daisysblogsblog

[daisysblogsblog]

Me in front of my S/O after shifting:

[daisysblogsblog]

[daisysblogsblog]

🍒⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ My first successful shift in years, and what it taught me. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

(04/06/2025)

That night, I did my usual method. Listen to my playlist, consume content that gets me excited and relax.

Jjk twt was going crazy over the upcoming movie leaks that night. Those domestic shots of them made my heart ache. It just made me go “fuck it. Put the phone down and shift” no more contemplating, no more staying up until I was too tired to even consider shifting. I just needed to go for it.

I played my meditation (the dreamwake sequence by alunir) and got comfy.

About 20 minutes in I started feeling numbness spread through my limbs. I zoned out for a few seconds. I wasn’t thinking, I was just there with a quiet mind. The fact that I was shifting just disappeared from my mind in those few seconds.

Until I hear the latch of my door handle close shut, coming from exactly where my Dr bedroom door would be. I snapped out of the zoned out state and immediately connected the dots. It’s Satoru. And not for one second did I doubt it. (I believe he was coming in check in on me, if I was still sleeping or not lol.)

But the moment I realized it was him, all my symptoms just intensified to an extreme. The meditation audio basically just disappeared over the static noise my ears were making. My heart was pounding dangerously fast, I don’t think I’ve ever had my heart pound that hard ever. I could also feel my body shifting positions. And behind me was a presence of none other than Suguru laying there behind me.

My mind was spiraling. “it’s finally happening!” Kept repeating in my head. excitement. Flashing images of my Dr.

But unfortunately, because my heart was pounding so damn hard I started shifting my attention to it rather than my reality. “Calm down you’re gonna lose your progress” I kept thinking.

But that was what pulled me back. If I kept persevering, it could’ve been a full shift but I’m satisfied.

ᯓ✦∘˙ What I learned? 💌 :

* Stop assuming you can’t: I always thought that guided meditations, awake methods and visualization weren’t my strong suits. But i was completely wrong. Step out of your comfort zone.

* You don’t need to be in a certain state to shift: I thought I needed to be tired, or freshly awake in the Hypnopompic state. But you can be in whatever state of being to shift. It doesn’t matter.

* Emotion is everything (to me): All I needed to shift was emotion, it wasn’t the meditation that made me shift. It wasn’t the position I laid in. It was my emotions. Yes the method may have impacted the success rate to an extent but I was emotionally charged and that’s why I shifted.

* Stop contemplating, self sabotaging and putting off your shifts: I just stopped moping around scrolling mindlessly on my phone and making random excuses on why “I can’t shift tonight”. I just went in and did it.

[daisysblogsblog]

[daisysblogsblog]

Harry Tries A Vibrating Cockring For The First Time /blurb/

AN: this is a fic i've had sitting in my drafts since Feb. 2023. i'm trying to go through my drafts and complete some unfinished work and started with this one. hope you enjoy. remember to leave your feedback. it's muchly appreciated. xoxo

this story contains: use of sex toys, sex, blow job

{ husband!harry - softrry - au!harry }

word count- 1,137

After searching online for a new sex toy, you and Harry decide to give a vibrating cock ring a try for the first time.

While you and Harry don't consider yourselves to be particularly kinky in your sex life, you also don't shy away from the various ways you can provide pleasure to the body. This means you're familiar with using a variety of different sex toys. Throughout the years, you've tried many different items together, ranging from a basic bullet vibrator to a rabbit vibrator, a Hitachi wand, and even anal toys such as butt plugs and a strap-on that you occasionally use to peg Harry.

Still, there's a specific sex toy that you've yet to explore, which is a cock ring. Harry has never felt the need to use one, nor has he required it as some men do when they want to last longer in bed. He's trained himself to not come too quickly, making sure that you experience a lot of pleasure beforehand. You're indeed fortunate to have such a thoughtful husband.

Last week, you were in search of a new vibrator for Harry to use on you during sex, when you discovered a page dedicated to cock rings. None of the options looked appealing to either of you until one specific ring drew your interest. It was a light pink silicone cock ring featuring a front attachment that was said to vibrate. Impling that when Harry wears the ring during sex, the vibrating bulb in the front would repeatedly stimulate your clitoris as he thrusted or you rode him, enhancing your pleasure. It was enticing, which led Harry to buying it.

A week later, you found yourself in bed, with Harry sliding the pink vibrating cock ring down his shaft for the first time. His expression was scrunched up, and you giggled before asking, "Is it okay? Not hurting you or anything?"

Once the ring was positioned at his base, Harry let out a sigh of relief and responded, "It's reeeally tight, but I'll be okay." *heavy breathing* "Now come up here and ride me, and we'll put it to the test." You knelt your way onto his lap and helped him align his hard cock with your pussy. You were already quite wet from Harry eating you out before, so he slide into you quite smoothly.

"Mhm, fuck." you moaned, loving how Harry always stretched you out. You placed your hands onto his chest as you continued to sink down onto him, until you're sat completely flushed with his lap.

As you sat for a moment, adjusting to his large size, Harry laid there with a pained expression on his face. He grabbed your hips in his ringless hands, begging, "Please baby, please move. Do somethin'. It's startin' to hurt."

You reacted fast and reached down to press the small button on the side of the vibrating bulb, and the feeling was unlike anything either of you had felt before. The vibrating attachment was small, yet it was incredibly strong. Harry's entire cock began to vibrate within you, and you lifted yourself as soon as the vibrating bulb touched your clit at the top of your pussy. You were so sensitive.

"Holy shit, H," you nearly yelled as you started to rise and fall on his dick, "it feels so goooood." Harry helped you maintain a steady rhythm with his hands on your hips. The sensation was heavenly for him as well, but witnessing your pleasure intensified his own pleasure.

Taking a deep breath, Harry questioned, "Yeah, does it feel good on your clit, baby? Those vibrations deep inside you?" You nodded and started to ride him faster, your boobs bouncing in his face as you did. You broke into a nice sweat and could feel the pleasure building in your tummy. Eventually, your legs began to ache, so you switched to a back-and-forth motion instead of an up-and-down one, which had him stimulating your g-spot perfectly.

With the new riding motion, you constantly had the vibrations hitting your tiny clit due to the vibrating bulb on the cock ring never really leaving your pussy. "Harry," you suddenly gasped as your body started to shake on top of him, "I'm gonna come."

Harry laid there and allowed you to get what you needed from him in whatever way you needed it. To push yourself over the edge, you pressed your body down on him as hard as possible and the vibrations that stimulated your clit made your orgasm come quickly. Your body started to shake with the intense contractions your vagina made, which led to Harry coming as well. His hot jizz shot up into your pussy, thus caused your orgasm to last even longer.

When you started to feel overstimulated, you swiftly lifted off his cock, leading Harry to panic because he was unsure how to turn off the cock ring that had started to become very uncomfortable around his penis. "Turn it off, turn it off. Fuck!" After you regained your senses, you noticed the pained look on his face and quickly reached down to press the off button on the vibrating cock ring.

Harry sighed in relief, but the relief didn't last long because as he went to remove the rubber ring from around his shaft, he realised he was still hard. "God Damnit!" he cursed.

With quick thinking, you positioned yourself between his legs and opted to give him a blowjob since you felt too sensitive to go another round at that moment. At first, Harry let out a hiss due to his heightened sensitivity, but he gradually relaxed as your mouth continued to suck him. He reached out and softly gathered your hair into his fist to keep it away from your face.

Harry came down your throat not even three minutes into the blowjob. Having already ejaculated moments earlier, he was able to come faster the second time around. However, the amount of cum wasn't nearly as much during his second orgasm. He'd almost fully emptied his balls the first time.

