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Rose & Thorn
Summary: You’re just trying to write your silly little stories in peace when Harry Styles—yes, that Harry Styles, with the long hair, soft sweater, and rings for days—walks into your favorite café and steals the seat across from you.
What follows?
Flirty banter
Warm chai (that he hates, rude)
Painfully soft glances
And him saying, “I was gonna write lyrics, but now I kinda just wanna write about you.”
Yes, it’s fluffy. Yes, you might blush. Yes, I wrote it at 1AM while thinking, What if Harry fell in love with me while I was just trying to mind my business???
And you can read the entire thing right now 🫶 Just this once, it’s not behind a paywall.
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The bell over the café door jingled, but you didn’t look up.
Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, pausing as you squinted at the blinking cursor on your screen. You were halfway through a sentence, one you’d rewritten three times already, and it still didn’t sound right. You sighed softly, thumbed the edge of your coffee cup, and took another sip of your now-lukewarm latte. Background hums of milk steamers and indie music blended with the occasional murmur of conversation.
This place—Rose & Thorn—had become your usual over the last few months. It wasn’t big, but it had high ceilings, vintage tile floors, plants dangling from copper rods, and deep wooden booths along the back wall. Enough character to feel lived-in, but quiet enough to focus. You loved it here. Not for any grand reason. Just... the peace of it.
You didn’t notice him at first.
Not until the barista stuttered a bit while asking for a name to write on the cup.
Then you glanced up. Casual, curious.
And saw him.
Tall. Slim. Hair long, dark golden brown, pulled half-up but some pieces falling around his face. A soft, oversized green sweater. Black trousers. Rings. A slow smile that looked both unsure and entirely too charming as he gave his name—Harry.
Harry.
Your brain didn’t immediately click. Not until he turned, waiting for his drink, and you caught the sharp line of his jaw. The eyes. The way he looked around the room like he wasn’t trying to be noticed but always would be.
Harry Styles.
You blinked.
You knew it was him. Of course you did. You weren’t living under a rock. But your mind scrambled to catch up with the realness of him. He looked... softer than you expected. A little sleepy, like maybe he hadn’t meant to stay out this late or wake up this early. And he was definitely looking for a place to sit.
There were two open booths. One next to the window, and one—yours.
He glanced toward the front, then toward you.
And started walking over.
You looked back at your laptop fast, pretending to type.
“Sorry,” a voice said, low and warm and just slightly hesitant. “This seat taken?”
You looked up. And there he was, closer now. Tall enough that the light from the window hit his cheekbone just right. Kind enough eyes that it made you forget how unfairly good-looking he was.
“Oh—no,” you said, heart skipping weirdly in your chest. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
He sat, adjusting the chair with a quiet scrape. You tried to act normal. Just some girl in a café. Writing. Not freaking out. Not staring.
He took out a small notebook, leather-bound and worn at the edges, and a pen. No phone. No entourage. Just him, like this was his usual spot too.
A minute passed. Then five.
You tried to focus on your sentence again, but your thoughts were a mess. You could feel him. Not in a weird way, just... there. He had that kind of presence. Big but easy. Confident but not loud. And he was humming under his breath.
You snuck a glance.
He was scribbling something in his notebook. Brow furrowed a little. Lips parted. His tea sat untouched.
Your stomach did a small flip.
And then he looked up at you.
Caught.
You froze.
He smiled, slow and crooked, like he knew.
“Whatcha working on?” he asked, voice still soft. Like he didn’t want to break the quiet of the place too much.
You hesitated. “Just writing.”
“Mm,” he nodded. “Fiction?”
“Sort of.”
He tilted his head. “Sort of?”
“I write articles,” you explained. “But sometimes I write other things. Like... bits of stories. Stuff that’ll never see the light of day.”
Harry smiled wider. “I like that. Secret stories.”
You laughed under your breath. “Not on purpose. Just... never finished anything I felt was good enough.”
He leaned forward a little, interest plain in his eyes. “Can I ask what this one’s about?”
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again. “A girl. She works in a little café. She’s just... trying to keep her life from falling apart.”
Harry looked around. “She work here?”
You shook your head. “Different place. Messier. Bad coffee.”
“Sounds real,” he said, nodding seriously.
You grinned.
He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry.”
“I know.”
He laughed, and it was a real one—quiet but warm, like it came from his chest. You liked that laugh.
You gave your name.
He repeated it softly. Then again. Like he was trying it out.
“I like that,” he said. “Suits you.”
You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.
This didn’t feel like some celebrity moment. It didn’t feel like you were talking to him, the Harry you’d seen in music videos or awards shows or late-night interviews. It just felt like... a moment. A strangely quiet, perfectly normal moment with a man who was making you smile too easily.
He nodded at your screen. “Can I read it?”
