painter!y/n not giving what to give harry for christmas but then she gets the idea to pain him a picture of himself and he says it’s the best gift he’s ever gotten 💔😭
you have destroyed me in the best way with this prompt i hope you know that😁
“Harry, I swear I will shove a watermelon up your arse if you say that one more time.”
There had been a point in your life when you would’ve questioned the words that just came out of your mouth, yet here you were, standing in the kitchen with your boyfriend, saying those words to him like you really meant it.
You even had the watermelon in the fridge ready.
“Baby, calm down.” Harry chuckled, obviously not quite sensing the annoyance in your voice. Or he did sense it but was choosing it ignore it, because you were being slightly overdramatic.
“How am I supposed to calm down when you won’t tell me what you want for Christmas?” You argued, throwing your hands up in the air to try and emphasise how serious this was - especially to you.
“Y/N, baby. Christmas is still 2 months away.”
Okay, so maybe you were a little early but there was nothing wrong with that. The earlier and more prepared you were, the less time there was for panic. Before Harry you’d never had to stress about giving Christmas gifts to a significant other before. Sure, you’d bought gifts for your parents and other relatives but one for a relationship was different… and difficult. You wanted to make sure you had the most perfect gift, because that’s what Harry was worth and so much more.
However, this was your third time asking already and he still gave you the same answer; “nothing”.
At this point, you were seriously considering grabbing a ziplock bag from the kitchen, blowing some of your air into it, stick a label onto it saying “nothing” and give it to Harry on Christmas day. Knowing Harry, though, he’d find a way to make it more meaningful and completely trump your attempt of a joke.
So then, what do you buy a man who already has everything?
••••
“Y/N, love?”
You heard Harry call out from your art studio upstairs. When you were both looking at houses to buy in New York City, you knew that having an art studio was a vital part of it. Harry had spent hours looking at properties that would allow you all the space and benefits of a regular home but with the added luxury of a studio. You’d managed to find a house in Manhattan where the loft could be converted into a studio, so that’s exactly what you chose to do.
You practically lived in your studio, as one would when you’re a full-time artist. Being good at art is easy, but being different is what makes art. Ever since you were little you knew you had talent and as you’d grown up you kept on scaling the ladder of success. One day you were lucky enough to be showing your latest art piece at a gallery in New York at the same event Harry was at. He took one look at the art and knew it was something special, the same way he saw you.
You were seen as something special, which is exactly why you were staring at an A1 canvas of yourself right now.
The outline of your face has been sketched in pencil on the material, with half of it painted already. Your secret weapon to being different was using only pastel colours. You never went near a neon colour or a simple block colour. It was pastels and pencils for you.
“Yeah?” You called back, hoping Harry wouldn’t come upstairs just yet. Knowing his routine, he’d just come back from a run so he wouldn’t come and see you until he’s had a shower.
“What are y’doing? Y’busy?”
Well, Harry, yes you are. Currently, since you decided on a lot of nothing for Christmas this year you’d decided to paint a giant A1 portrait of you instead. That was what you should’ve said if you wanted to tel the truth, but instead you avoided it all together and chose to just answer his second question.
“Not busy, why?” You asked, dropping your paintbrush into a pot before covering the painting with a sheet and moving it into an unused corner of the room out of mind.
“Y’want to go out for dinner?” He offered.
You came tumbling down the stairs the next minute and saw him all hot and sweaty. He looked divine. God-like.
“Sure you don’t want another slice of lasagne?” You teased, leaning on the bannister.
Harry came over to you chuckling, spooning his arms around your waist and pulling you close. Thanks to the stairs you had a height advantage on him, allowing you to look down upon him slightly. You kissed his sweaty forehead and he hummed at the small pleasure.
“Baby. As much as I love you, ‘cause I do, I don’t particularly think I can do another night of lasagne.” He smiled when a cute little pout formed on your face.
“What’s wrong with my cooking this time?”
