. “Because I’m gonna take everything. Gonna make you shake. Gonna make you scream my name until you can’t hear anything else. You want that? Want me to own you?”

“Yes - fuck, yes!” she writhed beneath him, nails dragging down his back. “Own me, Harry. Fill me up. Make me yours.”

He then moved, deep, deliberate and relentless. Every stroke was a claim, every touch a promise. He leaned close to her ear, voice dark and rough and unsteady.

“Look at you… taking me so well. So wet and tight for me. This is what you needed, isn’t it? Needed me to stretch you out till you feel every inch of me. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” she sobbed out, hands clutching at his shoulders. “Only you, Harry. Nobody else. Just you.”

“That’s right,” he muttered, driving himself deeper, watching her come apart beneath him. “Say it again. Scream it. Let me hear you say you’re mine and no one else’s. Gonna make you come so hard you’ll still be feeling me tomorrow. Gonna leave you aching for days so you never forget exactly who you belong to.”

“Yours! I’m yours!” she cried out, shattering around him, trembling and breathless.

Harry held nothing back - chasing, claiming, whispering dark filthy things against her skin until they both fell apart, tangled and breathless. His sheets twisted around them, hearts hammering wild and fast.

When it was over, they lay still, chest heaving and skin glowing. Isla shifted closer, resting her head on his chest, tracing soft patterns over his skin - sweet and tender. She tilted her head to look at him eyes warm and soft.

“I’ve really missed you, Harry,” she said quietly. “Missed this. Missed us. I’ve been thinking.. Maybe we could actually try? Properly. Be together. I want that. I want you.”

Harry went still. The heat drained away, leaving him cold and distant. He sat up sheets pulled around him, staring at the wall, voice flat and final.

“It’s not you, Isla. It’s me. And I’m telling you now - I’m just not ready for a relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

Isla stared. Her face crumpled - shock, hurt, then sharp, burning anger. She scrambled up, grabbing her clothes, dressing fast and hands shaking. She looked at him one last time, eyes glistening and voice cracking with rage.

“You are unbelievable!” she snapped. “You get everything you want, everyone wants you and you still act like you’re some broken thing! You’re not broken - you’re just a dick, Harry! A selfish, cruel dick!”

She grabbed her jacket and stormed to the door, wretching it open before looking back, eyes burning.

“Hope it was worth it,” she bit out, cold and sharp. “Goodbye.”

The door slammed so hard that the walls shook.

However, Harry didn’t move. He sat alone on his bed, listening to her footsteps fading, staring at nothing.

—

You were still sitting there, shoulders hunched and eyes burning when the door creaked open softly.

Willow stepped in, quiet when she saw you. Saw the blank page, the pen abandoned and the way you were trying so hard not to cry. She crossed the room in silence, set a steaming mug of tea down beside your hand and gently sat on the edge of your bed.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. You don't have to force it. Words don’t come easy when you’re stressed and scared and trying too hard. Give yourself permission to write something bad. You’re brilliant Anna and this is just one rough night. You’ll find your way back to it. I promise.”

You lifted your head, wiping at your eyes and looked at her warm, steady concern in her face - and felt some of the tightness in your chest begin to loosen. “Thank you, Willow. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Anytime babe,” she said standing up.

“Oh, were you meant to open up the bar today?”

“Oh shit!” you said, while scrambling clothes together.

—

In the evening, you were found in the bar with an apron tied neat around your waist. You were wiping down the counter and trying to focus on the rhythm of the work. The bell above the door chimed - and your heart skipped a beat.

It was James.

He stepped inside, hands in his jacket pockets and smiled soft and easy. “Hey, Anna. One iced tea please.”

“Uh - yeah! Sure! One - iced tea. Coming right up!”

Your hands shook slightly as you reached for the glass, your mind racing to catch up. “So - uh - your music class! How’s that going? I’ve been meaning to ask if you could help write -” you stumbled over your own words, heat rising fast up your neck and into your cheeks. “Here you go!” you blurted, setting the glass down a little too hard.

James didn’t seem to pay any mind to it, he just shot you a gentle smile and said, “Thanks, Anna. See you around.” Then he picked up his drink and walked out.

You leaned against the counter the second the door clicked shut, exhaling a long and shaky breath before covering your burning face with one hand. That’s when a familiar, low voice spoke right beside your ear - warm, amused and too close.

“Nearly lost your head completely back there, didn’t you love?”

You jumped, spinning around fast.

There was Harry. Stood on the other side of the counter, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the wood, grinning like he’d just watched the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. His green eyes glinted with amusement as he looked at you.

“Josh is nice,” he teased, tilting his head.

“It’s James,” you said before walking away to refill a customer's cup.

“You look like you’re about to pass out every single time he glances your way. Are you gonna ask him out sometime or just admire from a safe distance forever?”

You straightened up in front of him, smoothing down your apron and doing your best to sound unaffected. “None of your business, Harry. And for the record - I told you already. I’m busy. I don’t have time to tutor you and I definitely don’t have time to be your entertainment. Find someone else to bother.”