You sat up, swallowing his warm cum, and collapsed against his chest. The room was quiet for a moment except for your labored breaths, until Harry spoke up. "Fuck, that little device sure is powerful. Never came so hard and much in m'life."

Without moving your position, you muttered in response, "We've gotta try that toy again. I loved it."

Harry laughed at your enthusiasm over the cock ring. "Yeah, well we've got to wait a while 'cause I think m'gonna be too sensitive for that thing to come anywhere near me for at least a week." He caressed his fingers through your sweaty hair and down your back, as you both continued to calm down from the highs of your orgasms.

You may not use the vibrating cock ring every time you have sex, but it will definitely be in the rotation with your other sex toys.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)

taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009 // @sincerely-yours-marsbar // @ilovezaynmalik08 // @whoreonmondays // @mads3502

My Masterlist Masterpost

[daisysblogsblog]

THE WRONG BOAT

A girls trip gone wrong (or entirely right…)

Lots of smut, public sex, ffm, voyeurism, p in v sex, oral sex, swinging. (Basically no plot)

—

You and your best friend Vivian had barely dropped your bags at the beachside hotel before she was two margaritas deep and flirting like it was her job.

The vacation was supposed to be relaxing—sun, sand, maybe some harmless eye contact with a hot stranger. But Vivian was a magnet for fun, and by the time you finished your first drink, she was deep in conversation with a silver-haired man who smiled like he had secrets.

“Boat party tomorrow,” he said. “Sunset. Open bar. You two would be… very popular guests.”

You and Vivian exchanged a glance. You should have asked what kind of boat party. But instead, you said yes.

⸻

The boat was sleek—white with polished wood trim and music that pulsed through the deck. Sunset spilled over everything in gold, and everyone seemed just a little too attractive to be real.

That’s when you saw him.

Wavy brown hair. Unbuttoned linen shirt. A body that looked like it knew the ocean. He held two drinks in his hands and danced like the rhythm came from him, not the speakers.

He caught your eye. And smiled.

Then… he turned. Walked toward a woman. She was stunning, barefoot and laughing, and she took the drink from his hand with a kiss on the cheek.

Then she pulled another man into her arms and started kissing him.

You blinked. Hard.

The man—Harry, you would soon learn—didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he looked entertained. He stood off to the side, sipping his drink with a small, amused smile.

You noticed the ring on his left hand.

You also noticed he was still watching you.

He came over like you’d summoned him.

“Rum or tequila?” he asked, offering you a glass. His voice was warm, smooth, like it had been slow-cooked over years of mischief.

“Neither,” you said, smiling. “But I’ll take your name.”

“Harry,” he said, handing you the tequila anyway.

You gave yours in return. And when he said it back, it felt like it mattered.

“Dance with me,” he said.

You hesitated. Then his hand slid to the small of your back, and the answer was obvious.

He pulled you into the music, your bodies falling into rhythm too fast to be innocent. His thigh slipped between yours. His breath was hot against your neck.

But then you saw it again—the ring. The wife.

“Where’s your wife?” you asked.

Harry just grinned.

“Do you know what kind of boat this is?” he asked, voice amused.

“…A party boat?”

He laughed softly. “It’s a swingers boat.”

Your brain stalled.

You looked around—really looked—and saw what you’d missed. Hands between thighs. Mouths where mouths shouldn’t be. A couple kissing someone else. Another one definitely not just “dancing.”

Your cheeks burned. “You could’ve led with that.”

Harry stepped closer. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

“And your wife?”

He tilted his head toward her. She was on a lounge cushion below deck, moaning into the mouth of a man who was absolutely not Harry.

“Like I said,” he murmured. “It’s that kind of boat.”

And then he kissed you.

It started soft. Curious. But deepened fast—his hands on your hips, your fingers tangled in his shirt, your mouths tasting like rum and sun.

And you let him.

Because the moment didn’t feel wrong.

It felt free.

⸻

He pressed you against the railing, his hands roaming, mouth trailing kisses down your neck. The cover-up slipped off your shoulders, your bikini barely keeping pace.

“Still with me?” he whispered, voice rough.

You nodded, breathless.

He turned you to face the deck—your front against the railing, your back against his chest—and slid his hand down between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

You gasped as his fingers found your clit, circling slowly while his cock pressed hard against your ass. One finger slid inside. Then another. He worked you like he knew your body already.

Eyes were on you. You knew it. But you didn’t care.

“Let go,” he whispered.

And you did—crying out as the orgasm crashed through you, legs trembling, mouth open to the ocean air.

When you turned to face him, he was already pulling his shorts down.

You didn’t wait. You climbed into his lap, hands on his shoulders, and slid down onto him.

It was perfect.

He filled you completely, moving deep and slow as you clung to him. Your bikini top slipped aside, his mouth wrapped around your nipple, and you started to ride him—harder, faster, until you were shaking all over again.

You came a second time, biting his shoulder as you pulsed around him.

He wasn’t far behind—pulling out just in time, his moan thick and broken as he spilled across your stomach, your thighs, his eyes locked with yours the whole time.

You collapsed into him, heart pounding.

“Still mad I didn’t tell you what kind of boat this was?” he asked, breathless.

You laughed against his chest. “I think I was always supposed to end up here.”

⸻

Later, as you laid tangled with Harry on the lounge chair, someone caught your attention.

Vivian.

She was against the railing, laughing breathlessly with a tall woman in a sheer dress. The woman’s hand was up Vivian’s skirt. Her lips were at her throat. And Vivian? She was glowing.

“Holy shit,” you murmured.

Harry followed your gaze. “She’s hot.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve always had a vibe, but…”

“She ever kiss you?”

You shook your head. “Not seriously.”

“Maybe she should.”

Just then, Vivian looked up, locked eyes with you—and winked.

Moments later, she sauntered over, top slightly askew, eyes full of mischief.

“Well damn,” she said. “You two are really leaning into the spirit.”

You laughed. “I could say the same.”

“Got room for one more?”

You blinked. Then smiled. “Yeah. We’ve got room.”

Vivian sat beside you and kissed you—slow, searching, like a truth unspoken. Your lips opened. Your hand found hers. Harry groaned behind you.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re killing me.”

“Let her,” you said, pulling Vivian closer.

The kiss deepened. Her hand cupped your breast. Your fingers tangled in her hair. Then her mouth was on Harry’s, her body pressing against his as you touched yourself, already aching again.

The three of you tangled together, heat rising like the tide.

Vivian came first, under Harry’s mouth and your fingers, moaning into the stars.

Then Harry fucked her while you kissed her and held her hand, whispering how beautiful she was. You touched yourself again, coming as you watched her fall apart.

Finally, the three of you collapsed in a pile of sweat, laughter, and tangled limbs.

Vivian laughed. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”

Harry sighed. “You say that like I’m not right here.”

You curled into him, smiling. “So… we coming back next year?”

Vivian grinned. “Next year? I vote we don’t leave.”

[daisysblogsblog]

am i starting a day late? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes. this is... @laylasverse's alphabet soup event!

𝔀eek 01,, day 1

❝𝓪❞: it's activity day on shiftblr! pick a shifting activity and do it with your chosen reality.

⤷ @elyssshft's pinterest activity ꨄ︎

❝Go on Pinterest and select the first 4 photos you see ! Try to connect each of them with one of your drs ! and explain why :)❞

image #1

this reminds me of my greek mythology/ batfam dr. i am a goddess there, and some of my colours associated with me are red and gold hence why i'm reminded of it! these to me, are possibly the offerings that some of my worshippers live on their altars, and i appreciate each and every one of them <3

image #2

this reminds me of my ancient vampire dr. i mean, it's pretty obvious, it says "vampire". it's also a faded text so i like to think it's old... like i will be eventually in this dr.

image #3

this reminds me of my band dr. it feels like something i'd write for my song lyrics, maybe for the next album hmmm.

image #4

this reminds me of my haikyuu dr. well yeah, it IS tobio's head there. if i'm not wrong, this is after he has went to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp, and what it reminds me of is the scene that happens before he is recrowned the king of the court, when he lashes out at the others. i'd step forward, wanting to stop him (because a. i care for him and b. i'd done that before and it... didn't yield a pretty outcome), but thanks to hinata, the whole situation was resolved.

