#harry styles plot

[harrywavycurly]

Random plot idea I got before bed: Harry owns a corner store and you come in every night around 3 in the morning and buy the same thing, a giant bottle of water and whatever snack you’re feeling that day. You always have a duffle bag strap over your shoulder and what he swears is little traces of glitter on your skin and your eyeliner is a bit smudged, you pay with cash that’s in the form of crinkled up dollar bills and Harry doesn’t ever say anything or ask questions he just smiles and gives you your change that you just toss into the sad little plastic “tips” jar by his register. As time goes on he gets the courage to actually talk to you and after a few weeks you start to greet him by shouting “hi Harry!” Whenever you walk in and he thinks your voice might be the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Meanwhile you think the green eyed man with the glasses and long hair behind the counter is so adorable and even though he charges more for your favorite candy than the store closer to your apartment you still stop by every night you work because when he smiles at you it makes even the worst days a little better.

Or to sum it up: You’re an exotic dancer at a club and on your way home every evening you stop in and grab a snack from Harry’s store.

I just imagine LHH all sweet and shy and lovely to you while silently wondering why all your cash is so wrinkled and why you’re always so glittery🥺✨

[jarofstyles]

A plot where she owns the tattoo shop and he owns the tea room/bakery next door, and she’s a little mean but he kinda likes that. Gets flustered when she teases him about his cardigans when she comes in to get the lemon squares (he makes the best ones) and peach iced tea all while telling him to make sure his patrons know the front steps of her shop aren’t real estate to eat their scones with that warning look that makes him feel that twinge of both panic and excitement. She’s a bit crass and blunt in ways he wasn’t fully used to, beautiful in ways that he hadn’t seen and making him feel lightheaded every time she steps into his place with her very loud laugh. He’s a pretty man, sweet, a little quiet, eager to right his wrongs and happy to give her extras for free at the end of the night after finding something mundane to compliment her on.

She takes him as he is with his soft spoken, deep voice and his agreeable nature until one night he’s locking up and it’s dreadfully hot, his cardigan got ruined and the sleeves of his tee shirt are rolled up, only to run into her feeling a little insane because, well, she had no idea he had any tattoos at all and now she wants to know about all the ink he has, when he got it, what they mean (if anything), and most of all why the fuck he hasn’t come to her for a tattoo yet… and the answer, when asked in a pissed off tone to hide how much she likes what’s in front of her, is pretty simple, said with a smirk she isn’t used to.

“Pain gets me a little worked up, and so do beautiful people. Think I’d like you to see that side of me after a nice dinner, not in your chair…. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”