Harry’s grin widened, like my annoyance was exactly what he had been hoping for. “You’re feisty. I like you. Don’t look so cross, Anna - I’ll be seeing you around.” He winked and pushed off the counter and strolled back out of the door. Leaving you standing there flustered and breathless.

—

Friday afternoon brought the first big football match of the season.

The school field was packed, thousands of people cheering and the air thick with excitement and the sharp autumn chill.

The PA system blared and the commentators' voices carried loud and clear across the field, echoing from the speakers high above the stands.

“And there he is - number seventeen, Harry Styles!” the announcer called. “Following in some very famous footsteps, isn’t he? His father, Edward Styles - Westbrook’s own football legend, former record breaking quarterback. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree - same build, same stance and the same fire in his eyes. Everyone’s been waiting to see if the son can live up to his father’s name today!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Harry walked out onto the pitch, shoulders back but his jaw tightened at his words. Every time the commentator spoke his father’s name like that - like it was Harry’s only achievement, his only worth - something cold coiled tight in his chest. And every time he glanced toward the stands, toward where his father stood tall and stiff and unsmiling, arms crossed, old memories flooding through his mind.

Shouting echoed through the house, doors slammed hard enough to shake the walls, his mother crying quiet tears in the kitchen late at night.

Be better. Do better. Don’t embarrass me.

His hands shook. He fumbled the first snap. Missed an easy pass and fumbled the ball a second time.

The commentators picked up on it instantly, “Hmm.. not the start anyone expected,” the voice crackled. “Looks like the pressure might be getting to him. Trying to fill those very large shoes his father left behind can be a heavy burden.”

“Styles looks off,” agreed another.

“Unsteady. Hesitant. Nothing like the confident player we saw in pre-season. Wonder if Edward is watching from the stands.”

The coach blew his whistle loud and sharp.

“Styles! Bench! Now!”

Harry sat on the wooden bench, chest tight and burning, jaw clenched so hard it ached, feeling small and useless in front of everyone.

Not that far away, near the catering tables set up along the edge of the field, there you stood stacking paper cups when you saw him.

Henry.

Another player on the opposing team. Broad, loud and the last time you had seen him he spiked you at a party and you had barely gotten away.

Fear hit you instantly - sharp, cold and overwhelming.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t seem to pull air in. You turned and ran, slipping away from the crowds to a quiet, locked room. Pushing the door open and shutting it fast behind you, sinking down against the wall with your knees pulled tight to your chest.

Breathe. Just breathe.

To steady yourself you stood up and made your way to the piano and began to sing don’t go breaking my heart. Filling the quiet space around you, grounding you. You began to dance and sing as the song that you and your mother used to sing in the kitchen calmed you down.

Outside, on his way back towards the field, Harry heard you. He stopped in his tracks. The tight, painful knot in his chest loosened. His head had cleared, and for a moment everything felt okay. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and watched you with a smile growing on his face. After he felt centered, he walked towards his coach - standing tall, eyes clear and voice strong.

“I’m ready.”

And he was. The second half? Harry played like he was unstoppable. He dodged and weaved and ran like the wind. As the final second ticked away, he crossed the goal line - scoring the winning touchdown. The crowd erupted into cheer. Harry stood there for a moment, chest heaving and looked straight towards the stands where he saw his father.

Who just gave him a nod and left without a trace. Instead of it affecting him, he thought about you singing like you had no care in the world and for a moment he too had no care.

—-

Later that night, back at the frat house. Harry sat alone on his bed with his phone in his hands. He hesitated for a moment, then typed two words into the search bar: Anna Miller.

He scrolled slowly until he found her and sat there watching every video. Her laughing as she walked across campus. Standing by the library window singing soft and quiet to herself. Exploring the woods at the edge of town looking at the lake.

He couldn't look away.

And for the first time his heart fluttered.

Back in your apartment, Willow flopped onto your bed beside you, nudging your shoulder gently.

“Block party tonight,” she said firmly. “James is going. Milo’s going. And you missy - are coming with us. No excuses. You’ve been nervous around him for weeks, Anna. Tonight’s the night. Just talk to him. Be yourself. He’d be lucky to know you.”

So you got ready, put on the dress Willow had picked out for you. Brushed your hair until it felt smooth and soft. Took a long, steadying breath and together you walked over.

You had arrived and immediately saw Milo.

“Yes bitch! You look so hot!”

“Thank you very much,” you said, pulling him in for a hug.

The block party was warm and alive - strings of golden lights strung between trees, music playing loud and happy, people laughing and talking everywhere.

“Babe you gotta go talk to him,” Willow said.

“Yeah, liquid courage,” Willow’s boyfriend Sean said.

“No remember Anna's friend in high school that got spiked.”

“What we are going to encourage anna to do is finally talk to James fucking Davis.”

“Yeah,” they all said in sync.

