nickistuffs

[nickistuffs]

Hello Again Pt. 1

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: This feels fated to meet again and again and again

Word Count: 3.07k

Warnings: None. It's It's just fluff and also a slow burn.

Read Chimed Encounters first to start before this one.

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

A ping from your email broke your concentration on work. You sighed, already assuming it was one of your manufacturers asking for yet another confirmation about a product you’d been working over for months. Without much thought, you clicked on the notification, ready to fire off a quick response.

To your surprise, the email wasn’t from a manufacturer—it was from Sam, your old friend and occasional collaborator. His subject line read: “Job Offer You Can’t Refuse.” Intrigued, you opened the email and quickly scanned its contents.

It seemed Sam had found you a project that piqued his interest—and yours. The pay was good, the timeline was tight, and the concept sounded straightforward.

You immediately picked up your phone and called him. No need for formalities; this was Sam, after all.

“Hey, Sam,” you said as soon as he answered, skipping any pleasantries. “What’s this mysterious job offer you’re dangling in front of me?”

“Oh, that.” He sounded smug, which only made you roll your eyes. “I’m under an NDA, so I can’t say too much, but it’s a pop-up store project. The whole thing needs to be modular and removable, so it can be packed up and relocated in two months. Easy, right? You in?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, I’m in! Sounds simple enough. Send over the contract and details, and I’ll get started.”

“I knew I could count on you,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the phone. “See you onsite, Y/N.” ...

The day of the meeting arrived, and you were ready—or so you thought.

Sam couldn’t make it and had entrusted you to lead the meeting solo, but you were used to working independently, so it wasn’t a problem. Dressed in a professional outfit that balanced comfort and confidence, you walked into the office where the meeting was being held.

As you glanced around at the product displays, your heart skipped a beat. You could already tell this was a high-profile client. Their products, branding, and visuals exuded quality and creativity.

As you tried to calm your nerves, the conference room door opened, and a group of people filed out.

A friendly woman approached you, pulling you back to reality.

“Hello, are you Ms. Y/N L/N?”

“Yes,” you replied with a polite smile, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I have a meeting with your visual merchandising manager.”

“Perfect, you’re our two o’clock appointment. Please come in.”

You stepped inside the sleek, minimalistic conference room and began setting up.

“Our lead designer just stepped out for a quick break,” the woman explained, handing you a water bottle. “They’ll be back in ten minutes and a few other designers. Is there anything else I can get you while you wait? Coffee?”

“Water is fine. Thank you,” you replied.

You opened your laptop, pulled up your notes and sketches, and jotted down a few ideas in your journal. You were mid-thought when the door opened behind you.

You turned, ready to greet whoever entered, but the words caught in your throat.

It was him. Harry Styles.

...

You both stared at each other, completely stunned. Of all the people you could run into at this meeting, it had to be him. You hadn’t seen Harry since your last encounter at Felice’s Café.

For a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down, your mind scrambling to process his presence. He looked just as effortlessly charming as you remembered, his warm green eyes flickering with recognition and surprise.

Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice smooth but slightly uncertain.

“Hello, I’m Harry Styles. I’m the owner of the company. Nice to meet you…?”

It took you a second to respond, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you as well.”

He smiled, extending a hand toward you. You scrambled to your feet, standing taller than you’d expected, and reached out to shake his hand.

Your hands met, and you shook it—a bit too long, you thought as the realization hit. The warmth of his hand lingered, making you feel like time had momentarily stopped again.

You quickly dropped your hand and clasped it behind your back, your face heating up.

For a split second, an awkward silence filled the room. Harry seemed like he was about to say something, his lips parting as if to speak—

But just then, the door opened, and a small group of people filed into the room, shattering the quiet bubble you’d both been trapped in.

“Ah, great,” said a cheerful man from the group, clapping his hands together as he approached. “Harry, you’re here. And this must be Ms. L/N!”

The moment was gone. Harry straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly to one of polite professionalism, though you caught a flicker of something in his eyes as he glanced back at you.

You offered a polite nod to the newcomers, forcing yourself to focus as introductions were made. Yet, as the meeting began, you couldn’t help but feel like something important had been left unsaid.

And judging by the way Harry occasionally glanced your way, he felt the same.

...

As the meeting progressed, Harry found himself quietly observing you. Initially, he’d assumed you might be shy or reserved—perhaps because of the nervous energy that had lingered when you first met. But as you delved into your presentation, he realized just how wrong he was.

The confidence with which you spoke captivated the room. Your tone was steady yet approachable, and your words were carefully chosen to articulate your vision. You presented your design concepts with precision, highlighting the intricate details and practical functionality behind each element.

Harry leaned forward slightly in his chair, his interest piqued. The way you seamlessly balanced creativity with logic was impressive. He could tell how much thought you’d put into this project—every choice seemed deliberate, every detail purposeful.

What surprised him most, however, was your ability to command the room. You weren’t just presenting; you were selling the design, painting a picture of how the concept would come to life. And the team was eating it up.

He stole a glance around the room. His team, typically quick to interject or challenge ideas, sat quietly, nodding along with your points. Even he couldn’t help but admire the way you navigated through the questions and feedback with such ease.

When you paused for questions, Harry cleared his throat and spoke, his voice cutting through the room.

“I really appreciate the thought you’ve put into the design—it’s incredibly well-considered. I do have a question, though,” he said, his tone genuinely curious. “You mentioned incorporating natural textures into the layout. Can you elaborate on how those elements will remain modular while still maintaining their aesthetic appeal?”

You turned to him, locking eyes for a brief moment. His question wasn’t just thoughtful—it showed that he’d been paying close attention to your presentation.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” you began, your voice steady. “That’s a great question. For the natural textures, such as reclaimed wood and stone-inspired finishes, I’ve ensured that they’re lightweight and easily removable. The modular framework uses a system of interchangeable panels, so the aesthetic can be retained without compromising functionality.”

Harry nodded, clearly impressed. “That makes sense. And it aligns well with what we’re trying to achieve here—something unique, but also adaptable. Nicely done.”

You gave him a polite smile, though inside, his compliment sent a ripple of pride through you.

As the meeting continued, Harry couldn’t help but feel drawn to the passion and expertise you brought to your work. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself—so composed and articulate, yet with a spark of creativity that set you apart.

And as the session wrapped up, he found himself wondering if this serendipitous reunion might be more than just a chance encounter.