[daisysblogsblog]

this man is in my heart

[daisysblogsblog]

sobbing

[daisysblogsblog]

I don‘t know who needs to hear this but YOU ARE GOING TO SHIFT.

No matter how long it takes you. In the end you‘ll shift to your home reality. It’s inevitable. Do you think shifting found you for no reason? Hell no. You. were. always. meant. to. shift.

„But- but what if I will never shift/ can‘t shift…?“ NO.

Stop feeding those doubts with your energy. I‘ve been where you are. I had doubts and those fuckass intrusive thoughts (still have them sometimes😔💔) . But your intrusive thoughts won’t manifest if you don’t give them any meaning and try to ignore them!

One day I just told myself that I AM MEANT TO SHIFT. Because I am. And that I CAN SHIFT. Because I can.

And guess what. I shifted! The first time I shifted (that was some day January) was to a random reality that wasn’t any of my DR‘s. But I did it and since then I have no doubt at all that shifting is real because I‘ve seen it with my own eyes.

I shifted because I believed in myself. You don’t have to believe in yourself or your abilities 24/7 because that can be hard. But for the time while your doing your method or whatever you do to shift (it can even be just falling asleep) try to energize that belief in yourself and embody it. You can even do that for just a few seconds/minutes and shift.

And I know it can be a bit hard to get rid of those doubts and that‘s okay. You can shift even with doubts!! But don‘t give them your focus and energy. Focus on the things that you want, not on the things that you don’t want.

[daisysblogsblog]

I Didn’t Mean to Break You | Commission

Summary: You’re supposed to be living the dream: backstage passes to Portugal, sunsets with him, and nights filled with laughter. But lately, it feels like your chest is always tight, your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and the boy you’ve spent years secretly loving is the one brushing off your pain like it’s nothing. When your fear of being too much finally breaks you, he sees it. And suddenly? He’ll do anything to make sure he never makes you cry again.

A/N: this fic is a commissioned piece from my inbox of dreams!! this one’s got ✨emotional damage✨ followed by ✨emotional dick✨ (the duality of man)  we cry a little, get licked a lot, and finally get the love we deserve in a Portuguese hotel room. don’t we all. thanks to the sweet angel who commissioned this! if you're reading this on your lunch break… hydrate. moisturize. pretend you're in Lisbon with Harry Styles whispering “you’re not too much for me” into your collarbone.

Word Count: 6,5k

Warnings: 

Anxiety & emotional dysregulation (medication-related)

Crying/reader crying

Harry being dismissive at first (borderline cruel)

Hurt/comfort dynamic

Deep emotional vulnerability

Oral sex (f receiving)

Protected sex

Praise kink / soft dom!Harry energy

Aftercare (bath scene)

Cursing

Emotional smut / comforting sex

Reader doubts her worth

Harry realizing he’s in love too late (but fixing it!)

Slight angst before resolution

Tour setting

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Lisbon feels too bright. The sky is sharp blue, almost fake, like it’s been filtered one too many times. The sun bounces off the cobblestones in a way that makes your eyes water, and your sneakers catch on every third step. You’re sweating through your t-shirt and regretting the iced coffee you didn’t finish because now it’s just sloshing in your stomach, making you feel more nauseous than awake.

Harry’s up ahead, a few steps in front, arms stretched out as he turns in a slow circle to take in the street. There’s a linen shirt hanging open on his chest and sunglasses half-falling off his nose. He looks like he belongs in a perfume commercial. The kind with piano music and long looks across sun-drenched plazas. People keep staring at him, but in Portugal, no one seems to bother him too much. They clock him, maybe whisper to whoever they’re with, and let him pass like the breeze.

You trail behind the rest of the crew, trying not to think too hard about the fact that your pulse feels like it’s skipping every other beat. It’s the new meds. Probably. Or the heat. Or just being here, foreign country, different language, everyone relaxed and happy, and you stuck in your own head like it’s a too-small room with no air.

You don’t say anything. You haven’t said much all day. You laugh when someone says something funny. Smile when you’re meant to. Your camera stays strapped to your shoulder but you haven’t taken a single shot since lunch. You’re not sure what you’d even be capturing right now. Everyone else seems like they’re glowing. You feel like static.

Harry glances over his shoulder at one point and gives you a grin.

“You alright, love?” he calls back, casual, effortless. Like he always is.

You nod and lift your hand in a weak wave, trying to make it look like the sun’s just in your eyes. He holds your gaze for a second too long before turning back around. You catch the way he nudges Pauli and says something under his breath. They laugh. You don’t hear it, but your brain supplies its own interpretation anyway.

You’ve been trying to act normal. Whatever that means now. You switched to this new prescription two weeks ago, hoping it’d help level you out. Less anxiety, fewer spirals. Except you’ve just been feeling foggy and wrong in a way that’s hard to explain. Like your body’s here, but the rest of you is lagging behind. Everyone keeps talking about how good the shows have been, how tight the band sounds, how happy Harry looks.

He does look happy. Glowing, even. He’s in his element, slipping between languages when ordering food, charming entire tables of strangers, dancing a little when music plays from open café doors. It’s electric. He’s electric. It should be infectious, the kind of thing that makes everyone around him buzz. Usually, it is. Right now, it just makes you feel lonelier.

When you get back to the venue for soundcheck, you linger by the side of the stage, pretending to go through your photos even though your memory card is still blank. Harry’s center stage, barefoot already, singing snippets of something he’s been playing with between sets. His voice wraps around the empty room like warm water. You used to love watching him like this, unguarded and half-focused, doing the thing he loves most.

Today, it makes you ache.

“Oi,” he says when he spots you again later, this time backstage where everyone’s grabbing snacks and arguing over who’s hogging the AC. He walks over with a bottle of water in one hand and a towel draped around his neck. “You’ve been quiet lately. Tightly wound, yeah? You alright?”

You try to laugh. It comes out more like a breath.

“I’m fine,” you say, too quickly. “Just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow and nudges your arm with the back of his hand.

“You sure? You’ve got that little crease between your eyebrows again.”

You look up at him, squinting. “I always have that crease.”

“Nah. Not like this. You’re stressing.”

“I’m not stressing.”

“You are. You get all serious when you’re in your head. Like someone told you there’s a pop quiz on reality.”

It’s meant to be light. He’s teasing. He’s always teased you. That’s the rhythm you’ve settled into over the years, safe and familiar. The little flicks of banter, the push and pull of people who pretend not to notice the way they orbit each other.

Today, though, it doesn’t land right.

You force a smile and shift your weight onto one foot. “Guess I’m just boring now. Sorry to disappoint.”

He catches it too late. The way your voice dips. The way you pull away slightly as someone else calls his name. He hesitates, like he might say something else, but the moment’s gone. You slip out the side door of the green room before he can follow.

Back in your hotel later, you stand under the cold shower until your skin turns pink. You stare at the ceiling while the water hits your face and try to slow your breathing. There’s a tightness in your chest that hasn’t gone away all day. Maybe it’s just Lisbon. Maybe it’s you. You towel off and lie on the bed in a pair of shorts and his hoodie, the one you borrowed in Barcelona and never gave back. It still smells like him. Somehow that makes you feel worse.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. A message from Harry.

you alright?