“Okay. I'll go up to him. Fuck, let’s do it.”

You found James standing near the fence, nursing a drink and watching the crowd. You took one last breath and walked over smiling.

“Hey James.”

He turned, his face lighting up. “Anna! Hey. I was actually hoping I’d get to talk to you.”

You both stood there talking - easy, nice about his music projects, the showcase and everything you’d been too nervous to say before. You were smiling, feeling brave and feeling like you might actually be okay - until -

“Babe.”

That voice.

Low, warm and achingly familiar. Before you could even turn, an arm slid firm and sure around your waist, pulling you gently against his solid chest. Harry leaned down close beside your ear, then lifted his gaze to James, his expression calm but unmistakable.

“Sorry I took so long, love,” Harry said smoothly, his voice steady and confident. “Got held up. You know how it is.”

James blinked, glancing between the two of you confused. “I didn’t know you two were.. Together.”

“Yeah,” Harry said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s mine.” James’s smile faded into something polite. “Got it. I’ll - uh - see you around Anna.” he nodded, turning and walking away.

You spun around instantly, stepping out of Harry’s hold. Your face burning bright with anger and confusion.

“What the hell was that?!” you hissed, keeping your voice low. “Harry! I was talking to him. If you didn’t happen to know. I like him. Why would you do that?!”

Harry didn’t look sorry. He leaned one shoulder casually against the fence, his hands in his pockets watching you with an easy calm - though there was a glint of something warm and playful in his green eyes.

“James is nice,” he said. “But he needed a little push. And besides - I have an idea. Hear me out.”

You crossed your arms tight over your chest. “Go on.”

“Fake date me.”

You stared at him, hoping you misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Pretend that we’re together,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. “It keeps every other girl on this campus off my back and god, there are so many of them.”

“You are so annoying.”

“Listen. It makes James see exactly what he’s missing. Once he thinks you’re taken he will realise what he wants and finally step up. In exchange, you tutor me. Help me pass history so I don’t get benched and lose everything. Win-win. Just a few weeks. I’ll buy you all the coffee you want.”

He leaned in a little close, gaze searching yours. “Help me, Anna. I’ll help you get exactly what you want. What do you say?”

You looked up at him - the hopeful tilt of his head, the way he watched you like your answer mattered and shook your head in disbelief.

“Just remember, I'm not your girl styles,” you said while wrapping an arm around his neck.

Harry’s face broke into a bright but devastatingly charming grin. “So what do you say?”

You lean in closer to his ear, warm breath grazing before whispering, “Deal.” You pull back looking into his face as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I guess this means we are now dating, hey?”

“Don’t mess this up.”

“I wouldn’t even think about it.”

🔖: @fromthediningtable123 @hsispunk @luvtaco911 @cinemafics @harryscherrysuckr @cliffokittenplay @fkingstyles @youwtfwtf @biboliciousposts @1dprincess28 @differentkindofbeans111 @fromthediningtable123 @luhvsss @harryskissco @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @onlyprincesszblog @celebrinigf

vc on tiktok: nxhui_

i’m fucking crying the way he’s making the labubu dj 😭😭

#harry styles tour #harry styles together together #mexico city #harry edward styles #he’s so cute #harry styles #kiss all the time disco occasionally #harries #harry styles imagine

Together, Together 6

summary: you open for harry for his new tour. that small crush slowly turning into infatuation. will confession reveal if the feeling is mutual?

warning: eventual smut, fluff, cursing, pining, slow burn, drinking, angst

warnings for this chapter: angst, fluff, mentions of drinking

word count: 5.4k

authors note: I'm back to writing. i was in a rut for a bit but I'm back and this chapter might be the best that I've written.

Together, Together <-

masterlist

Harry stepped out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. His eyes drifted to you, standing there with his phone in your hands, knuckles white where you gripped it, your face pale and streaked with tears.

He froze mid step, breath catching, and that’s when he knew.

“Y/n..” his voice soft, but carrying a hint of uncertainty. “What is it? What's wrong?”

You lifted the phone so that he could see the screen- the messages from Zoe glowing bright, every word burning into you.

“Zoe? Like the Zoe Kravitz?” your voice trembled, sharp and raw.

“Can’t wait to catch up when you're back? Missing you, let's go to the bar you mentioned. Is this what you meant when you said I was the only one? When you told me you were falling for me?”

Your chest tightened and you finally looked up at him, your eyes already glossy.

“Explain right now.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck before stepping forward, “It's not what it looks like.”

You let out a chuckle, “Isn’t it?” you stood up, shoving the phone to his chest before backing up. “You confess everything to me in London. You hold me, kiss me, introduce me to your friends and all this time you've been messaging her behind my back?”

“Y/n, don’t - just listen one second-”

“Harry, I don't want to hear it.” You swallowed hard, grabbing your clothes, hands shaking as you pulled them on. “I’ll see you at the airport.”

His shoulders slumped, “I know how it looks.”