As handshakes and congratulations were exchanged, the manager gave a final nod of approval, and Harry himself followed suit, offering his praise for your presentation. It had been a resounding success.

With most of the team filing out of the room, the buzz of conversation slowly faded, leaving you alone at the conference table, still stuffing your things into your bag. You were on a high from the meeting—everything had gone so smoothly, but the exhaustion from a long day was beginning to catch up.

Suddenly, you heard a soft cough. Looking up, you were surprised to see Harry still standing near the door.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, startled. “Are there any more questions you need from me, Mr. Styles?” You quickly adjusted your posture, feeling a bit flustered.

Harry smiled, the easy warmth you remembered from your past encounter resurfacing. “You can call me Harry,” he replied with a casual, almost reassuring tone. “I’m not too big on formalities. Can I call you Y/N?”

“That’s alright with me,” you answered with a smile, pleased by the friendly tone of the conversation. It felt much more natural now that the formality had faded.

A beat of silence passed before Harry spoke again, his eyes twinkling with a hint of curiosity. “So, how long have you been eating breakfast at Feli’s Café?”

You blinked, a bit taken aback by the question. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Oh, I’ve been going there for a while now. I usually grab a matcha latte and sometimes a sandwich. Feli’s a good friend of mine—she’s the one who got me hooked on her menu.”

Good thing I found your journal, your presentation was fantastic. Harry complimented.

Thank you again for giving it back. and sorry I was on a time crunch that I didn't introduce myself.

Harry chuckled softly, his expression warm.

You felt a sudden shift in the air between you two, the unspoken moment starting to surface. But before either of you could delve deeper into the conversation, a voice from the hallway interrupted the moment.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the manager popped his head back in, looking around. “But I just wanted to confirm we’re all set for the next steps, Y/N? Can we count on you for the design rollout next week?”

You gave a nod, quickly snapping back into professional mode. “Yes, everything is in order. I'll start on the proper revisions needed for the plans."

“Perfect,” the manager smiled, satisfied. “Thanks again for your excellent work today.”

As he left the room, you turned back to Harry, who was still standing near the door, clearly reluctant to leave just yet.

“I guess I should let you get back to your day,” you said, trying to break the lingering tension. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

Harry’s smile widened, and he nodded slowly. “Definitely.”

...

It had been a month since you completed your work for Pleasing. You scrolled through their Instagram, admiring how your designs brought their brand to life. Seeing people lining up to buy their high-quality products filled you with a deep sense of pride.

You’d only seen Harry a handful of times during the project, but he always seemed busy, caught up in meetings or surrounded by other people.

Sighing loudly, you collapsed onto your bed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over you. You had plans to join an art market this month, where you’d sell your prints, stickers, and other handmade knickknacks. It was something to look forward to, at least.

“Will we ever meet again?” you murmured to yourself, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, what are the chances?” You already knew the answer before you even finished the thought. Harry was probably the busiest person you’d ever met, and you were just a nobody in his world.

Your heart felt heavy as you grappled with the cold, hard reality—he might have only been a fleeting moment in your life, a beautiful memory to cherish but not something meant to last. ...

A month had passed, and Harry still hadn’t been able to properly speak with you. He had been trying—desperately, in fact. He’d gone to the café where you first met, hoping to run into you again, but you never showed up, or you came at different times. He even tried catching you after work, but you were always whisked away to other locations or surrounded by people.

In a final act of determination, Harry had even approached HR for your contact information, but they refused to give it to him. Frustrated and defeated, he began to think maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

As he walked home one evening, his eyes caught on a brightly colored poster advertising an upcoming art market at the same location he frequented. He stared at it for a moment, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest before he brushed it off with a sigh. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe it was never destined to happen.

But something about the poster lingered in his mind—a quiet, persistent thought that made him decide, almost on impulse, to go to the market anyway. Perhaps, by some happy chance, fate would intervene.

You were busy setting up your booth in the bustling market, carefully adjusting misaligned prints and rearranging trinkets to create the perfect display. The air buzzed with chatter and laughter, the atmosphere lively as other artists greeted passersby and showcased their work.

“Your paintings are just lovely, dear,” an elderly woman remarked, her eyes sparkling as she pointed to one of your pieces.

“They really are,” her partner chimed in with a warm smile. “We could hang one in the hallway, couldn’t we?”

“Excuse me, miss,” another potential buyer interjected, holding up one of your prints. “How much is this?”

“For the A4 size, it’s 25 pounds,” you replied with a friendly smile.

More people began to gather, drawn by the charm of your artwork. You did your best to keep up, answering questions, wrapping purchases, and making small talk with the growing crowd. It was a whirlwind, but you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride seeing so many people appreciating your work.

...

Walking through the bustling market, Harry wandered past the stalls he always loved to visit. He admired the fresh vegetables and fruits, browsed through racks of thrifted clothes, and flipped through stacks of vinyl records that always piqued his interest. But today, something different caught his attention—a special event featuring local artists who had been invited to showcase and sell their work.

As he turned toward the next stall, his eyes landed on something—or rather, someone.

It was you.

There you stood in front of your stall, surrounded by your artwork, speaking to customers with an energy that radiated warmth and passion. The light in your eyes, the way you animatedly gestured while describing your creations, the genuine smile that lit up your face—it was everything he remembered and more.

For a moment, Harry froze, rooted in place as he took it all in. You looked so at home in your element, effortlessly captivating the people around you. His heart raced, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through him. But before doubt could creep in, before he could second-guess himself, he moved.

Harry started walking toward you, his steps quick and purposeful. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but there was only one clear thought that anchored him: now or never.

This was his chance to finally talk to you—to close the distance that had been lingering between you both for far too long. He wasn’t going to let it slip away again.

...

It has been a good day so far. People were buying your prints, admiring your stickers, and complimenting your craftsmanship. You smiled to yourself, feeling content with the steady stream of visitors who appreciated your work.

Just as you reached for your water bottle, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hello, again, Y/N.”

You froze, the cap of your bottle slipping through your fingers. Slowly, you turned toward the source of the voice, your heart skipping a beat.

There he was—Harry. Standing there amidst the sea of market-goers, looking as effortlessly charming as ever in a white T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses perched on his curls. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile as your eyes met.

“Harry?” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought it was you,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flickered over your stall, taking in the vibrant prints and trinkets on display. “This is all yours?”

You nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, just a little side project I do. How…how did you find me here?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I was just wandering around, and there you were. Funny how the universe works, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, funny.”