You stare at it for a minute. Type out a reply and delete it. You wish you could just tell him the truth. That everything feels louder lately. That you feel like you’re fading out of focus while he’s never burned brighter. That being this close to him, day after day, and still feeling so far away is starting to crack you in places you don’t know how to fix.

You don’t reply. Not yet.

Instead, you roll onto your side, hug a pillow to your chest, and close your eyes.

He’s glowing. You’re unraveling.

You don’t know how much longer you can hide it.

The show ends with confetti in your hair and sweat running down your back, your ears still ringing from the last chorus. Lisbon loves him. The crowd roared like they knew him personally, like he’d just won something for all of them. You watched from the side of the stage, smiling when it felt safe to, clapping when everyone else did, heart thudding in your throat like it’s running out of room.

Back at the hotel, the crew peels off one by one. Some heading to the rooftop bar, some mumbling about showers and sleep. You think about joining them, pretending your brain isn’t chewing itself up. Instead, you drift toward the balcony attached to Harry’s suite. It’s quieter there, away from the laughter and leftover adrenaline.

He’s already out there, barefoot again, legs kicked up on the railing. There’s a bottle of wine open between you. He pours you a glass without asking. You take it because you don’t know how to say no to him, not when he looks like this, cheeks still flushed from the stage lights, skin dewy under the moon.

“Good crowd,” you say, because it’s easier than silence.

“Very good. Loud. One girl in the second row had my name painted across her arms. Both arms.”

You smile into your glass. “You’re a humble man, really.”

“I’m the humblest,” he says, grinning. “Ask anyone.”

It’s comfortable for a few minutes. You sip slowly, letting the cool breeze do what it can to unclench your body. You’re worn thin, but this is the closest you’ve come to peace all week.

He tilts his head back and stares at the stars like he’s trying to memorize them. “We’ve got two more shows here. Might actually get a day off.”

You hum in response. Your glass is still half full and your stomach feels full of stones. You look at him. He hasn’t noticed how quiet you’ve gone. Or maybe he has and is pretending not to.

You set your glass down and pull your knees to your chest. “Can I tell you something weird?”

He glances over. “When have you ever not told me something weird?”

“No, like. Not funny weird. Weird weird.”

He nods, sobers a little. “Go on.”

You pause. You want to ask directly. Say the truth with your chest. Instead, it comes out all wrong, like always.

“I’ve got this friend,” you start. “She’s… struggling. Says she feels like she’s cramping someone’s vibe. Like, that she’s too much. Too messy or anxious or just... not what people want around when things are good.”

He frowns, but not in a thoughtful way. More like he’s already dismissing it.

“Why’s she think that?”

You shrug. “Maybe because she sees how easy it is for everyone else. How happy they are. And she feels like a glitch in the program.”

“Sounds like she’s overthinking everything.”

“She probably is.”

He shifts in his seat and raises an eyebrow. “No offense, but that’s dumb. Anyone who thinks that way doesn’t deserve to be around. People either want you there or they don’t. If they do, they’ll let you know.”

Your heart doesn’t even sink. It just stops.

You nod like that makes perfect sense. Like he didn’t just pull the ground out from under you without realizing it. He says it with a grin, casual and confident, like it’s a line from a film he’s quoting back. He doesn’t mean it cruelly. That’s the worst part. He thinks he’s being reassuring.

You look away so he doesn’t see the shift in your face.

“Yeah. Makes sense,” you say, voice hollow.

He stretches, groaning a little, and stands. “I need a shower before I fall asleep standing up. You good?”

You give him the same lie you’ve been giving all week. “Yeah.”

He gives you a soft smile, ruffles your hair like he used to back when things felt simple, and disappears into the room. The balcony is quiet again. You sip the wine slowly, even though it tastes like nothing now.

The next morning, you don’t show up for breakfast. You skip the shuttle to the venue and Uber there alone. You stick close to the tech crew and spend most of the day by the equipment cases, pretending you’re organizing something important. Nobody bothers you, which you’re grateful for, even if it only makes the gnawing in your chest worse.

You feel stupid for thinking that maybe last night would go differently. For hoping he’d connect the dots, see past the disguise. You handed it to him on a plate and he tossed it without looking. That’s not fair, you know that. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He didn’t know. Still, it lands like betrayal. He made you feel like you were being ridiculous for feeling what you feel. Like your fears were pathetic.

You keep your sunglasses on all day. Not for the sun. Your eyes are red. He passes by a few times, tossing you small smiles, saying things like “You good?” in a way that barely masks concern. You nod, say “Fine,” every time. He accepts it. He always does.

At one point, he catches your arm gently as you pass in the hallway behind the stage.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You didn’t answer my text.”

“Didn’t see it.”

He lets go of your arm, brows pulling together. “You alright?”

You force a laugh. “Tired. Like you said, I’ve been tightly wound.”

His face flickers, just for a second. You don’t give him time to respond. You walk off before he can ask anything else. If he calls after you, you don’t hear it over the blood rushing in your ears.

You don’t go to the afterparty that night. You stay in your room, lights off, TV muted. Your phone buzzes once. His name on the screen. You don’t read it.

You told him, in the only way you could. He didn’t hear you.

You’re done trying to make him listen.

You get good at disappearing without actually leaving. People talk around you, past you. Your body’s still there, showing up, nodding at the right moments, laughing when someone makes a joke. But your head is somewhere else entirely. You’ve stopped trying to close the gap.

Harry’s been different too. Not obvious to anyone else, maybe, but you’ve known him too long not to notice. He’s softer around you, a little more careful. Which would be nice if it didn’t feel like guilt. Like now that he’s vaguely clocked something’s off, he’s trying to fix it without asking what’s broken. He brings you tea instead of coffee in the mornings. Tells you when he likes your outfit. Stays within reach but doesn’t touch. It’s almost worse.

You keep it together until Lisbon’s last night.

It’s after the show, backstage, people buzzing high off the energy. There’s music playing from someone’s speaker, and the dressing room’s full of shouting and snacks and half-changed outfits. You’re leaning against the wall near the door, half-listening as Harry talks to someone about the next city’s venue layout.

You’re not even sure how the conversation pivots to you. One second he’s talking about stage lighting, the next his voice cuts through loud and clear.

“She’s been like a little storm cloud this week, hasn’t she?” He laughs, flicks his thumb in your direction like it’s nothing. “You alright now, or still spiraling?”

There’s a pause. Just a beat. Some people chuckle. One of the lighting techs gives you a sympathetic smile.

You stare at him.

He doesn’t mean it. He’s teasing, the same way he always has, the same cadence, the same crooked grin that says come on, it’s all in fun. But your throat closes anyway. The laugh someone else makes feels miles away. Your hands start to shake and suddenly there’s not enough air in the room.

You don’t say anything. You just push off the wall and walk out.

You hear him call your name once, confused, still smiling like it’s a joke you’ll both laugh about later. You keep walking.

The hallway is too bright. You find the first stairwell you can and climb until your legs burn. The roof is unlocked. Thank god. You push the door open and let the cold night hit you full in the face. It’s quieter up here. Still loud inside your chest, but at least the rest of the world has gone still.

You sit down hard on the concrete, pulling your knees to your chest, trying not to cry. It doesn’t work. It never does lately. You bury your face in your arms and give in to it, silent and sharp. You don’t sob. You just shake and cry like it’s leaking straight from your ribs.

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t lift your head.

He steps out, shuts it quietly. His footsteps pause. You can feel him hesitate.

“You ran out like your hair was on fire,” he says, voice soft, unsure.

You don’t respond. You don’t want to talk. He doesn’t deserve to hear it, not after that.