Your heart leapt. “God, no. It’s—just fragments.”
He leaned back, hands up. “Alright. Maybe next time.”
Next time?
You raised an eyebrow. “You planning on stealing my booth?”
He shrugged. “I think I just did.”
You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “Okay, but I get the plug socket. It’s war if you touch my charger.”
“I’d never,” he said solemnly.
He took a sip of his tea, finally. Grimaced.
“Too hot?”
“No, just… chai.”
You laughed.
“You don’t like chai?”
“It tastes like someone dropped a candle in milk.”
You choked on your latte. “That’s oddly specific.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, still grinning. “It’s accurate, though.”
You shook your head. “Blasphemy.”
For the next twenty minutes, neither of you wrote. Or pretended to. The conversation was easy, weirdly so. You talked about little things—books, music, your mutual distaste for small talk. He asked you if you believed in ghosts. You asked him if he always talked to strangers in cafés.
“Not always,” he said. “Just the pretty ones.”
You stared at him.
He held your gaze, no smirk this time. Just honesty. That kind that didn’t feel rehearsed or smooth.
“I mean it,” he said. “You walked in and I... I couldn’t stop looking.”
“I was already here,” you said, trying to make your voice steady.
He blinked. “Wasn’t I here first?”
You laughed, a little breathless. “No.”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Means I really didn’t see anything else. Just you.”
Silence stretched. Not awkward. Just... tight. Charged.
You looked down at your cup.
He tapped a ringed finger on the table. “Can I be honest?”
You glanced back up.
“I was trying to think of something to write when I came in,” he said. “Lyrics or whatever. Been stuck for a while. But now I’m thinking I just want to write about this.”
You blinked. “This?”
He nodded once. “You. Today. The way you looked when I sat down—like you were about to vanish if I stared too hard.”
You swallowed. “That’s... intense.”
“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He smiled, softer this time.
You looked at your screen. Then back at him. “Can I be honest too?”
“Please.”
“This is the weirdest day of my life.”
He laughed. “Fair.”
You hesitated, then added, “But also kinda the best?”
Harry tilted his head, curls shifting. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He looked down, then back up again, eyes a little shy now. “Would it be okay if I asked for your number?”
Your heart thudded. You didn’t answer right away, but only because your brain had short-circuited.
He waited.
You reached for his phone. Typed it in.
Handed it over.
He took it gently. Smiled as he saved it.
Then he looked at you again, really looked.
“I’ll text you,” he said. “Soon. Like... tonight.”
You smiled. “Looking forward to it.”
He paused like he wanted to say something else. Then stood, tea in one hand, notebook in the other.
“I should go. Leave you to your writing.”
You nodded, though a part of you wanted to ask him to stay.
As he turned, he paused at the doorway. Looked back. Gave you a smile that made your stomach twist in the best way.
And then he was gone.
You stared at the empty chair for a moment, stunned.
Then turned back to your laptop.
And started writing again.
But this time, the words came easy.
Because now, your story had a beginning.
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ao3
Chapter Index
summary eighteen
prologue nineteen
one twenty
two. twenty one
three twenty two
four twenty three
five. twenty four
six. twenty five
seven. twenty six
eight twenty seven
nine twenty eight
ten twenty nine
eleven thirty
twelve thirty one
thirteen thirty two
fourteen thirty three
fifteen thirty four
sixteen thirty five
seventeen thirty six
do you have any larry fics with very sentimental, clingy, soft, fluffy smut? 🥹
preferably bottom louis, but i don't mind top louis too.
thank you sooo much<3
Hi, anon! You're very welcome! Here are some fics that I think have what you're looking for!
Absolutely Smitten by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved
Adopting Clifford was a way for Louis to finally cope with his loneliness, as a lively dog would spice up his life and his boring daily routine. Now, he surely didn’t expect Clifford to lead him to meet one strange man obsessed with his cat that he walks and cooks with.
Somehow, Louis falls in love pretty fast along the way.
Or. Louis is walking his dog. Harry is walking his cat. Leashes get tangled, and feelings too.
No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow
Dear Niall,
I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.
Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.
Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.
Are you up for a trip to France?
Sincerely,
Liam Payne
Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.
Tuca Tuca (ILikeYouILikeYouILikeYou) by @persephoneflouwers
The San Francisco getaway AU, where Harry is needy and Louis has a flight to LA in a few hours.
Homegrown by @casuallyhl
“It wasn’t an easy decision, if I’m honest,” Harry admits, shoulders sagging in on himself. “Moving is really difficult. My whole life was in Manchester. But Manchester didn’t want me. Leeds did.”
“Well, Leeds is happy to have you,” Louis says, giving Harry a kind smile.
Harry brightens a bit at that, undeniably pleased. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louis replies, expression soft and lips curved.