He looked around at your stall again, picking up one of your prints—a delicate watercolor of flowers intertwined with abstract shapes. “This is beautiful,” he said earnestly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the paper. “You’re really talented.”

“Thank you,” you said, warmth spreading through your chest at the compliment.

“Do you take commissions?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes intensely focused on you.

“Sometimes,” you said, tilting your head. “Why? Are you looking for something specific?”

“I might be,” he replied cryptically, his lips curving into a playful smirk. Before you could press him further, he added, “But first, do you have a break coming up? I was thinking I could buy you a coffee.”

Your breath caught at his unexpected offer. “A coffee?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You’ve been on my mind lately, Y/N. Thought maybe this time we could actually catch up without a room full of people or work deadlines in the way.”

Your pulse quickened as you tried to process his words. Was he really asking you out, or was this just Harry being Harry—charming and polite?

“Well,” you started, glancing at your stall. “I do have a little time before the market closes…”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “I’ll wait for you to pack up, or we can just grab something nearby. Whatever works for you.”

As he spoke, the faint hum of the market seemed to fade into the background. For the first time in weeks, the heavy feeling in your chest lifted just a little. Maybe this wasn’t just a fleeting moment after all.

...

Okay, this is actually too long I’ll make it into two parts. Give you guys some suspense. Thank you for reading everyone! ☺️

…

Hello, Again Pt.2

Here’s part two loves hope you enjoy it!

[nickistuffs]

legitimately my first feminist awakening as a ten year old child was realizing that girls were expected to respect “boy stuff” but boys were never expected to respect “girl stuff”

[nickistuffs]

Teasing and Warm Embraces

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: Pastries and endless cuddles turns into playful teasing as Y/N clings to Harry

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None. just fluff

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

You and Harry hadn’t been able to meet up the other day, but while scrolling through one of his fan sites, you came across a video of him out with a friend. The first thing that crossed your mind—aside from how weird it was that someone had secretly filmed your boyfriend during a private conversation—was just how cozy he looked. Wrapped up in his puffer jacket, slightly hunched against the cold, he looked like the definition of warmth and comfort.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling with affection. All you wanted in that moment was to cuddle up with him, bury your face in his chest, and let his arms wrap around you, keeping you safe in his embrace.

"So cute," you murmured to yourself, grinning at the thought.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification.

Harry ☺️: Y/N, got us some pastries! I’ll be over in 20 mins. See you 😍🥐

Your smile widened as you quickly typed back.

Y/N 😗: Okie! Be safe on the road. 🫡😗

Harry ☺️: 😌👌

Setting your phone down, you stared up at the ceiling, still thinking about that video. The way Harry looked all bundled up in his puffer jacket reminded you so much of Snoopy—soft, round, and utterly huggable. You let out a little laugh, recalling the memes fans had already made comparing him to the beloved cartoon dog. They weren’t wrong.

You could already picture him showing up at your door, a bag of pastries in hand, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold, and that familiar smile lighting up his face. The thought alone made your heart flutter.

Moments like this made you realize just how much you loved him.

After watching the video and giggling over the Snoopy memes, you decided to change Harry’s caller ID photo. He called you often, and with people occasionally snooping through your phone, it felt better to have something more subtle—just in case.

Just as you finished, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You didn’t even hesitate, rushing to open it.

The moment Harry stood before you, bundled up in his puffer jacket, cheeks rosy from the cold, you couldn’t hold back. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss that made him stumble back a step.

"Oof—" he chuckled against your lips, steadying himself. "I see I was missed."

You hummed in response, still holding onto him tightly. "Hi, love. Sorry I didn’t see you yesterday," he murmured softly.

"It’s fine. You’re here now." You refused to let go, your arms staying firmly wrapped around him.

Harry quickly caught on that you had no plans of releasing him anytime soon, so with a small laugh, he adjusted his grip, waddling both of you inside while still holding you close. He managed to drop the bag of pastries onto the nearest table before wrapping his arms around you properly.

"Hi," he whispered, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

You sighed happily, doing the same, inhaling his familiar scent. The two of you swayed gently, neither wanting to let go just yet. The warmth of his embrace, the soft fabric of his jacket against your skin—it was perfect.

"You are so cute, Harry."

He tensed for a moment before burying his face deeper into your shoulder, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Thank you… You’re cute as well, Y/N."

You smiled against him, feeling his warmth seep into you. This was all you needed.

After a few more moments of peaceful swaying, Harry pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes soft with affection. His hands rested at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles against your sweater.

"So… did you eat yet?" he asked, tilting his head.

You shook your head. "Was waiting for you."

Harry's lips curled into a smile. "Good thing I brought pastries, then."

Reluctantly, you let him go as he grabbed the paper bag and walked toward your kitchen. You trailed after him, watching as he unpacked the treats—flaky croissants, a couple of fruit danishes, and a cinnamon roll that you were sure he had picked just for you.

He handed you the cinnamon roll with a knowing smirk. "Figured you'd want this one."

You gasped dramatically. "You do love me."

Harry chuckled, bumping his hip against yours playfully. "Took you this long to figure that out?"

Grinning, you took a bite, the warm cinnamon melting in your mouth. You let out a satisfied hum, making Harry watch you with a fond expression before he picked up his own croissant and leaned against the counter.

As you both ate in comfortable silence, you pulled out your phone, showing him the Snoopy meme that had made you laugh earlier.

"By the way, look at this—it's you."

Harry wiped his fingers on a napkin before taking your phone. The moment he saw the side-by-side comparison of himself in his puffer jacket and Snoopy, his mouth fell open.

"No way." He let out a disbelieving laugh. "I don't look like that."

You burst into laughter. "You do! Look at the stance! The shape! The absolute coziness!"

Harry groaned, shaking his head with a smile. "My own girlfriend bullying me... unbelievable."

"It’s not bullying, it’s appreciation." You poked his cheek. "I love cozy Harry."

He sighed dramatically but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Fine. If you love cozy Harry so much, you should be honored to receive—" before you could react, he lunged forward, wrapping you in his puffer-jacket-covered arms and smothering you against his chest.

You shrieked, laughing as he dramatically wobbled side to side, squeezing you tighter. "I take it back! I take it back—you're too warm!"

Harry only held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Nope. You're stuck with me now."

You sighed in defeat, but in reality, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

After the playful attack of cozy Harry, you both finally settled down at the kitchen table, snacking on the pastries he brought. The warmth of the tea in your hands and the comforting presence of Harry beside you made everything feel even cozier.