“Good.”

You grabbed your backpack and suitcase, “Because that’s exactly how it feels.”

He opened his mouth again to speak but nothing came out.

You walked straight past him, “I’m not interested in excuses right now.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply, before you walked out of the door, heart aching so bad it hurt to breathe.

Harry joined you minutes later, he was dressed and his eyes were red-rimmed like he’d been fighting back tears the whole way down.

The ride to the airport was agonising.

The silence stretching between the two of you, thick and heavy.

At the private terminal, everyone from both crew had already gathered.

Aysia immediately smiled, “There she is!”

You forced one back saying morning to everyone, while lorren gave you a quick hug.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

She looked like she wanted to ask more but didn’t.

Harry greeted everyone as usual but was still hesitant to speak to you.

You took a seat by the window, as far away as possible from Harry, pulling your hood up slightly and turning your face toward the glass.

The flight to sao paulo lasted for hours.

Normally you’d wander between seats, laugh with Harry, play cards or watch movies together. Instead, you kept your headphones on while Harry sat several rows away.

Inside your chest, nothing felt quiet at all. It felt like something was splitting open, sharp and aching and hollow. You kept replaying every word from London, him saying he was falling for you, him holding you through the night, him promising you were the only one.

Was any of it true?

Or were you just something easy, something convenient while he was talking to her?

You traced your finger slowly down the glass, watching the world shrink smaller below you and you felt your throat tighten.

You thought this was real.

You thought you both were real.

It hurts so much more knowing you couldn’t even ask him, not now, not when every word out of his mouth felt like it could be a lie.

A few rows forward, Sarah glanced back between seats, her gaze landing on Harry first. He was staring down at his hands, jaw tight, refusing to look towards you.

She leaned over, voice low enough only he could hear.

“Harry, what’s going on? She nodded subtly towards you. “You two haven’t spoken a single word since we boarded. Did something happen?”

He shifted in his seat, glancing quickly in your direction before looking away, voice flat and distant. “It’s nothing. It was just a misunderstanding. She’s tired. Long week.”

Sarah didn’t buy it for a second. She kept watching and that's when she saw it.

A single, glistening tear, slow and quiet, rolling down your cheek and disappearing into your sleeve as you kept your face turned to the window, shoulders trembling just enough that only someone watching closely would notice. Her expression softened, concerned settling deep in her eyes.

She said nothing more to Harry.

About halfway through the flight, Sarah stood up and walked back toward you with a warm drink in her hand. She slipped into the empty seat beside you, careful not to startle you.

You quickly wiped at your cheek, turning to her with a wobbly smile.

“Hey you,” she said gently, setting the cup down in front of you. “Thought you might like something warm. It’s tea, just how you like it.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you whispered, voice thick. “You didn't have to.”

“I know.” She leaned in a little, lowering her voice so only you could hear. “But I saw you. And I know that look in your eyes. It’s not just ‘ tired’ is it?”

You bit your lip trying to hold back your emotions, fresh tears pricking at your eyes as you shook your head.

Sarah’s face softened, she reached over covering your hand with hers.

“Talk to me, what did he do?”

You hesitated for a minute before glancing toward Harry, his head turned away and eyes closed.

You leaned closer to Sarah, voice barely audible. “I found messages. Between him and Zoe.”

“Like Zoe Kravitz?”

“Yeah,” you said while taking a breath. “Plans to meet up, inside jokes, things you say to someone you’re seeing. And he told me I was the only one. That he was falling for me.”

Your voice cracked. “I feel so stupid, Sarah. Like I believed every sweet word and he was just..saying them. While he was talking to her.”

Sarah squeezed your hand tight, her expression serious and steady.

“Hey, look at me. You are not stupid at all. You believed what he said because he made you feel safe. He made you feel loved. That's not being foolish, that's trusting someone with your whole heart. And if he has messed up? That's on him. Not you.”

She lifted her hand to wipe a tear from your cheek, “But.. I know Harry. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’ve hung the moon. Like he can't breathe unless you're around. Whatever this is, whatever he’s done, it feels wrong. Like there’s a piece missing. Promise me you’ll listen to him explain. Just once, before you decide to do anything.”

You looked down at your hands, ache still simmering in your heart. “What if his explanation just makes it worse?”

“Then I'm right here. And so is Aysia and Rubia. You’re not going through this alone. Okay?”

She said while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Drink your tea. Try to rest. And whatever happens, we’ve got your back. Always.”

“Thank you Sarah,” you whispered. “Really, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

She smiled, warm and soft. “You’ll never have to find out.”

She stood up leaving you. As she passed by Harry’s seat, she leaned down and spoke quietly and sharp.

“Fix this Harry. Whatever it is, fix it. Because she’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and if you let her walk away without a fight. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Harry flinched, staring up at her, then glancing towards you.

When the plane finally landed, exhaustion settled over everyone.

The sun was painting the sky in soft oranges and pink over the city.