“Nothing. I’m just worried that we might turn into lasagne’s if we’re not careful,” He said carefully, earning a cheeky shake of the head from you, “Plus, I just wanna treat my beautiful girlfriend to dinner. Okay?”
“I guess.” You nodded, definitely wanting an excuse to go out with your boyfriend for a change.
“Then let’s go shower.”
“Both of us?” You questioned and screamed a little when he hoisted you up and wrapped you around his torso. You laughed as his cold hands found their way onto your skin.
“Babe you look like Picasso with all that paint on you.”
“Oi, i’m better than Picasso.” You slapped his chest as you let him continue to carry you into the bathroom.
“Yeah, but don’t tell him that.”
•••••
After 185 hours you had completed the painting.
You were so happy with the finished product, so much so that you think that you in the painting looks better than the you in real life. So, apart from being slightly mift about that everything was as you wanted - perfect.
Christmas was going well.
You and Harry were spending it together this year and then going to his family’s for New Year’s. Both of you had cooked the roast dinner and made the puds. You’d watched a bunch of crappy Christmas television, including a Christmas special Gogglebox that you two had been a part of. The atmosphere had been perfect and all that was left to do was gift each other presents.
“You go first.” Harry nodded towards you.
“No, you.”
“Y/N, I insist.” He raised his eyebrows in competition.
“Okay.” You sighed.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give Harry his present, but you were just so nervous about it. You really wanted him to like it and were scared for any reaction other than being happy. It wasn’t even because you’d spent so long on it, that you’d be disappointed if he didn’t like it, but more that it was a piece of you so it meant something to you as well as him. You were a harsh critic and took criticism to heart, and now thinking about it maybe painting a portrait of you wasn’t the best idea.
You stood up from the sofa and held out your hands for him, watching him smile and stand up too.
“Close your eyes.” You spoke softly, biting your lip in anticipation.
“This isn’t your way of just distracting me to then go open all of your presents, is it?” He asked jokingly.
“Harry!” You stressed, already nervous so not particularly appreciating any added humour right now.
“Sorry, love. Eyes closed.” He said when he’d done it, fully trusting you now.
You took his hands as guided him upstairs as you walked into your studio. The A1 canvas was stood on an easel in the middle of the room. You sighed when you saw it, not so sure about it anymore. It was too late to back out now though.
“Um, you can look now if you want.”
Harry’s eyes opened slowly, but instantly found what he was meant to be looking at. The smile on his face dropped into a straight line, making your heart drop a little at the thought of him instantly hating it. You’d never gifted something of your artwork to Harry before, only drawn various little things, like cards or doodles, for his friends and family. This was something big. This was something special.
He detached his hand from yours and walked closer to the painting, tracing his eyes over every swirl and stroke. He took his eyes on a journey all over your art, not missing out on a single spec.
Once he’d spent a few minutes staring in silence he turned back to you, with tears in his eyes. He looked at you as if he expected you to say something and explain the meaning behind all of this. Your fingers fiddled with each other as your nerves increased with every passing second of silence.
“It’s, well it’s supposed to be a painting of me. It’s not great or anything and if you hate it like that’s okay but it’s—”
“Y/N.” Harry cut you off.
“Yeah?” You asked hesitantly.
“Just shut up and let me kiss you.” He smirked, before reaching for you and pulling you into his chest for a kiss. His lips knew exactly when to find yours and made sure it was filled with all the love and compassion that you deserved. He kissed and kissed until neither of you could breathe no more, having to pull back to regain a few breaths. Pulling back he didn’t let you go far, holding your face close to his and looking between your eyes and your lips indecisively.
“Is this your way of letting me down slowly only to tell me you hate it?” You asked quietly, still unsure of his honest opinion.
“No. That was my way of telling you that I fucking adore you and love you impossibly more than I did yesterday.” He smiled, kissing you again. He tasted all things sweet and spice, like a perfect Christmas day.
“So you don’t hate it?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said you were better than Picasso, baby.”