Harry took a slow sip of his tea, then smirked as he reached for his phone. "By the way, Y/N… you say I look like Snoopy, but you look like this."

He turned his screen toward you, revealing a picture of Mei Mei and Abby from Turning Red—one of them clinging onto the other like an overly affectionate koala.

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Harry burst into laughter. "It's literally you! Look—" he zoomed in, pointing. "The way you latch onto me like a koala? Check. The round, squishable cheeks? Also, check."

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could protest, he gently pinched your cheeks.

"So cute and round, I wanna bite them," he teased, tugging at them playfully.

You swatted his hands away, dramatically rubbing your cheeks. "Well, if I’m Abby, then you’re Snoopy!"

Harry gasped, feigning offense. "I am not—"

"Oh, you are," you cut him off, grabbing your phone and quickly pulling up the meme again. "Look at the resemblance! You are my Snoopy, and I am Abby. Case closed."

Harry groaned, shaking his head, but the wide grin on his face betrayed him. "I can’t believe I’m dating a gremlin."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, I do." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before mumbling, "My little cutie."

You tried to fight the smile spreading across your face but failed miserably. With a satisfied sip of your tea, you knew one thing for sure—this was your kind of perfect.

...

I live for the puffer jacket =)

[nickistuffs]

Savouring Our Memories

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: You both found a way to save your memories together

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: None

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

Y/N and Harry were hanging out at Feli’s Café, the familiar hum of chatter and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. You sat across from him, lost in your own little world, carefully pasting crinkled bits of paper into the worn pages of your journal. The soft scratch of pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages were the only sounds coming from your side of the table.

Harry, sipping his black coffee, watched you with growing curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly as he took in the mess of ticket stubs, torn napkins with scribbled notes, and pressed flowers you were carefully arranging.

“What’s that, Y/N?” he finally asked, setting his cup down.

You glanced up from your work, a small smile playing on your lips. “Oh, this? It’s just my junk journal,” you said, smoothing out a wrinkled receipt before taping it in place. “It’s not as serious as my daily planner or to-do lists. This one’s more personal—it’s just little memories I want to keep. Things from events, random moments, little pieces of my life.”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “So, like a scrapbook?”

“Kinda,” you admitted, flipping through the pages to show him. “But it’s more chaotic, less structured. I just keep whatever makes me happy or reminds me of something special.”

He reached over, carefully tracing a faded movie ticket with his fingers. “That’s pretty cool,” he mused. “I didn’t know you did this.”

You shrugged. “It’s just for me. But I guess it’s nice to look back and remember.”

That’s when Harry asked, without thinking, “Do you have anything from our dates?”

The question hung between you for a moment, and his expression shifted—like he hadn't meant to say it out loud, or maybe he hadn’t realized how much he wanted to know the answer.

You paused, fingers hovering over the page, before flipping a few sections back. A faint blush crept up your cheeks as you landed on a particular spread.

There, tucked between a coffee-stained napkin and a concert wristband, was a familiar receipt—the one from your first late-night diner run together. A small, hand-drawn doodle of a smiley face was scribbled on the corner, one Harry had absentmindedly drawn while waiting for the check. Next to it, a torn scrap from a paper menu with a little inside joke written in your handwriting. And at the bottom, a pressed flower, the same one he had tucked behind your ear that night.

Harry’s eyes softened as he took in the page, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “You kept all this?”

You laughed lightly, suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah… I mean, like I said, I like to keep little things that make me happy.”

He didn’t say anything for a second, just looking at the page, then at you. Then, with a smirk, he leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his coffee. “Good to know I made the cut.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. “Don’t let it go to your head, Styles.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced back at the journal. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for it but wasn’t sure if he should.

You noticed and tilted your head, studying him for a moment before speaking.

“You can flip through it if you want,” you offered, looking up at him. “It’s fine with me.”

Harry’s gaze flickered from you to the journal, then back again, as if weighing the invitation. Slowly, he reached out, carefully turning the pages, his eyes scanning the memories you had chosen to keep.

He lingered on certain things—a Polaroid of a rainy afternoon, a dried petal from a bouquet, a scrawled lyric on the back of an old receipt. Each little piece told a story, and for a moment, it felt like he was seeing parts of himself through your eyes.

“This is really something,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You bit your lip, watching him as he traced the edges of a familiar note—one he had written to you and had long forgotten about.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It really is.”

As he turned another page, a small postcard with vibrant cherry blossoms caught his attention. His brows lifted. “Oh, you recently went to Japan?”

You nodded, smiling at the memory. “Yeah! It was a short business trip at first, but I extended it for a little holiday. I got obsessed with collecting the train station stamps—they’re so cool! Each station has its own unique design.”

Harry flipped the postcard over, his fingers lightly grazing the inked stamps decorating the corners. He could almost imagine you running from one platform to another, beaming with excitement every time you found a new one. The thought made his heart warm.

“That’s brilliant,” he said, grinning. “I never tried that.”

“It became a whole side quest for me. I even went out of my way to visit stations I didn’t need to, just to get their stamps.”

Harry let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course you did.” Then, without really meaning to, he added, “We should do a trip together sometime.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “A trip?”

“Yeah,” he said, more certain now. “Doesn’t have to be Japan—unless you want it to be—but, y’know… a holiday. Just us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. Traveling with Harry, making new memories together, filling more pages in your journal with moments that belonged just to the two of you.

“I’d like that,” you admitted softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Harry’s smile matched yours, slow and sincere. “Good,” he said, tapping the journal lightly. “Then maybe next time, we’ll have a whole section just for us.”

And just like that, the thought of the future became something neither of you was afraid to dream about. ...

Harry carefully flipped through the last few pages of your journal before landing on a blank one. He traced the empty space with his fingers for a second, then gently closed the book and handed it back to you.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know journals can be personal.”

You took it from his hands, feeling a mix of warmth and shyness at how much he had seen. “You’re welcome,” you replied with a small smile. “I don’t usually let people look through it, but… I didn’t mind with you.”

Harry’s eyes softened at your words. He sat back for a moment, seemingly thoughtful, before reaching for the receipt from the coffee he had bought for the both of you. He held it out to you with a knowing look.

“Here,” he said. “Add this to your journal.”

You blinked at him before letting out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at his thoughtfulness. Smiling, you reached for the receipt and carefully pasted it onto the empty page. The fresh ink from the café’s register smudged slightly as you pressed it down, marking yet another small moment worth remembering.