He sits down a few feet away. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to wait.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You wipe your face with your sleeve, still staring straight ahead. “Doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”

He exhales slowly. “I was just messing around.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know you’d take it like—”

“Jesus, Harry, stop.” You finally turn your head, eyes glassy. “It wasn’t the joke. It’s everything. You haven’t noticed anything, not really. You think I’m just being moody or weird or whatever, but I’ve been drowning this whole week. And you made me feel like I was annoying for it.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You look away again. “Remember the other night? When I said my friend felt like too much?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

You wipe under your eye. “It wasn’t a friend. It was me.”

His whole body stills.

“I feel like too much all the time,” you say quietly. “Like I’m ruining the vibe or dragging people down or just being this… dead weight. And you just made me feel worse.”

The wind moves your hair across your cheek. You don’t push it away.

“I’m trying, you know? I’m trying really fucking hard to keep up and not fall apart and smile when I’m supposed to and do my job and be cool and not ruin everything. But I can’t fake it anymore. I feel like I’m breaking into pieces, and you were supposed to be the one person who saw me.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You glance over. His face is pale, the line of his jaw tight.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says, voice rough. “I swear to god, I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t looking.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I’m so sorry. That was… I was an idiot. I thought you just needed space, or rest, or... I don’t know. I didn’t want to push.”

“You didn’t have to push. You just had to ask.”

He presses his hands to his face for a second, rubbing hard, like he’s trying to scrub the guilt off.

“I’m not gonna be the reason you cry. Not again.”

You laugh once, bitter. “Little late.”

“I know.”

You sit there in silence for a while. The city below is still alive. Cars moving like blood through veins. Somewhere, someone’s playing music through an open window.

He shifts closer. Just a little. He doesn’t reach for you.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel small,” he says, quieter now. “You’re not. You’ve never been. You walk into a room and I feel it every time.”

Your heart kicks once, startled.

“I’ve been pretending I don’t see it,” he continues, “because if I do, I have to deal with what that means. And I was scared. Still am.”

You glance at him. “Scared of what?”

He looks at you fully. There’s nothing flippant in his face now. No teasing. Just the weight of something real.

“Of what happens if I feel everything I’m already feeling. Of fucking it up. Of hurting you.”

“You already did.”

“I know.”

He moves closer again. You don’t stop him.

“I want to fix it,” he says. “I don’t know how yet, but I will.”

You let the silence stretch between you. The tears haven’t come back yet. Your chest still feels hollow, but not as sharp.

You don’t forgive him. Not yet.

But you don’t walk away, either.

The next morning, there’s a knock on your hotel door. You open it to find him holding a to-go cup and a paper bag. He doesn’t say anything dramatic. Just hands you the coffee and smiles, sheepish.

“Figured you might want breakfast in peace,” he says. “Got your weird order. The eggy thing.”

You take the bag slowly. “You remembered?”

“Course I did.”

The coffee’s perfect. He got the sugar right. That detail makes your throat tighten more than it should.

Over the next couple days, he doesn’t push. He just shows up in little ways. Keeps his teasing gentle, his jokes safe. He lets you move through the space between you at your own pace. He lingers in the wings during soundcheck, sends you a dumb meme when he knows you’re holed up editing photos, plays your favorite song on his phone during van rides.

When you meet eyes across the room now, he doesn’t look away.

That night in Madrid, you find yourself alone with him again, in his suite, post-show. There’s a calmness to the moment that didn’t exist before. You’re both quieter, steadier. You’re sitting on his bed, scrolling through photos from the last venue, and he’s lying beside you, one arm slung behind his head, watching the ceiling like it’s saying something only he can hear.

He turns to you, suddenly serious.

“I think I’ve been pretending I don’t feel anything because if I do... this gets messy.”

You look up.

His eyes meet yours. “But I can’t ignore it anymore. Not after everything. I don’t want to.”

You don’t speak. You’re too scared of tipping the balance. He inches closer, voice softer now.

“I didn’t just miss the signs because I was distracted. I missed them because I was scared. Of how much I care about you. Of how much you matter to me. I’ve never had that in someone I see every day. It’s terrifying.”

You let the silence sit there. He deserves to squirm for a second.

“Terrifying, huh?” you finally say.

He smiles weakly. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re really not.”

He laughs under his breath, sits up on his elbow to face you better. “Can I ask something and not ruin this?”

“That’s a strong maybe.”

“If I kissed you right now... would that be a mistake?”

Your pulse kicks. You look at him, really look. His face is open in a way it hasn’t been in days. No swagger. Just nerves and hope and something that looks a lot like regret.

You don’t say anything. You just lean in.

When your lips meet, it’s not a firework. It’s a match catching slow. Soft and warm and aching with everything that hasn’t been said. He kisses you like he’s trying to tell you everything he missed. Like he’s making up for every second he looked past you.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You touch his face, shake your head. “Don’t ruin it.”

He kisses you again. Longer this time. Deeper. No performance, no pressure. Just need.

You don’t know where this goes. You’re not even sure what happens next.

But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, your chest feels quiet.

And he’s still here.

Trying.

Looking right at you.

You think that should make it easier to breathe, and in some ways it does, but in others it’s worse. Because now you can feel everything again. The weight of his eyes, the stretch of silence between each touch, the heat pooling low in your belly just from the way he says your name. You’re not numb anymore, and that’s almost more terrifying than being invisible.

Later, in the quiet of your hotel room, you lie in bed under the thin sheets, staring at the ceiling. Sleep won’t come. Your body is too aware of the space around you, too charged with something you’ve been holding back for too long. You hear voices out in the hallway, a door closing, the faint creak of footsteps outside your own.

Then there’s a soft knock.

You don’t move. You know it’s him. You knew he’d come. Part of you thought he might just leave it at that kiss, at the admission hanging between you like fog. Another part of you knew he couldn’t. Not tonight.

You pull the sheet higher and call out, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s open.”

He enters slowly, like the room might bite him. He closes the door gently behind him, eyes sweeping over you, lips parted like he’s mid-thought but not ready to speak. You sit up, press your back to the headboard, heart ticking louder than it should.

Harry doesn’t say anything at first. He walks to the edge of the bed and pauses, not reaching for you. Just standing there, like he's trying to work up the nerve.

“I know it’s late,” he says. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

You nod once, not trusting your voice.

“I want to make this right.” He lowers to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the edge of the bed. “Let me take care of you. Please. Let me show you you’re not too much. Not for me.”

Your breath catches. He looks up at you with something close to reverence, like he’s asking permission to worship. You reach out, fingers threading through his curls, and that’s all the answer he needs.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Then your wrist. Then your bare shoulder, slow and unhurried, like he’s mapping you. You feel every brush of his mouth like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says softly.

You don’t.

His lips ghost over your cheek, then your jaw. His hand slides up under your shirt, palm warm and steady against your waist. He doesn’t rush. Just moves slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he pushes too fast. The way he touches you is different. It’s not just want. It’s apology. It’s awe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, mouth against your skin. “So perfect. Can’t believe I ever made you think otherwise.”

You close your eyes as his hands travel up, sliding your shirt over your head with a care that makes your throat ache. He looks at you like he’s seeing you properly now, like every inch of you matters. His fingers skim over your ribs, your sides, down the dip of your waist like you’re something sacred.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone.

“I know.” You laugh a little, but it’s shaky too. “I’m just… it’s a lot.”

“I’ll go slow.”

He does.

Every kiss is deliberate. His mouth trails down your stomach, each press of his lips grounding you more. When he finally pushes your underwear down, he does it like he’s unwrapping a gift. Like he’s been waiting for this for longer than he wants to admit.

He settles between your thighs, eyes flicking up once to make sure you’re still okay. You nod, hand trembling slightly where it rests on the sheets. He doesn’t hesitate after that.