You headed straight to the hotel, you barely said goodbye to anyone before locking yourself in your room. The second the door locked, the tears came - hot, stinging and relentless.

You sank onto the bed, thinking about your week in London.

His hand in yours on bond street.

His laugh echoing through Soho.

His voice low and sure against your skin telling you that you were everything.

Was any of it real?

You pulled out your phone and scrolled.

Before you decided to message Aysia and Rubia.

| Hey. Are you two free tonight? I need to get out of here. Dinner and drinks?

Aysia replied instantly: On my way. Don’t you dare go without us.

Rubia: Ten minutes. And we’re ordering the strongest thing they got.

You smiled.

You then got up and rummaged through your suitcase before deciding on an outfit.

Cute black skirt, white top, gold earrings and some light makeup.

Forty minutes later you met them in the lobby, immediately giving each other hugs and compliments.

You found a warm, glowing restaurant nearby and as soon as you sat down the waiter poured your drinks.

The restaurant was buzzing with music and conversation.

Aysia leaned forward and said plainly, “Okay. Spill. What happened? You look like you’ve been crying for over a week.”

You took a shaky breath and told them everything.

The messages, the names, the plans, the way Harry had looked at you in London and said you were the only one. Then you told them about the night you confessed to each other, voice softening.

“We were in bed after a beautiful day out. And he just turned to me, and said it. That he’s been trying not to say it for weeks, that I just fit so perfectly with him and how he’s never felt like this about anyone. And I said it back. I told him I felt the same way too.” Your throat tightened. “It felt like everything. Like we were finally on the same page. Like nothing could come between us.”

Aysia and Rubia gasped at the same time, eyes lighting up and then Aysia grabbed both your hands, practically bouncing in her seat.

“OH MY GOSH! FINALLY!”

“WE KNEW IT! Rubia laughed, eyes sparkling even as she reached over to squeeze your arm. “Literally everyone saw it coming! The longing looks, the touching, the way you two practically glow when you’re together! We’ve been placing bets for months.”

“See?” Aysia grinned. “I told you! I said ‘ by the end of the London trip they’ll be together’ I WON.” She paused, then softened leaning in. “But..seriously. That’s so beautiful. I’m so happy for you guys. You have no idea. We’ve been waiting for you two to get your heads together since the beginning.”

You managed a small, wobbly smile. “It was perfect. Truly, I thought.. I thought that was it. That we were finally us.”

And then your voice finally broke, and you told them about the rest. About finding the messages, the plans, the warm affectionate words he’d never mentioned to you. Instantly their faces fell. Aysia’s expression hardened, and Rubia leaned back slowly, frowning.

“That’s exactly why this hurts so much,” you whispered. “Because if he said I was the only one..why did he keep this from me? Why message her like that and say nothing? It feels like all those beautiful words meant nothing.”

“Okay. Hold on.” Aysia leaned forward, serious now. “First off, I am screaming internally that you two finally confessed. That is literally the best news. Everyone knew, by the way. Literally everyone. We’ve been debating whether to lock you both in a closet until you admitted it.” She took a breath. “BUT. that does not excuse this. Not even a little bit. If you guys are together - there should be no secrets. Period. If there’s nothing going on with Zoe? He should’ve said ‘hey, just so you know, Zoe reached out, we’re just friends there’s nothing to worry about.’ Instead he hid it. That’s not okay. That’s the part that makes me mad.”

“Exactly,” Rubia nodded, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not the messages themselves, it's the lying by omission. If he can tell you that beautiful confession and how you fit so perfectly with his whole chest.. He should be able to tell you when someone else is messaging him. That’s just basic respect. And if he’s hiding it? It can make you wonder what else he’s hiding. That’s not your fault for being hurt - that’s his fault for being dishonest.”

“I know!” your voice cracked. “That’s what I mean! If there’s nothing to hide, why hide it? Why not tell me ‘hey Zoe messaged me, we might catch up’ instead of letting me find out myself? It feels like he was keeping it a secret on purpose.”

“Out of character or not, it happened.” Aysia swirled her drink, shaking her head. “And especially after a confession like that? It feels like a slap in the face. Like one minute he’s promising you everything, and the next he’s keeping things from you. That’s confusing, and it hurts. And you have every right to be upset.”

“I gave him everything,” you said while wiping at your eyes. “I told him things I've never told anyone. And then I find this? It feels like.. Like none of it meant anything to him.”

“Hey. none of that.” Aysia reached across the table, covering your hand. “His bad choices don’t erase your worth. You were real. Your feelings were real. That confession was real. If he messed up? That’s his loss. Not yours. And we are just as upset as you are. He should know better. Especially now.”

Rubia nodded. “Whatever happens, we’re here. If he explains and it makes sense? Great. If he can’t? We help you pack. We’ve got your back either way. But one thing for sure, he owes you a massive apology. And some serious honesty.”