“There,” you said, admiring the way it fit on the page. “Now we just need to add a photo of both of us.”

Harry grinned, pulling out his phone and holding it up between the two of you. “Then let’s fix that right now.”

Before you could protest, he leaned in close, his cheek almost brushing against yours as he angled the camera. You barely had a second to smile before the shutter clicked.

Harry glanced at the screen, nodding in approval. “Perfect,” he said, turning the phone so you could see.

You laughed at the sight—the two of you, cozy in the café, cups of coffee on the table, and a hint of amusement in your expressions. It was simple, but it was real.

“That one’s definitely going in,” you said, already imagining the photo nestled beside the receipt.

Harry smirked. “Good. Then this’ll officially be our page.”

As you reached for your journal again, thinking to find the perfect spot for the photo, you couldn’t help but think—maybe this was just the first of many pages the two of you would fill together.

Harry watched as you carefully smoothed out the page where the receipt now sat, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Before he could say anything else, you suddenly closed the journal and stood up, eyes alight with excitement.

“Let’s go, Harry,” you said, grabbing your bag. “I wanna bring you somewhere.”

Harry raised an amused brow, taking the last sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you teased, already heading for the door. “Come on.”

Harry chuckled as he grabbed his coat and followed you outside, the crisp evening air greeting you both as you stepped onto the bustling street. The city lights flickered above, a mix of warm yellows and neon blues, casting a glow on the sidewalk.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, walking beside you. “You know, I’m trusting you with this mystery adventure.”

“You should,” you said playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “I have excellent taste.”

Harry smirked. “Debatable.”

You gasped in mock offense, but the grin on your face gave you away. “Just for that, I should make you wait even longer to find out.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Lead the way.”

With a victorious smile, you grabbed his hand and pulled him along, weaving through the lively streets. Neither of you noticed the way your fingers stayed intertwined, nor how easily your steps fell in sync. But one thing was certain—wherever you were taking him, Harry already knew he was going to love it.

...

You led Harry down a few winding streets, the two of you walking side by side under the glow of streetlights. The energy of the city hummed around you, but you were too focused on your destination to notice how Harry occasionally glanced at you, curious about where you were taking him.

Finally, you came to a stop in front of a cozy little shop, its large windows displaying an array of journals, art supplies, and beautifully arranged stationery. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, making it look even more inviting against the cool night air.

With a triumphant grin, you turned to Harry and gestured toward the shop. “Ta-da!”

Harry glanced up at the sign above the door, then back at you, smirking. “An art supply and stationery store?”

You grinned, already tugging him inside. “One of my favorite places.”

The moment you stepped through the doors, the familiar scent of paper, ink, and wood filled the air. Your eyes immediately lit up, knowing exactly where you wanted to go.

“Ohh,” Harry murmured, looking around at the neatly arranged shelves. “You’re gonna buy something for your journal?”

“Yup,” you said, nodding excitedly before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward an aisle you knew by heart.

Harry let himself be dragged along, laughing as you expertly navigated the store like a seasoned explorer. “You really know your way around, huh?”

“Of course,” you said proudly. “I’ve been coming here for years. I know all the best stuff.”

You led him straight to the section with the high-end notebooks you loved—leather-bound, thick pages, the kind that made journaling feel even more special. You ran your fingers along the spines, eyes scanning for something new to add to your collection.

Harry watched you with quiet amusement. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

You turned to him with a playful pout. “That’s because this is my candy store.”

He chuckled, leaning against the shelf. “Alright then, what’s the best one?”

Harry took the notebook from you, flipping through the pages with a thoughtful expression. “It’s nice,” he admitted, running his fingers over the smooth paper. “So, are you getting it?”

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip. “I want to, but I already have so many…”

Harry smirked before casually slipping the notebook into his own hands. “Then let me get it for you.”

Your eyes widened. “Harry, no, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it a little souvenir from our spontaneous adventure.”

You stared at him for a moment, warmth creeping into your chest at the gesture. But then an idea struck you, and you reached for another notebook—one with a sleek black cover, something that suited him.

“Actually,” you said, handing it to him, “I’ll buy this one for you.”

Harry raised a brow. “For me?”

“Yes,” you nodded, grinning. “It’s time you start a junk journal. You’re the most adventurous person I know—you need it.”

Harry glanced down at the notebook, then back at you, something flickering in his eyes—something fond and unspoken. He took it from your hands, weighing it for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle.

“So, you’re saying I should start collecting little scraps of my life, just like you?”

“Exactly.” You nudged him playfully. “It’ll be fun. And who knows, maybe one day, we’ll have pages filled with memories together.”

Harry tilted his head, studying you with that slow, knowing smile of his. “You really are something else, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“As long as you help me figure out what’s actually worth saving,” he teased, tapping the cover.

“Deal.”

And just like that, the two of you walked toward the register, holding a new notebook—both filled with the promise of memories yet to be made. ...

With Harry's journal tucked securely in a paper bag, you and Harry stepped out of the store, hands still intertwined. The night air was crisp, the soft glow of streetlights casting a warm halo over the quiet street. It was the kind of night that felt timeless, the kind that settled deep in your bones as something to remember.

As you walked, Harry suddenly slowed, his gaze locking onto something across the street. A vintage photo booth, its red curtains slightly worn but undeniably charming, sat nestled between two small shops. His grip on your hand tightened as excitement flickered in his eyes.

“Oh, we have to do this,” he declared, already tugging you forward.

You laughed, stumbling slightly at his enthusiasm. “Harry—what?”

“Come on, my treat,” he grinned, pulling back the curtain and gesturing for you to slip inside first.

Shaking your head but unable to hide your amusement, you ducked into the tiny booth, shifting to make space on the narrow bench. Harry slid in beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. The space felt even smaller now, the warmth of him a quiet presence beside you.

“Alright,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “How are we posing?”

You smirked. “First one, normal. Second, goofy. Third, dramatic. Fourth… surprise me.”

Harry chuckled. “I like the way you think.”

The countdown began. Just as the first flash went off, you both smiled naturally, the picture capturing an easy, perfect moment. The second flash came right after, catching you mid-laugh as Harry pulled a ridiculous face, his eyes wide and lips pursed.

For the third, you leaned your cheek against your hand, gazing dramatically into the distance, while Harry rested his forehead against the back of his hand, as if struck by some grand tragedy.