The first lick is gentle, testing. His tongue moves slow, measured, like he’s learning you. Like this is something he wants to get exactly right. You gasp, fingers clenching in the bedding. He hums at the sound and keeps going, a little more sure now, a little deeper.

He holds your hips in place when you twitch, one hand sliding up to intertwine with yours. His thumb strokes across your knuckles as his mouth works you open, coaxing every shiver, every gasp from your lips. He doesn’t say much, just quiet praises when you arch into him, when your breath catches in that specific way.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nod, a little frantically, tears stinging behind your eyes because no one’s ever looked at you like this while you fell apart.

He keeps going, unrelenting, steady. He doesn’t stop until you come with a soft cry, thighs trembling around his shoulders, your free hand fisting the sheet like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. You feel yourself break open a little. Not from the pleasure, but from how safe it feels.

You’re crying before you even realize it.

Harry pulls back slowly, blinking up at you, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

“Too much?” he asks, already reaching for you, gentle.

You shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “No. I just… it’s a lot. But in a good way. You’re… being too kind.”

He crawls up the bed and cradles your face. “This isn’t kindness. This is what you deserve.”

You laugh wetly. “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“I mean it.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and sweet. “You deserve to be handled like you matter. Because you do.”

You press your face into his shoulder, still trembling. He holds you there, hand rubbing up and down your back, grounding you.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he whispers into your hair. “I just wanted to show you.”

You believe him. God, you believe him.

And for the first time in what feels like weeks, you don’t feel too much.

You just feel wanted.

He’s still holding you, still brushing his fingers along your spine like he can soothe every inch of tension out of your body if he’s just gentle enough. You’re warm everywhere, heavy and loose in your limbs, but your heart’s still tight with all the things you’ve been carrying. You shift under him, just enough to look up, and he catches your face in his hands like you might vanish if he lets go.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, eyes glassy but clear. “I want you.”

He freezes for half a second, like he’s trying to convince himself this is real. “You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

His mouth curves, just a little. Not a smirk. Just something soft. Something grateful.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s reading a prayer. Your fingers move to the waistband of his briefs, and he lets you, pulling them down just enough, like he’s been waiting for permission this whole time. You feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, but he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shift forward until he’s looked you in the eye again.

“This okay?”

You reach up, touch his cheek, whisper, “Yeah.”

He pushes in slowly, careful, like he’s still afraid he might hurt you without meaning to. The stretch burns in the sweetest way, and you bite your lip, blinking up at him as he bottoms out. He holds there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard like he’s trying to stay grounded.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he says, almost a whisper. “Been dreaming about this… about you.”

Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking. You curl into him, one hand slipping into his hair, the other finding his hand and squeezing tight. He laces your fingers together instantly, like it’s instinct.

He starts moving, slow and deep, every thrust more like a kiss than anything else. You feel it everywhere. Not just in your body but in the way he looks at you, in the way he murmurs your name like it’s made of silk. He doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop telling you how perfect you are, how he’s never wanted anything like this before.

“I’ve got you,” he says, over and over, like it’s a promise he needs to repeat until it’s etched into your skin. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you.”

You believe him.

Your chest tightens as the feeling builds. It’s not just the pleasure, it’s the emotion of it. The way you’ve been holding back for so long, pretending not to care, pretending not to want. It all cracks open at once. He moves a little deeper, his nose brushing yours, and it just breaks you.

You cry without meaning to, a soft sob pulling from your chest as you start to fall apart under him. He freezes, eyes wide, pulling back just enough to see your face.

“Hey… hey, look at me,” he whispers, brushing the tears from your cheeks. “You okay?”

You nod, breath catching. “I just… it’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You hold onto him tighter as he picks up that rhythm again, deeper now, more connected. His hand stays locked with yours, your bodies rocking together like they’ve done this a hundred times. Every thrust is a thread stitching something back together inside you.

You feel the tension coil tight in your stomach, burning up your spine, and he must feel it too because he leans in close, presses his forehead to yours, breath shaking against your mouth.

“You close?” he asks, voice cracking. “I can feel you…”

You nod frantically, pulling him in tighter with your legs. “Yeah… yeah, don’t stop.”

He kisses you through it, one final deep thrust pushing you over the edge. You clench around him with a choked sob, crying against his mouth as the wave crashes through you. He follows seconds later, groaning your name into your neck, his whole body trembling as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Just stays there, holding you, breathing into your shoulder, your fingers still tangled, your hearts thudding against each other like they’re trying to sync.

You cry again, quietly this time, not from pain, not from sadness, just release. It feels like letting go of something you didn’t realize you were gripping so tightly.

He kisses the corner of your eye and whispers, “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Eventually, when the silence feels calm instead of heavy, he pulls out gently and kisses your stomach. He doesn’t say anything as he gets up and walks to the bathroom. You think he’s just going to grab a towel, but you hear the water running, the quiet sound of the tub filling. A few minutes later he comes back, naked except for the hoodie he’s tugged over his head, arms open.

“Come on,” he says, voice soft. “Let me take care of you a little longer.”

You let him lift you into the bath, warm water curling around your body like a sigh. He sits behind you, legs bracketing yours, pulling you back against his chest. His hands move through your hair slowly, massaging your scalp like he’s done it a thousand times. You close your eyes, let yourself lean into it. Let yourself be taken care of.

He kisses the top of your head. “Still with me?”

“Barely,” you mumble. “Floating.”

“Good.” He smiles against your temple. “You deserve to float.”

He stays until the water starts to cool. Towels you off gently, hands reverent. Helps you into clean clothes. His hoodie, soft and warm, the sleeves a little too long. You don’t even try to stop the yawn that pulls from your chest as he guides you back to the bed.

He slides in beside you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you onto his chest. His fingers trace slow shapes on your back. You listen to his heartbeat until it slows.

You’re almost asleep when you hear his voice again, low and close.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner.”

You don’t answer. You just bury your face in his neck and hold him tighter.

He kisses your hair and whispers, “I’ll do better. I swear.”

He stays awake long after your breathing evens out, still stroking your back, whispering things too soft for you to hear.

Not leaving.

Not this time.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles @alohajix

[daisysblogsblog]

Private Show

Summary: Harry surprises you with VIP tickets to Sabrina Carpenter’s concert, making sure you have the time of your life, dancing, singing, and twirling you around like the perfect concert boyfriend. But when a fan starts filming, he blocks you from view, sending the broodiest glare at the camera to protect your moment together.

A/N: So, you know that viral video of Harry mean-mugging the camera at Sabrina Carpenter’s concert? Yeah. My brain immediately went “what if he was just protecting his girl?” And then this happened. Enjoy dancing, twirling, and protective boyfriend Harry in his full glory. 💖

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: 

Mild crowd anxiety (Harry blocks you from attention)

Fans screaming his name

Protective, broody Harry

Harry twirling you like a rom-com protagonist

Sabrina Carpenter slaying as usual

Pure concert fluff with the tiniest bit of angst

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The night starts with screaming.

Not Harry’s, obviously—yours.

Because your boyfriend, the actual love of your life, just casually pulled two VIP passes out of his pocket like it’s no big deal.

“You’re joking.” Your eyes are so wide they might actually fall out of your skull.

Harry just smirks, swinging the lanyards in front of your face. “Do I look like I’m joking, love?”

“HARRY.” You grab his wrist, shaking him violently. “YOU GOT ME SABRINA CARPENTER TICKETS?!”

“Thought I’d surprise you,” he says, looking all smug and pleased with himself.

You launch yourself at him.