You laughed, a wet, shaky sound and wiped at your eyes. “Thank you. Both of you. I was sitting in my room thinking I was going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy. You’re hurt. There’s a difference.” Aysia squeezed your hand. “Now eat. And drink. And tonight? You don't think of Zoe or secret messages. You think about that beautiful confession and how amazing you are. And if Harry wants to fix this? He’s got a lot of explaining to do. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said, and for the first time all day you believed that it might be okay.

You talked and laughed and made fun of everything until the sky went dark and by the time you walked back toward the hotel, your chest felt lighter - even if your heart ached.

You laughed quietly as the three of you stepped into the elevator.

When your floor arrived, you hugged them both.

“Thanks.” “Always,” they both said in sync.

You turned the corner in the hallways and that’s when you saw Harry leaning against your doorframe, waiting.

He stood up straight the second he saw you. Eyes red, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it all night. “Y/n. Can we talk? Please?”

You folded your arms, heart hammering. “What is there left to say, Harry?”

“Everything.” He stepped closer, voice cracking. “I know it looks terrible. I know I should’ve told you. But Zoe - she’s just a friend. It’s PR. Management asked me to keep in touch, keep up appearances for the brand. That’s all it is. There’s nobody else. There hasn’t been, not since I met you.”

“Appearances?” you laughed bitterly, tears spilling down your cheeks again. “You told me you loved me. You told me I was the only one. We laid in your bed and confessed everything to each other. How am I supposed to believe that when you’re hiding messages like that?”

“Because it’s true!” his voice rose a decibel, desperate now. “Every word in London was real. Every kiss, every promise - all of it. I messed up. I should’ve told you. I was scared you’d misunderstand, scared you’d leave -”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you decided to keep secrets!” you stepped back, voice shaking. “You made me feel safe, Harry. You made me feel safe, Harry. You made me feel like I could trust you with everything. And then I find messages from another girl talking about ‘finding time just us?’ What was I supposed to think?”

“I’m not with Zoe.”

“But you’re texting her.”

“She’s important to me as a friend.”

“Right.”

“It isn’t like that.”

You folded your arms.

“I told you! It’s PR! It’s nothing!” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration rising sharp in his tone. “Why can’t you just believe me? Why does it have to be a big thing? I told you there’s nothing going on - isn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” you stared at him, stunned. “You think me being hurt is a ‘big thing’? You lied by omission, Harry? You hid messages from me! And now you’re acting like I’m being unreasonable for caring?”

“I’m not acting like that!” He was getting angry now too, eyes dark and tight. “I’m trying to explain! But you won’t even listen! You saw a few words and decided the worst of me before giving me a chance to speak!”

“Because it looks bad! You cried, “It looks exactly like you’re seeing someone else behind my back! And if you think I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see it and move on like nothing happened - you don’t know me at all!”

“Maybe I don’t! He snapped, and instantly looked like he regretted it - but the words were already out. “I’ve been trying all day! I tried to speak to you on the plane, you wouldn’t look at me! I’ve been waiting here for hours and you won’t even hear me out! What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to be honest with me! Tears streamed down your face. “I want you to understand why this hurts! I want you to care that I'm hurting instead of getting mad that I'm upset!”

Harry stared at you, chest heaving, face torn between regret and frustration. He took a breath like he was going to say something - and then he just.. Deflated. His shoulders dropped, and he looked away, jaw clenched tight.

“I can’t do this right now,” he said, voice quiet and sharp. “You’ve already made up your mind. Nothing I say is going to change it. I’ll come back when you’re ready to actually listen.”

And before you could say another word - before you could tell him to stop, to stay, to explain it properly - he turned and walked away. Down the hallway, around the corner then gone.

You stood there in the hallway, tears spilling faster and felt my heart crack all over again. You walked into your hotel room locking the door behind you before you changed into an oversized T-shirt, washing off your makeup and curling beneath the duvet.

You grabbed your phone and scrolled through the London photos.

You both laughing.

Him kissing your cheek.

The two of you outside a tiny cafe.

One where he was looking at you instead of the camera.

You traced the screen with your thumb before a fresh tear landed on the photo.

You whispered, “How did we end up like this?” before eventually falling asleep, exhausted and heartbroken.

The next morning, your alarm pulled you from a restless sleep.

For a few seconds, you forgot. Then you noticed your swollen eyes in the mirror.

Right.

Harry.

You sighed quietly before pulling yourself out of bed.

Today wasn’t about heartbreak.

Today was about the first show in sao paulo.

You took your time getting ready, curling your hair and doing your makeup carefully enough to hide the evidence of last night’s emotion. By the time you finished, you almost looked like yourself again.

At the stadium, everyone greeted you warmly but you could tell they sensed something was wrong.

The stadium was already buzzing when you arrived.

Crew members through the halls carrying equipment while dancers stretched backstage. The sound of instruments echoed throughout the building as everyone prepared for the night ahead.

You smiled and nodded, kept your distance - especially from Harry, who avoided you all morning.