The timer for the fourth picture began to tick down.

“Alright, surprise me,” you teased, turning to him with a playful glint in your eye.

And then—just as the camera flashed—Harry leaned in and kissed you.

Your breath caught as his lips met yours, soft yet certain. A spark shot down your spine, the rest of the world fading into the quiet hum of the moment. For a second, you froze, completely taken off guard. But as the shutter clicked, you melted into it, your hand instinctively reaching for his cheek, drawn into the warmth of him.

The machine whirred, printing the photo strip, but neither of you moved just yet. When Harry finally pulled back, a small, almost shy smile played at his lips.

“Well,” he murmured, voice laced with quiet amusement. “That was definitely a surprise.”

You blinked at him, still slightly dazed, before letting out a breathless laugh. “Yeah… you got me.”

The strip slid from the slot, and Harry reached for it, his fingers brushing against yours as you both looked down. There they were—the first three photos filled with laughter and playful antics. And then the last one: the two of you caught mid-kiss, your hand against his face, the moment frozen in time.

Harry smirked, tilting the strip toward you. “Think this deserves a spot in my journal?”

You met his gaze, your heart still racing, before shaking your head with a grin. “Only if you start yours with a copy.”

“Absolutely,” he said softly, tucking the strip safely into the bag with your new notebooks.

As you stepped out of the booth, hands still intertwined, the night air wrapped around you once more. But something had changed. This memory wasn’t just for the journal—it was the unspoken beginning of something deeper, something neither of them needed words to define.

...

I found love in keeping the mundane objects of my life.

[nickistuffs]

Mutt

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: Music brings out the feelings for each other

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry was reorganizing his flat, a task he had warned you would take all day. He didn’t want to ruin your weekend with hours of sorting through old belongings, shifting furniture, and dealing with the inevitable dust clouds that came with such a massive undertaking.

But you insisted.

You weren’t about to let him drown in a sea of half-packed boxes and misplaced books alone. Besides, the thought of spending the day with him—even buried under a mess—was far more appealing than whatever else you had planned. So, despite his protests, you showed up at his doorstep, sleeves already rolled up and determination written all over your face.

Harry sighed, shaking his head with an exasperated, albeit fond, smile. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“And you really don’t have a choice,” you shot back, stepping past him into the flat. It was worse than you expected—papers stacked in precarious towers, a couch half-pushed against the wall, and a truly horrifying number of half-empty tea mugs scattered across various surfaces.

Harry groaned. “Told you it was a disaster.”

You smirked, kicking off your shoes before closing the distance between you. “Good thing I’m here, then,” you murmured.

Then, before he could respond, you cupped his face and kissed him, slow and lingering, the warmth of his lips momentarily making you forget the chaos around you. His breath hitched in surprise, but it only took him a second to melt into you, his hands finding their way to your waist, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled away, you grinned. “Now, where do we start?”

Harry blinked, clearly still a little dazed. Then, with a chuckle, he shook his head. “You are impossible.”

But the way he looked at you—soft, amused, and just a little in love—told you he didn’t mind one bit.

...

“You know,” he mused, watching you attempt to neatly stack his books, “I was only half-serious about you helping me.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “And yet, here I am, doing the work while you stand there looking pretty.”

He laughed, shaking his head before walking over to the record player. “Well, if you insist on being productive, might as well set the mood.”

A few seconds later, the scratch of the needle met the vinyl, and a warm, familiar tune filled the room. You paused, glancing over as he adjusted the volume, swaying slightly to the beat.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really just looking for an excuse to stop working, aren’t you?”

He turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Guilty as charged. But I’d argue that music makes everything better—including manual labor.”

Shaking your head, you returned to the books, but you found yourself tapping your foot to the rhythm, the once-daunting task suddenly feeling a little lighter.

And with Harry humming along in the background, the afternoon didn’t seem like such a waste after all.

A familiar melody filled the room, the smooth rhythm of Mutt by Leon Thomas easing into the air like silk. Immediately, a smile tugged at your lips. Without thinking, you started humming along, swaying your hips lightly as you stacked the last book.

Harry caught it instantly. “You know this one?”

You turned to face him, arms crossing playfully. “Of course I do. Do you?”

His smirk deepened. “Wouldn’t have put it on if I didn’t, love.”

As the verse played, you let the words slip from your lips, soft and unguarded.

"Take your time, what’s the rush?"

Without missing a beat, Harry’s voice intertwined with yours, effortlessly smooth.

"Baby, I’m a dog, I’m a mutt."

His eyes gleamed with something unreadable—something playful yet… intentional. Before you could process it, his hands found your hips, fingers pressing just enough to pull you closer. His touch sent a wave of warmth up your spine, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself move with him, matching his rhythm, your bodies swaying to the melody like it was second nature.

A laugh bubbled up in your chest. “So you can dance?”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “I can do a lot of things.”

The way he whispered it sent a shiver down your spine, heat unfurling in your stomach. Your hands moved on their own, sliding up to rest on his shoulders, fingertips grazing the back of his neck. The intimacy of it all—the song, the way your bodies moved together—was intoxicating.

Still singing, Harry’s grip tightened just slightly, grounding you in the moment. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and certain. His voice, rich and unhurried, wrapped around you like velvet.

“You sound good,” he murmured, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

You smiled, tilting your head. “So do you.”

For a moment, the world outside his apartment didn’t exist—just the two of you, the music, and the unspoken tension lingering between every whispered lyric.

The song continued, wrapping around you both in a warm, intimate haze. Your bodies swayed together effortlessly, like you’d done this a hundred times before, yet the electricity humming between you made it feel brand new. Harry's hands, firm and steady, rested on your hips, his thumbs tracing slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt.

His voice, deep and velvety, blended with yours as you both sang in harmony.

"Take your time, what's the rush?"

"Baby, I'm a dog, I'm a mutt."

You smiled up at him, breathless from both the dancing and the moment itself. The dim light in his apartment cast soft shadows over his sharp features, highlighting the slight scruff on his jaw and the way his curls fell over his forehead. But it was his eyes that made you pause.

He wasn’t just looking at you.

He was staring—intensely, hungrily, like he was memorizing every inch of your face. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there as if caught in a trance. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and then—slowly, almost unconsciously—he licked his own lips.

Your heart stuttered.

His hands on your hips tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, rough with something raw and unfiltered.

"Can I kiss you, Y/N? Please."