Or, a gardening AU where Harry is new to town and the newest volunteer at the local gardening club, Louis is the attractive grandson of one of the members, and the nosy volunteers hatch a plan to get them together.
Description: On a rainy day, you and Harry just like to chill.
~~~~~~
Not So Rainy Day Blues
The patter of rain against your window awoke you in the early morning. Having always loved the rain, a soft smile graced your lips as you flipped around to view your wonderful boyfriend of three years, Harry. His sleeping figure was so peaceful, his puffs of breath hitting your face gently. Attempting to keep him asleep, you slowly crawled out of bed and tiptoed downstairs. The one thing you loved about Living with Harry was how beautiful the views always were. His home in Manchester overlooked a gorgeous river, the wind and rain causing ripples to appear across the surface. The house was kind of chilly, so you attempted to start a fire, but you quickly failed. With a silent groan, you ignored the fire and hopped to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Digging through the cabinets, you gather the ingredients to make pancakes, hash browns, bacon, sausage, and muffins. As you start making breakfast, Harry wraps his arms around your waist and plants a kiss to your temple.
“Morning, love. What are you doing?” Harry’s raspy morning voice questioned.
“It’s a rainy day, so I figured we could stay inside and chill.” You responded, pouring a pancake into the pan.
“I like that idea. Need any help?” Another kiss was placed to your head as Harry’s chin snuggled onto your shoulder as he started to sway with you slightly.
“Yes actually. Could you start a fire? I’m not very good at it,” You chuckled, flipping your pancakes. Harry’s warmth suddenly left as he went to fulfill your wish. The pancakes were soon finished, which meant you could put your focus into the other breakfast foods you wanted to make. When the meal was completed, coffee added for a nice wake up call, you gathered everything onto a tray and brought it out to the living room, almost dropping it when you looked up: A giant pillow fort was centered in front of the fire place, the couch cushions were the walls and a blanket was thrown over top to make a ceiling, Pillows and more blankets cascaded out of the fort and Harry crawled out, a ridiculously goofy smile plastered on his face.
“Need some help, darling?” Harry smirked, removing the tray from your hands and placing it on the coffee table.
“What is this about?” You asked, gesturing to the fort.
“I thought you wanted to chill, so I built a fort for ya. Is that okay?”
“H, it’s more than okay! I love it!” You remarked, wrapping your arms around his waist in a huge hug.
“Great, because I wasn’t going to take it down. What else did you have planned today, sweets?” Harry responded, returning the hug.
“Um, I was thinking we could make some ‘Things I love about you’ jars for each other, ya know, for the next time we’re apart and we miss each other.” It was a quiet mumble, but the feelings were genuine. Harry cradled your chin and angled your face to meet his, kissing you sweetly.
“I think that is another lovely idea. Do we have the supplies?” You quickly nodded and left Harry’s embrace and went back upstairs to the spare bedroom (Which is usually where the two of you stash board games) and gather up construction paper, Sharpies, scissors and Mason Jars. You then run back downstairs and settle into the fort, tossing Harry his supplies.
“Should we watch a movie?” Harry asked as the two of you start digging into the breakfast.
“Yeah! Should we search some romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?” You both chuckled at the song reference, as Harry settled on his favorite movie, The Notebook. The breakfast was finished quickly, and the two of you then began creating your jars.
The movie was ignored as you both focused on the qualities that made each other lovable. You started tearing up as you wrote everything down, your raw feelings resurfacing like it was your first date all over again. You cut the paper into strips and fold them, shoving the multicolored phrases into the Mason Jar. You then chose an extra pink square and taped it to the jar.
This is a jar of things I love about you. Take a phrase when you forget, or when you’re lonely, because I’ll never stop loving you, even when the jar is empty.
With your jar finished, you glanced at Harry to see how far he had gotten, and you noticed that there were tears crawling down his cheeks.
“H? Are you okay?” You questioned, crawling over to your boyfriend and wiping his tears away.
“I’m fine, darling. I just never realized how often we were away from each other,” Harry responds. Your heart broke at the revelation and you crawled into Harry’s lap, kissing him softly as if he would further break in your arms.
“You don’t have to finish the jar just yet. We can just watch more movies and maybe eat some more snacks, yeah?” Harry nodded, kissing you again as another movie was chosen. Eventually you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, making it the perfect end to the perfect day.
~~~~~~~
A/N: OMG I LOVE SOFT HARRY!!! I hope you enjoyed it babe!
When OGHarry realised he was losing everything he filled a USB stick with pictures videos and stories of his life, and he left it on his bedside table with a note for Soft!Harry to find.
One day, Cisco finds SoftHarry in the Time Vault sitting against the wall with his knees to his chest and tears streaming down his eyes, he’s watching his wedding.