Minutes before your set, you were pacing backstage when Harry walked over. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept either. His voice is quieter, softer than before.

“You’re going to be amazing.” he reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face. Your heart fluttered traitorously - you pulled away fast.

“Thanks,” you said, and walked toward the stage.

The roar hit you like a wave. You stepped forward, breath steadying and spoke into the mic.

Thousands upon thousands of glowing phone flashlights stretched across the venue, you smiled so widely your cheeks hurt.

You spoke into the mic:

“Ola, Sao Paulo!”

The audience exploded with cheers.

“Muito obrigada por me receber com tanto carinho. Vocês são incríveis, e sou tão grata por estar aqui com vocês hoje. Obrigada por me fazerem sentir em casa.”

(thank you so much for welcoming me with such warmth. You are amazing, and I am so grateful to be here with you today. Thank you for making me feel at home.)

The crowd screamed louder.

You laughed.

“I love you guys!”

The music began and song after song, the nerves disappeared.

You danced.

You laughed.

You pointed the microphone toward the audience as they sang every word back.

Then, towards the end of your set.

You made a last minute decision.

“I want to play an old one that’s really special to me.”

The band exchanged surprised looks, but you nodded and they understood immediately.

The opening chords filled the stadium.

An older favourite.

One that suddenly meant something completely different.

One step forward, three steps back.

As you reached one particular line, you glanced toward the side of the stage. Where Harry was, watching you, gaze heavy with something you couldn’t read.

And when you sang ‘I’m the love of your life until I make you mad’ your voice broke.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you held his gaze, singing every word like it was only for him. You had to look away before you shattered.

By the final chorus, you weren’t sure whether the applause was louder than your heartbeat.

When the last note faded, you bowed deeply.

“Obrigada!”

Then you ran offstage.

You locked the door behind yourself, slid down to the floor and let yourself cry - quiet, shaky sobs that hurt worse than before.

A soft knock came minutes later. “Y/n? It’s me. Open up.”

It was Lorren.

You wiped your face and unlocked the door and she stepped inside, closing it gently behind her. She didn’t say anything at first - just walked over, sat on the floor beside you and pulled you into a long, warm hug. I cried into her shoulder, and she rubbed your back steadily, letting you get it all out.

When you finally quieted, she pulled back and looked at you gently, “tell me what happened. From the start. All of it.”

You did. You told her about the messages, the fight, the silence, the hallway fight - the way Harry had gone frustrated and walked away instead of staying and working it out. When you finished, Lorren sat quietly for a moment, thinking.

“Okay.” She leaned forward, voice soft but firm. “First off - I’m so sorry. That must have felt awful. Him walking away like that? Not okay. He should’ve stayed. He should’ve held you and talked you through it instead of getting defensive.”

“Right?” your voice wobbled. “I just wanted him to say ‘I understand why you’re hurt, let me explain.’ Instead he got mad that I didn’t believe him.”

“I know. And that’s on him.” She paused. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s different with you. Especially after that night in London.” she smiled sadly. “We all saw how happy he was when he came back from that night you spent together. Like he was walking on air. He wouldn’t throw that away.. Not over this.”

“Then why hide it?” you whispered. “Why not tell me?”

“Because he’s an idiot.” Lorren said plainly, making you huff a teary laugh. “He’s a scared, stupid idiot who panicked instead of communicating. That doesn’t make it right - it makes him an idiot. But it doesn’t mean he's cheating or lying about how he feels about you. Those are two different things.” She squeezed your hand.

“He messed up big time. And he owes you a proper apology. But don’t let one mistake make you throw away everything you felt in London. Give him one chance to explain properly. No yelling. No walking away. Just.. Listen. And if it still doesn’t add up? Then you walk. And I'll help you carry your bags. Deal?

You looked at her, her kind, steady face and breathed out slowly. “Deal.”

“Good.” She smiled, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Now fix your face. You’ve got a show to finish, and you’re brilliant. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise - especially not Harry Styles.”

As Harry’s show began, you made your way down to the CIRCLE pit with Jeff and a few members of the crew.

The stadium was already packed, lights dimmed, anticipation humming through every corner. As I made my way to the barrier, a group of girls spotted me and immediately waved, squeezing over to make space.

“Hi! We love your songs!” one beamed, handing me a small hand-painted sign. “You were amazing earlier! We’re so happy you’re here!”

“Obrigada!” you smiled, touched, switching to the little portuguese you had practiced.

“Vocês são tão gentis - thank you. It means the world to me.” Their faces lit up, and suddenly I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Then the lights went down completely. The crowd roared so loud it vibrated through my chest, and when Harry walked out under the spotlight, the noise was deafening. He stood there for a moment, soaking it all in - blue trousers, hair catching the light, broad and sure and everything you had fallen for. But he looked different tonight - heavier. Tired. Like he was carrying something.

He picked up the mic and spoke, voice echoing soft throughout the stadium.

“SAO PAULO!” The crowd screamed back, and then the first notes rang out.