It wasn’t just a request—it was a plea. A quiet, desperate confession of everything he’d been holding back.

His eyes, usually full of teasing mischief, were now dark with longing, his restraint hanging by a fragile thread. He wanted you. So badly.

Your breath hitched. The way he said your name, the way his lips hovered so close to yours, the sheer need in his expression—it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yes," you whispered, barely audible over the music.

The second the word left your lips, Harry exhaled a shaky breath, like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. And then—

He kissed you.

Soft at first, like he was savoring you, but it didn’t take long for the desperation to seep through. His hands slid up, fingers tangling into your hair as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan. His lips, warm and eager, moved against yours in perfect rhythm, matching the slow, sultry beat of the song still playing in the background.

You melted into him, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt as he guided you back, pressing you gently against the wall. His body molded to yours, solid and warm, as he kissed you like he’d been dying to for years.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, lips tingling. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips.

"Knew you’d taste sweet," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you’re still in my arms," he shot back, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "And I’m not letting go anytime soon."

You didn’t want him to.

And as the song faded into the background, you realized neither of you was in a rush to move.

…

😗😗😗😗 kisses!

[nickistuffs]

😍😍😍😍

Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request.  An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it. 

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?” 

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded���the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision. 

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?” 

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you” 

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More�� Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

[nickistuffs]

Car Trouble & Complications

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A spontaneous roadside fix causes both sparks and unwanted attention as they navigate the chaos

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None. just fluff

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

You and Harry had planned to have lunch together, but he was taking longer than expected. Growing a little concerned, you decided to text him.

Y/N 🤭: Hey you? Everything okay?

It took a while before your phone finally lit up—not with a text, but an incoming FaceTime call. Harry’s contact photo filled the screen, showing him holding a bag of takeout from one of your dinner dates.

You quickly answered. “Hi, are you alright?” you asked, greeting him with a hint of concern.

"Yeah, I’m alright," he reassured you, though he looked a bit inconvenienced. "Got a flat tire, just waiting for some help. Might have to reschedule our lunch today, love."

"Ohhh..." You tried to hide your disappointment, but it was hard knowing that he was flying to Italy for business tomorrow and wouldn’t be back for a few days.

Harry sighed softly, sensing your mood. "I’m sorry, Y/N. How about we order dinner later and eat at your flat instead?"

"Okay..." you responded, pouting slightly.

Harry chuckled at your expression. "You’re too cute, you know that?"

But suddenly, an idea struck you. "Wait, it’s just a flat, right?"

"Yeah?" Harry responded, a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm.

"Send me your location. I’ll come to you." You were already getting up from the couch.

"No need, Y/N. They’re already on their way to help," he reasoned.

You weren’t having it. "Just send me your location, Harry," you said in a firm, monotone voice.

He exhaled, knowing better than to argue. "Alright… just be careful on the way."

As he sent his location, he couldn't help but smile. Better to let you come than have you annoyed at him for refusing.

…

You arrived at Harry’s location, a small toolbox in hand—borrowed from your neighbor in a hurry. The moment he spotted you walking toward him, he blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin.

"You didn’t have to come all the way here, love." He crossed his arms, leaning against his car with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Well, I wasn’t about to let a flat tire ruin our lunch," you huffed, setting the toolbox down beside you. "And besides, I figured I could help."

Harry chuckled, crouching beside you. "Help? Do you even know how to change a tire?"

You shot him a playful glare. "Excuse me? My father taught me once, but I needed to watch a five-minute video just to refresh my memory."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, well, in that case, I should step back and let the expert handle it."

Just as you were about to respond, Harry’s phone buzzed. He answered it with a sigh.

"Yeah? …Right. Got it. Thanks." Hanging up, he ran a hand through his hair. "The fixer’s going to take longer than expected—apparently, they’re stuck on another job."

You raised an eyebrow. "How long?"

"At least another hour, maybe more."

You groaned dramatically. "That’s it, I’m changing this tire myself."

Before he could protest, you crouched beside the tire and started loosening the bolts, your hands gripping the wrench with determination.

Harry stared at you, amusement fading into guilt. You had come all this way for him, and now you were actually fixing his car while he stood there watching? He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. I should be the one doing this, he thought.

Letting out a defeated chuckle, he crouched beside you. "Move over, love. I can’t let you do all the work."

"Oh? So now you want to help?" you teased, looking up at him with a smirk.

"I felt bad, alright?" he muttered, taking the wrench from you and easily loosening the last bolt. "Besides, I can’t let my girl show me up."

You rolled your eyes but grinned. "Mhm, sure. Just admit you’re impressed."

Harry glanced at you before shaking his head with a smile. "I always am."

As the two of you worked together, laughter filled the air, turning what could’ve been a frustrating situation into yet another memory to cherish.

...

As you and Harry worked on his car, laughter and playful banter filled the air. You were too focused on getting the job done to notice that a small crowd had started to gather at a distance. A few passersby had recognized him—Harry Styles, kneeling on the pavement, fixing a flat tire with an unknown girl by his side.

Phones were pulled out. Pictures were snapped. Videos recorded. The internet was about to have a field day.

Harry, however, was already feeling it—the unmistakable buzz of attention. Even without looking up, he could sense the cameras pointed their way, the hushed whispers of onlookers debating whether to approach him. His jaw tensed slightly, but he tried to ignore it, focusing on you instead.

You wiped your hands on a napkin from your bag and grinned at him. "See? We didn’t need to wait for the tow truck after all!"

Harry smirked, tossing the lug wrench back into the toolbox. "You say that like you weren’t about to give up after the first bolt."

You gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I was figuring out the best way to get the bolts off."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Right, of course. Strategic thinking, my bad."

Before you could fire back, a distant squeal rang through the air.

"Oh my God, it’s him!"

Harry exhaled slowly, already knowing what was coming next. When he finally glanced up, he confirmed his suspicions—several people were gathered nearby, phones in hand, recording, whispering. A few fans hesitantly stepped forward, hopeful smiles on their faces.

"Harry, can we get a quick picture?" one of them asked sweetly.

His expression softened, but he shook his head gently. "Sorry. Not right now."

The fans pouted in disappointment, but he offered them a small smile. "Hope you understand. Just trying to get this sorted."

They nodded, still excited to have seen him in such an unexpected situation. Some continued taking pictures from a distance, but Harry let out a sigh and turned back to you.

"Well, that should be fun to see online later," he muttered, grabbing the toolbox.

