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clean || harry styles x you one-shot.

saw this picture, had to write something immediately — hot off the press, just for you hehe enjoy <3

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You’re brushing your teeth beside him again.

It’s not the first time that you've done that—far from it, but something about this particular night makes the moment feel worthy of being remembered.

Harry’s standing next to you in the tiny bathroom of your rental villa, his skin still golden from the sun and his hair wild with salt and humidity; his curls starting to emerge at the root from the exposure to the heat.

He’s got a toothbrush dangling from his lips, foam threatening to escape the corners of his mouth as he tries not to smile too much at himself in the mirror. You hold your phone up, capturing the scene out of instinct.

Click.

He playfully rolls his eyes when the shutter sound goes off.

“Hope you’re not sending that to anyone. That’s top-tier blackmail, that is.”

You glance at the screen. The photo’s perfect; he's photogenic in a way that you merely can't describe.

His perfectly fitting t-shirt is rumpled from where he threw it on after his shower, damp at the collar, and a little crooked on one side. The linen pants sitting around his hips are low and loose, and there’s something sweetly disheveled about all of it as you prepare for dinner together.

“I’ll sell it to the press,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face as you rinse your mouth.

He chuckles, swiping at a bit of toothpaste foam with the back of his hand from it, then leaning in just enough to nudge your arm. “Can’t take me anywhere.”

“You’re in your own house.”

“Exactly. Even worse.”

You both laugh, and it’s a warm sound. Familiar, the happiness that is bursting around the small, tiled bathroom. It smells like mint and coconut conditioner and leftover sea breeze, like the beach never really left your skin even though you rinsed it off.

The villa had been a last-minute decision—his idea, of course. He’d shown you the listing one rainy Thursday in London, scrolling through photos of wide windows, string lights, and hammocks that swung over white sand.

“Let’s disappear for a week,” he’d said, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “No work, no stress. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

You’d said yes because saying no to Harry was almost impossible. And now, four days in, your skin is freckled and your hair’s gone a bit wild and you haven’t worn real clothes since Tuesday. Only bikinis and linen shirts that you kept getting mixed with his in your pile of clothes that surrounded your suitcases.

He spits into the sink, grimacing dramatically— he was known for dramatics. "I think I got sand in my molars.”

You laugh, wiping your mouth with a towel. “Is that even possible?”

“Dunno. But everything tastes like sunscreen and fish and chips.”

You lean your hip against the counter, tilting your head as you watch him rinse. His profile’s soft in the low light; you notice that his nose is slightly sun-kissed, jaw shadowed with a bit of stubble from the lack of shaving the last few days.

There’s a tiny patch of peeling skin at the tip of his ear from where he’d missed with the sunscreen, and his forearm is still faintly striped from the crocheted bracelets he’d refused to take off in the water.

He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you murmur, pouting out your lip as you give him eyes that seem to gleam in his presence. “Just… you.”

That earns you a lopsided grin and a little shake of his head. The dimple expresses itself and makes you feel warmer than usual. He steps closer, resting his wet toothbrush on the side of the sink.

“You like me like this, don’t you?” he teases, voice low and teasing and full of cheekiness. “All brown and beachy. Bit feral.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re not feral.”

“I’m practically wild.” He leans in until his forehead brushes yours, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, hands pressed to your waist that practically burn. “You should see what happens when I run out of moisturizer— I'm an animal.”

You snort, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed forehead to forehead, his breath warm and minty and his hands, a bit damp from rinsing. sliding over your hips in that easy, familiar way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head slightly. “Got all soft on me these last few days. Used to take you ages to relax.”

“You’re imagining that.” You press your hands to his chest, leaning back a bit in his arms.

Harry shakes his head. "I’m not. First day here you still checked your emails on the beach.”

“Once.” You argue.

“Twice.”

You roll your eyes, "Okay, twice.”

He grins in triumph, then brushes a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now look at you. Barefoot. Sun-drunk. Smiling in your sleep," Harry cocks his head, "All those cheeky bikini bottoms you're flaunting are really turning you into someone else."

You pull back a little to look at him properly. “That’s ‘cause I have good company.”

Harry’s smile softens at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, dramatic again, and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Gonna be hard to leave.”

“I know.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. The quiet isn’t heavy—it’s full, though. The kind of silence that stretches and wraps around you like warm sheets, thick with shared memories of late-night swims, sand between your toes, and early-morning pancakes eaten straight from the pan because neither of you could find a plate in the villa.

“I took a picture,” you say after a while.

“I know. Saw you.”

“Want me to send it to you?”

He perks up. “Only if you caption it with something flattering. Like, ‘my gorgeous man brushing his teeth with the grace of a tanned Grecian god.’”

“More like, ‘Bigfoot sighting.’”

He gasps, mock-hurt as he grasps at his chest. “Cruel. After everything I’ve done for you today—carried your beach tote, bought you three different kinds of ice cream, let you win at Uno—”

“You didn’t let me win.” You fight back, shaking your head.

Harry smirks, “I might’ve— could've played two Draw Fours in a row, but I spared you."

You both grin again, loving the ease of the moment. Then he grabs your phone, taps around, and pulls up the photo. His eyes linger on it longer than you expect.

“You really like it?” you ask, craning your neck to look.

He nods, smiling down at it. "Yeah. Looks like us.”

You step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. His skin is still warm from the shower, his muscles relaxed under your hold.

The familiarity of the muscles makes your stomach twist at all the time spent between the sheets this weekend alone .

“You make me feel like this could be easy,” you say quietly, wondering if he can hear you properly.

He twists slightly to glance at you. “What d’you mean?”