You watched him, really watched him. The way he moved across the stage, fluid and familiar, every gesture practiced and perfect. But his eyes kept drifting. Not to the crowd, not to the band - down. Toward where you stood. Everytime he looked your way, his expression softened, something raw and open crossing his face, like he was singing only to you.

He played the upbeat songs first - bouncing, dancing, interacting with the crowd but even then, you could feel it. Every time he turned, his gaze searched for yours. When he slowed things down, that’s when it became impossible to ignore. He sang with such intensity, feeling, his voice wrapping around you.

And when it came to certain lines, it hit differently.

Lines about trust, fear, about being scared to lose the one person who matters most.

When he sang ‘and I'm feeling guilty and worried dear, that you think that I might not want you here’.

His voice cracked, just barely and his eyes locked right on mine.

Your breath caught.

You stood there in the pit, surrounded by thousands of people, and it felt like it was just you and him. Like every word was an apology, an explanation, everything he couldn’t say in the hallway.

I’m sorry. I was scared. Please don’t stop loving me.

The girls beside you were singing and dancing, pulling you in and for a while you let yourself get lost in it - the music, the energy, the way Harry poured every piece of himself into that stage. But every time he looked at you, your heart pulled two ways.

Wanting to run to him, wanting to hold back, still feeling the hurt so deeply.

He seemed to sense it too.

As the set went on, his glances grew, longer and heavier.

He sang with everything he had, like he was trying to win you back one note at a time.

Halfway through, you couldn’t take it anymore.

The emotions were too much - the love, the doubt, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world.

You leaned over to the girls beside you and gave them a small smile before quietly working your way back through the crowd.

You glanced up once before you disappeared into the shadows and saw Harry pause mid sentence, his head falling to the side and eyes fixated on you leaving.

His shoulders dropped, face falling and you saw him take a step forward like he was going to come after you.

But he couldn’t.

He had a show to finish.

You turned away and kept walking, heart pounding and tears stinging your eyes again.

You made it all the way back to the quiet hallway before you let yourself breathe. He looked at you like he meant it.

Like he was singing straight to you.

But is that enough?

After the show, Lorren found Harry backstage. He was standing alone by the wing, staring down at the floor, looking utterly defeated.

“She left,” Lorren said gently. “Saw her walk out halfway through.”

Harry nodded slowly, voice rough and coarse. “I know. I saw.”

“She’s broken, Harry. If you want this - fix it. Be honest. No more secrets. No more walking away. And don’t make her feel second- best again.”

He lifted his head, eyes glassy and nodded - jaw tight, looking exhausted. “I know. I messed up. I’ll fix it. Whatever it takes. I can’t.. I can’t lose her. Not like this.”

“If she’s really who you want..”

Lorren continued quietly.

“You need to stop assuming she’ll just wait for you.”

“Go prove it to her,” she gave his shoulder a gentle pat before walking away.

Harry stood there for several moments.

Thinking.

Then he headed straight for the hotel.

Later that night, a soft knock came at your door.

You opened it and there Harry stood, freshly showered, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. His eyes were soft, pleading - no anger left, just regret.

“Can I come in? Please? I won’t walk away this time. I promise.”

You hesitated, then stepped aside.

You sat on the edge of the bed, space between the two of you. Harry took a breath, steady and careful. Then he spoke, quiet and honest.

“Zoe’s messages - the management set it up. Branding, appearances, keeping certain connections warm for the label. They told me to keep it friendly, keep it warm. I should’ve told you. I was stupid and scared. I handled it terribly. And walking away from you in the hallway? That was the worst thing I could’ve done. I’m so sorry. I was frustrated at myself, not you. And I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

He turned to face you fully.

“I promise you, there is nothing between me and her. There never has been. You are the only person I want. The only one that I think about. Every word I said in London was true. Every single one. And every song I sang tonight? Every word was for you.

You looked at him, really looked and realised you believed him. The relief was instant, warm and soft, but I wasn’t ready to let him off easily.

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

“I believed you.”

“I meant every word.”

Silence stretched between you. Finally, you let out a long breath.

“I want to believe you.”

“I’ll give you every reason to.”

You looked down before meeting his eyes again.

“I forgive you.”

Relief washed over his face.

“But…”

He smiled.

“There’s a catch.”

“You’re going to have to work very hard to earn my trust again.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

You blinked.

“You were?”

“I’d be worried if you forgave me that easily.”

A reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

“There she is.”

“What?”

“That smile.” Your cheeks warmed.

“Can I at least sit here for a minute?”

“One minute.”

He sat beside you. A minute turning into five. Five turning into twenty.

Eventually, without either of you saying anything, you leaned gently against his shoulder. He rested his cheek against the top of your head.

Neither of you wanted to move. When sleep finally won, the two of you were still lying on top of the neatly made bed, arms wrapped around one another, knowing tomorrow wouldn’t magically fix everything.

But it was a start.

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