“I love you. I love you so much.” You press at least twenty rapid-fire kisses to his face, making him laugh as he tries (and fails) to dodge you.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “You love me enough to forgive the fact that I’ll be working with her soon?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You’re what?!”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “We’ve got something in the works. Thought I’d get ahead of it and make sure my girl didn’t, y’know, leave me for her when it drops.”

Your scream could shatter glass.

And that’s how you end up in a private VIP booth, tucked away from the main crowd, watching Sabrina Carpenter take the stage with your ridiculously perfect boyfriend beside you.

Harry made sure you had the best view—not too close to the screaming fans who’d recognize him in seconds, but not too far that you couldn’t soak in every second of the performance.

From the very first note, you’re in heaven.

Harry is watching you more than the stage, his lips twitching in amusement as you scream along to every word, jump up and down, and nearly burst into flames from sheer excitement.

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” he teases, nudging your side.

“Shut up, I’m having a religious experience,” you say, barely able to breathe as you clutch his arm.

And then—because he’s the best boyfriend in existence—Harry joins in.

At first, he’s just swaying to the beat, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your hip. But then Vicious starts playing, and suddenly, he’s fully dancing with you.

Spinning you around. Dipping you dramatically. Letting you sing the lyrics directly into his face.

At one point, he twirls you and pulls you back against his chest, grinning against your ear. “Knew I made the right choice bringing you here.”

Your heart melts.

For once, no one is bothering him. No one is shoving a phone in his face, no one is screaming his name. It’s just you and him and the music.

Everything is perfect.

Until he notices the camera.

You don’t see it at first—too busy losing your mind over Sabrina hitting a ridiculous note—but you feel when Harry’s body tenses. His arm tightens around your waist, his stance shifts, and suddenly, he’s blocking you from view.

“Harry?” you mumble, looking up at him.

His jaw is tight, his eyes locked onto something in the crowd. You follow his gaze and—there.

A fan, holding their phone way too high, the camera clearly zoomed in on your booth.

And worse?

Other fans have noticed him.

You hear it—the whispers, the murmurs, the first few shouts of his name.

You wilt.

You love Harry. You love being with him. But sometimes, the attention is suffocating.

Harry knows this.

Which is why, instead of acknowledging the cameras, he does something so very Harry.

He glares.

Not just any glare—the glare. The one that shuts down the paparazzi. The one that makes fans go feral on Twitter.

The one that dares someone to keep filming.

His body shifts slightly, fully shielding you from view. His arm locks around you like a protective cage, his eyes locked onto the camera like a silent warning.

You bite your lip. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he murmurs.

And just like that, the phone lowers.

Harry doesn’t relax until the attention moves on, the crowd shifting back to the stage. Then—only then—does he turn back to you.

“You okay, love?” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I just… I hate when they do that. This is supposed to be our moment.”

Harry hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Your heart clenches.

And suddenly, nothing else matters.

The music swells, Sabrina launches into Nonsense, and Harry—your ridiculous, perfect, protective boyfriend—grins at you.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hands and starts twirling you again.

“Harry—”

“C’mon, love,” he teases, pulling you flush against him. “We’ve got a show to enjoy.”

And so you do.

Maybe the world will analyze the videos of Harry Styles looking all broody at a Sabrina Carpenter concert. Maybe fans will freak out over his intense glare.

But they won’t know the real reason behind it.

They won’t know he did it for you.

And that’s all that matters.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby

[daisysblogsblog]

Pls pls plsss mrs jaws a blurb for the squirting community. We are so underrepresented🥲💦

I’ve got you, lovebug! Here you go. I hope you like it

Check out our Patreon for early access and over 300+ exclusive writings and series!

Warnings- squirting, soft dom!H, dirty talk, messy sex, etc

Harry gripped her hips firmly as he slammed into her from behind, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through their bedroom. She was on her knees, cheek pressed against the pillow as she let out little huffs of breath as he gave it to her, just how she liked.

His thumb pressed firmly against her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure while he fucked her, each thrust was powerful and deliberate, pressing where she needed inside her that made her whimper and push back against him eagerly.

"That's it, love." Harry praised gruffly, his other hand snaking up to tangle in her hair. He tugged her head back slightly, arching her back and changing the angle of his thrusts to hit where he wanted. "You take my cock so well, don't you? Like you were made for it." He punctuated each word with a hard snap of his hips, his fingers on her clit never stopping their relentless motion. “Made for me. Perfect fuckin’ pussy, snug around my cock.”

A sharp gasp escaped Y/N's lips as Harry's filthy words washed over her. The intense pleasure of him giving her the thrusts she needed and eager fingers circling her swollen clit had her approaching a feeling that made her want to squirm. She pushed back against him shamelessly, meeting his thrusts as her pussy clenched around him, already tightening at the building pressure. "Harry, oh God..." Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into her face, and she couldn't help but whimper. “It’s… I’m gonna make a fucking mess.” Y/N mewled out. “I’m sorry.”

Harry felt the change instantly - her inner walls tightened almost painfully around his length, and she let out a high-pitched moan that made him realize she was close. Real close. Like she was actually going squirt all over his dick close. His sheets were the least of his concerns.

His thumb pressed harder against her clit, spreading her wetness around the sensitive nub. He knew that spot - knew how easily she went from "almost there" to gushing if he hit it right. He kept the same pace, letting out a deep groan as he felt her clit throb against his fingers.

“Yeah? Gonna gush ‘round my cock, sweet girl?” He wanted it. She’d been able to do it a few times with him, but each and every time was the hottest thing he ever saw. “That’s what I want. Want you to make a mess for me, baby. God, I can fucking feel it coming.” He hissed through his teeth. “Give it t’me. Give me what I want.”

Harry's encouragement sent her over the edge. Y/N let out a loud, guttural moan as entire body tensed as a massive wave of pleasure hit her, the feeling almost as if she was going to lose control. Her pussy spasmed violently around his cock, and then it hit, hot liquid gushing from her in pulses. Harry’s face contorted in pleasure as he pulled out, immediately rubbing his cock over her clit, spreading her own slick around the sensitive nub to keep it going.

"Fuck, yes, just like that, love. There it is. Jesus Christ, look at you - absolutely flooding the sheets for me." Harry was breathing heavily, his voice thick as he rubbed her clit with the head of his sensitive dick, drawing out every last drop. "You're such a good girl when you fuckin' squirt like this..." One hand stayed on her hip while the other let go of her hair to spread her open to watch. "Keep cumming... keep cumming all over my cock. There you go, Thatta-fuckin-girl."

He could feel her pulsing against him, the sensation driving him wild. It was a reward for him, getting her here. The day they figured out how to make it happen for her, he had been trying to ensure she got as much as she wanted. "Drenching that cock, my balls, the bed... fuck, I love it. I love watching you make a mess for me." Crooning as he felt her body tremble under him, he felt his cock throb as he pressed it back into her shallowly as he let her calm down.

Y/N's mouth was open in a silent 'O', her face hot and eyes squeezed shut as her pussy contracted and released in waves around nothing. She was completely overwhelmed by the intensity, her whole body shaking as she pushed back against him, trying to get more and also pull away at the same time. Her body didn’t know what it wanted. "Oh my god... I can't... s’too much. Too empty.." She whined, burying her face in the pillow. “Please?”

"Shhh, baby, I know. I know it’s overwhelming. Just breathe for me, hmm?" Harry slowed his movements to a complete stop, burying his cock deep inside her, filling her completely. "There we go... just breathe. I’m here. Feel how full you are? Like you can’t even tell where your pussy ends and I begin? M’right here. " He whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her back onto anchor her. "Just squeeze around me. I’ve got you. So gorgeous."