“Like all of it. Loving someone, living with someone. You make it feel… calm. I used to think I wasn’t the kind of person who could do that."

You didn't know you could be loved this way, which makes it harder for him to accept your self-doubt. But you start to see how easy it is, and everything becomes... different.

His expression shifts—soft, sincere. “That’s ‘cause no one’s done it right yet. ‘Til me.”

You chuckle, kissing between his shoulder blades. “So humble.”

He turns, arms slipping around you now, pressing you to his chest as he leans against the bathroom counter.

"I’m serious,” he says, kissing your hair. “Don’t care how messy it gets. I want all of it.”

“Even the part where I use your towel without asking and get it all wet?”

He groans, still smiling beneath it. “You do that again and I’ll break up with you on the spot.”

You grin into his shoulder. “That’s fair.”

Another beat of silence. This time, it’s him who breaks it.

“Stay,” he says.

You hum into his chest, knowing you're not moving for a moment.

“I am staying.”

There's a pause before you feel him shake his head.

“No, I mean… after. When we go back. Don’t go to your place. Just come to mine. Bring your stupid frog mug collection and your sexy little bathrobe and take over my bathroom counter with your serums and your tangled necklaces and just… stay.”

Your heart trips a little at his confession, your eyes leaning up to meet his.

“You mean that?” you whisper, a bit confused by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

He pulls back enough to look you in the eye, the cheeky grin faded into something gentler. “I do. I want all the days with you. All the brushing teeth and stealing towels and waking up tangled up and going to sleep to your snoring—”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure.” He bites his lip.

You kiss him before he can say more, pressing your smile into his mouth. And he kisses you back like he’s already won, like it was always going to be you.

Later, you’ll crawl into bed with your legs still cool from the evening walk on the beach to grab sharks teeth, and his arms pulling you close before you’ve even settled. You’ll fall asleep with the hum of ocean waves in the distance and his breath steady at the back of your neck as you lay tangled in between his tanned limbs and skin.

But for now, you stand in the bathroom, his toothpaste-smeared grin fading into something real, and think: this is it.

This is love. Sun-kissed with hints of mint and ocean breeze.

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i’m not even into the triplets anymore tbh but i still do follow some triplets fanblog and that is how i find out they’re being stalked? since when do you think stalking is an okay thing to do? famous or not, they’re people still and deserve privacy just as much as random people. this is so not okay and creepy on so many levels. they’re people with feelings. if they can’t feel safe in their own home because of some fans that have a creepy weirdo behavior towards them, that’ll lead them to moving out and i genuinely hope they call y’all out on your psycho behavior because this has gone too far.

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You belong with me. 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤

Letter on my site :)

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i miss them terribly.

i think i'll miss them forever.

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ZARRY!!!!!!!

op

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not allowed to fucking film the soundcheck because of surprises? Fine.

Not allowed to film the SHOW?

Hundreds. Of. Dollars. And I’m not gonna be able to leave with a single ounce of physical memory besides overpriced merch to take with me. I get soundcheck and meet and greets, fine. But to be influencers and not let people take videos of the show?

(people in Texas have already said security threatened to remove people with phones out during both soundcheck and the normal show.)

This some absolute bullshit to be fucking honest idgaf what u gotta say in the replies unless you also spent hundreds to see them.

and yes, I love living in the moment but I’d also like to look back years from now and have something physical to remember it by.

this tour deadass gonna be my last straw with them

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<<<fetus 1d being silly

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those jeans were PAINTED ON

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this felt like a shot to the heart.

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two types of people

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i need him biblically

BOOMSHAKALAKA YES LAWD

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harry's touches.

Your hand. He holds it like it's something precious, his fingers brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly while he talks, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. He does it when you're walking side by side, when you're sitting next to each other, when you're lying in bed, facing one another in the quiet glow of the night. His hand fits so naturally in yours, like it was made to be there.

Your face. He cups it with both hands when he kisses you, his palms warm against your skin. Sometimes, it's just his fingertips, ghosting over your jawline, your cheekbone, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. He tilts your chin up when he wants you to look at him, his gaze locking onto yours, filled with something deep, something overwhelming. And when you're tired, when you're curled up against him, he smooths his hand over your temple, tracing over your features with the gentlest touch, as if memorizing you all over again.

Your thigh. He rests his palm there instinctively, whether you're in the car, at dinner, or on the couch watching a movie. His fingers drum absentmindedly, or squeeze lightly when he wants your attention. When you're sitting on his lap, he rubs slow circles over the skin, his touch possessive in the most effortless way. And when you're tangled together, bodies pressed close, his hand slides up, fingertips pressing just enough to make you shiver, to make you feel like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

Your hip. He holds onto it when he's guiding you through a crowded room, when he's pulling you closer in a slow dance, when he's standing behind you, leaning in, his lips close to your ear. His grip is firm, grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you. And in the quiet moments, when you're lying together, half-asleep, his hand settles there naturally, fingers splaying lazily over the curve, as if he just needs to feel you there, right within his reach.

Your ass. He pretends he's subtle about it, but he's not. A quick squeeze when he walks past you in the kitchen. A lingering touch when he's pulling you into a hug. A full-on grab when he's feeling playful, making you yelp before he grins, all dimples and mischief. And when he's kissing you, when things get heated, his hands slide down without hesitation, gripping, pulling, holding you against him like he can't stand the space between you.

Every touch is intentional. Every touch is his way of saying, I'm here. I see you. I want you.

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NOBODY FUCK WITH ME!

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i can stare at him for hours and i’m not even exaggerating

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i want to take a nap with matt. that’s it. that’s the post. keep scrolling weirdo.