Her body relaxed slowly as she adjusted to having him inside her again, her trembling subsiding. Harry stayed still, not moving even an inch, letting her feel just how full he was making her, grounding her to the moment. "That's my girl." He cooed softly, pressing gentle kisses along her shoulder. "God, your pussy is still pulsing around me." He let out a low hiss at the feeling. "You okay, lovie? Still with me?" His hand stroked her soothingly.

"Mhm.” She mumbled into the pillow, her voice soft and hazy from pleasure. Her inner muscles continued to flutter around him, still sensitive. "I'm... I'm still here." Her breath hitched slightly as she adjusted to having him so deep. "Don't move... just-stay right there." She needed a moment to recover - and also never wanted him to leave. Having him there felt perfect, complete. “Can go again in a few minutes.” The woman whispered as her body grew more lax.

A low chuckle escaped him as he felt her body relax completely around him. "Take your time, love." His voice was gentle, almost tender. He knew her well enough to understand that it left her sensitive and needing a moment before she could handle more. “I’ll always take care of you.”

[daisysblogsblog]

my phone is a great way to disassociate whilst at a family gathering but i always just seem rude

[daisysblogsblog]

shifting motivation / visualization idea!! and yes before this i am aware of the estelle method but last night i made these playlists which were for my dr (i am shifting to a one direction dr, the year is 2010) but i made one playlist which was dancing with harry in 2010-2014 and then one for niall as well but its full of songs full of artists that i looked up they liked at the time like i looked up 'what artists did harry styles like in 2013' etc and genuinely they are so motivating, and theyre both upbeat playlists and its introducing me to new music and i get to say that like harry styles introduced me to that song, y'know? but i think upbeat songs are better to shift with because i just find them more motivating, anyway little shifting rant there, goodbye!!

[daisysblogsblog]

hi. um. guys?????? i shifted???????????

its embarrassing. because i was literally in the toilet. and i thought to myself, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if i shifted right now?’. and i shifted. to my gamer//streamer//better reality. what the fuck .

(i know i made a post about how if i shifted i would never come back but…….. i have to share this. its the only reason why i shifted back here. next time i shift though? you guys are NOT hearing about it)

quick rundown : i was studying for my chemistry exam that will happen next week in this reality. i needed to use the bathroom. so i went. i started thinking about shifting because i was bored out of my mind. i said ‘fuck it let me try’, closed my eyes, and BOOM. i’m in a different bathroom. the bathroom i had scripted would be my bathroom in my small apartment. in my dr.

i freaked out a little bit because i am NOT nonchalant. i looked at myself in the mirror and I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLLLLLLLLL i mean its my cr face but just improved to my liking BUT I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLL. and i said that aloud too, which freaked me out because my voice is a little different too (it was a bit smoother and soothing idk its my voice feels weird to describe it). my hair was tied up in a bun and i didn’t feel like letting it down, but my fringe was cut so nicely. it fit my face. and it wasn’t poking me in the eyes. i had some strands of hair that were also shorter that had fell out of the bun but it looked very pinterest-esque. very picture worthy. i looked picture worthy. the whole time i was like a movie character sat down at their vanity inspecting their face obsessively. if the mirror had a consciousness it would think i am deranged or something idk . moving onnnnnnn

my bathroom was so nicely decorated i was proud of myselffff. the colours????? the teal the magenta-ish purple the orange????? i had my chanel makeup products all over the sink counter too. it was so chic . guys i am so fucking cool . i feel great about myself now.

and you have to know. the apartment i scripted i owned has a wonderful view. its gorgeous. the galata tower AND the bosphorus?????? and it was a bright, cloudless day. a bit windy. the leaves on the trees were swaying and the sun was so bright it was making the bosphorus water twinkle . i opened the windows (which i didn’t even think about how) to let the breeze in. the air!!!! was clean!!!!!! no smell of petrol!!!!! air pollution is gone!!!!!! my lungs felt great sfkjhsekf IT WAS AMAZING

i didn’t spend much time there (in my dr) because i was a bit shell-shocked///flabbergasted///confuddled and like. i can shift back anytime and anywhere. i know that now, given the fact that i literally shifted… when i was in the toilet…. whilst doing my business.

but in the little time i spent there, i went into my bedroom (AGAIN, FLAWLESSLY DECORATED . I LOVE MYSELF) and just looked at everything. i had all of my perfumes on a silver platter on my bedside table. i had byredo’s mohave ghost. j’adore dior. nishane’s hundred silent ways. issey miyake’s l'eau d'issey (the blue one. i LOVE that one). orabella salted muse. twilly d’hermes. tom ford’s soleil neige. i had a sephora perfume section next to my bed at this point. i would’ve sprayed them all but i didn’t want to cause a sneezing hazard. i did spray soleil neige because i wanted to know if it would smell good on me. and it did, of course.

i had paintings hung up on the wall where my bed was situated. and the paintings were the art on my pinterest board. they were framed in fancy gold looking frames (they were painted gold. not actual gold). i had tears in my eyes,,,,,,, my bedroom was so gorgeous. it was great.

my bed?????????? silk bedsheets in light pink. i laid down on it for a minute. it was so so so soft. and so inviting i almost wanted to fall asleep but i resisted. i had a persian rug with purple-magenta, teal & dark blue and beige details it was so beautiful . it made my bare feet feel warm and the texture was smooth enough to not annoy me (i am sensitive about those things, i fear).

i had scripted that my closer is far bigger than it looks (barbie: dreamhouse style) and it was. i didn’t question the how. but it was a huge, gorgeous room, full of beautiful clothing. the lighting was not too dim but not too bright and so it didn’t hurt my eyes. and the CLOTHES AAAAAAAAA. zimmerman floral dresses. blumarine . archival miu miu. but also: rick owens. maison margiela (THE TABI COLLECTION I HAD. AAAAA). i had ann demeulemeester boots!!!! i had an archival dior dress (the black and lavender knit dress from fw1998). i had more than one archival dior dress. i had alexander mcqueen leather jackets. ugh it was so sexy . i felt the material, brushed my fingertips on all of those. i felt delirious. it seemed too good to be true, BUT IT WAS TRUE. it was REAL. moving on the closet was museum material . i was having the time of my life.

and then . i laid my eyes on the beautiful pc setup i had. and i couldn’t help it. i sat down and played some sims 4. i could use shaders!!!!!!! it was running smoothly!!!!!!! no glitches!!!!!!!!!!

basically: i spent an hour looking around my apartment and the rest was spent in create-a-sim on my computer. because i could literally shift realities and still be a sims girlie. it is embedded into my DNA.

i had the time of my life guys. i didn’t even look at my phone once. it was on my bed. but i didn’t want to look because i was too preoccupied crashing out about my pulitzer prize worthy closet and the view from my windows . but my computer had the date and it was may 6th 2022. which was the year i wanted to shift to. MY COMPUTER WAS ALSO SO AESTHETIC (i had apple’s dynamic wallpaper…. and some folders that i had edited to look like cat memes. i’m exaggerating . just a little bit) AAAAaaaaaaAAaaaaaa everything was so good i’m gonna cry. i felt so much relief!!!! so much happiness!!!! i didn’t know i could feel this way!!!!!!!!

anyway i finished making my sim and just sat there because i got a little bored. and then i thought that maybe sharing this joy with all of you would be nice of me to do. and i sort of wanted to. even though i am going to permashift and made a post saying that i wouldn’t be back. nevertheless, i decided to shift back here to make this post.

so, hey. the moral of the story is::::: SHIFTING IS REAL. ITS SO REAL. NEVER GIVE UP YOU CAN HAVE WHATEVER YOU WANTTTTTTTTTTT

..................................:

(ps. if there are any typos or any sentences that make no sense, it is because i am shaking out of excitement and joy whilst i type this)

[daisysblogsblog]

white socks with black shoes >>