You snorted. "Yeah, I can already see the headlines: ‘Harry Styles Changes a Tire with Mystery Girl—Who Is She?’"

He groaned playfully, rubbing his face. "Great. Maybe they’ll turn this into some wild conspiracy theory too."

You grinned. "Oh, for sure. I bet people will say you secretly work as a mechanic on the side."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he draped an arm around your shoulders. "Come on, let’s get out of here before they start asking if I’m launching a tire-changing business."

Laughing, you let him lead you away, leaving the cameras and whispers behind—just another unexpected adventure with Harry Styles.

...

After packing up the toolbox and wiping the grease from your hands, you and Harry quickly got into the car. The moment the doors shut, the outside noise faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city.

But as the silence stretched, a different kind of noise started filling your mind—the whispers, the stares, the flashing cameras.

You swallowed, staring out the windshield. You hadn’t even done anything, but the idea of people twisting the situation, of fans picking apart your existence just because you happened to be with him, made your stomach twist. What if they thought you were some nobody who just happened to steal their idol away? What if they—

You flinched slightly when you felt warmth wrap around your hand.

Harry’s fingers intertwined with yours, his grip firm but comforting. You turned your head to find him already looking at you, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.

"You alright?" he asked softly.

You hesitated, but the way his thumb brushed gently over your skin made you exhale. "Yeah, I just… I know how people can be. And I don’t want them thinking I’m—"

"Stop that," he interrupted, shaking his head. His voice was gentle, but firm. "You didn’t do anything wrong. We were literally fixing a flat tire. People can think whatever they want, but I know the truth. You know the truth."

You bit your lip. "I just don’t want to be seen as—"

"As what? Some villain who stole me away?" he teased lightly, squeezing your hand. "Love, no one’s stealing me. I go where I want to go, and I wanted you here with me today. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less."

You let out a small breath, his words settling the unease that had been creeping in.

"And if anyone’s got a problem with that?" he added, tilting his head playfully. "They can take it up with my mechanic."

A laugh finally escaped you, and he grinned, satisfied that he had pulled you out of your own head.

"There’s that smile," he murmured before bringing your joined hands to his lips for a quick kiss.

The warmth in your chest replaced the anxiety, and as he started the car, you realized that no matter what people said, you weren’t alone.

Celebrity S.O.S.: Harry Styles Gets Help from a Mysterious Woman After Flat Tire

Harry Styles found himself in an unexpected situation earlier today when his car was spotted with a flat tire. But rather than waiting for a tow, the “Watermelon Sugar” singer received help from an unidentified woman who appeared prepared for the task. Sources say that the mystery girl showed up with a toolkit in hand and quickly got to work, proving her tire-changing skills were on point. While fans gathered and snapped photos, her identity remains a mystery, leaving many to wonder—could she be a new love interest or just a kind-hearted stranger? The speculation is already brewing, and fans are eager to know more about this surprising roadside encounter.

...

Ever since I saw that picture of him I had to cook.

[nickistuffs]

Almost Perfect, Almost Enough Part 2

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A heartfelt gift goes terribly wrong, haunted by the weight of unspoken pain.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst. self-worth, body image struggles, miscommunication, and emotional disconnect

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

Here is Part 1 Almost Perfect, Almost Enough

...

Harry’s grip on the wheel tightened. The questions gnawed at him, relentless.

Why did I even buy the dress?

Why did I think she’d like it?

Does she think I’m just a celebrity?

The paper bag crinkled slightly as the car hit a bump, as if it was laughing at him. He glanced at it—just for a second—before snapping his eyes back to the road.

It had felt like the right thing to do. He saw it in the window, thought of her, and bought it without a second thought. But now, after everything that was said, the bag felt heavier than it should.

A gift that would never be touched again.

A gesture that no longer meant anything.

The road stretched ahead, endless and empty, but his mind was crowded. With doubt. With frustration. With a sinking, terrible feeling that maybe—just maybe—he had gotten everything wrong.

Opening the door, Harry stepped inside, the weight of the evening still pressing on his chest. The air in his apartment was still, untouched, like it had been waiting for him to return.

With a sharp exhale, he threw the bag onto the coffee table, watching as it tumbled onto its side, the delicate fabric inside shifting but remaining unseen. The sight of it made his stomach twist.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping, his gaze locked onto the bag. It just sat there, silent, like it was waiting—like it knew.

Why did he even bother?

She wasn’t going to wear it.

She didn’t even get to close the zipper.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He should’ve known better. Should’ve seen this coming. But he didn’t. And now, standing here, staring at a dress that was meant to make her smile, all he felt was foolish.

He turned away, heading to the kitchen, but stopped before he got too far.

Because no matter how much he wanted to forget about it, the damn bag was still there. And it wasn’t going anywhere.

...

Harry put the kettle on the stove, the quiet click of the burner igniting the only sound in the apartment. He watched the flame flicker beneath the metal, but his mind was elsewhere—heavy, tangled, restless.

She hurt him. And he hurt her, too.

There was no fault on either side, not really. Just words spoken too quickly, emotions running too high. Two people trying, failing, and now standing on opposite sides of something neither of them knew how to fix.

The kettle began to hum, low and distant, like an echo of everything left unsaid.

Pouring the hot water into his mug, Harry watched the steam rise, curling into the silence around him. But even the warmth couldn’t chase away the cold weight in his chest.

Your words replayed in his mind, over and over again.

"But not everyone wants the extravagant life celebrities are always portraying."

It stung.

Not just the words themselves, but the way you said them—like all the things he thought mattered, the things he wanted to share with you, meant nothing. Like he was nothing more than the life he lived, the world he came from.

Maybe you didn’t mean it that way. Maybe you did.

But either way, you said it to his face. And now, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t unhear it.

...

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the paper bag on the coffee table.

A silent reminder. A quiet accusation.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t even thought to check if it was the right size. Hadn’t considered whether it would actually fit you, whether it was something you’d feel comfortable in. He just assumed—like it was enough that he had picked it out, that it was expensive, that it looked beautiful.

But was it ever really for you? Or was it just another grand gesture, something he thought would make things better without actually thinking about what you needed?

The realization settled over him like a weight, heavier than before.

Both of you stayed silent.

Neither reached out, both were convinced that space was what you needed. That time would smooth over the edges, and that distance would make things clearer.

But the longer the silence stretched, the heavier it became.

Harry sat down, running a hand over his face, his eyes drifting back to the dress in the paper bag. It sat there, untouched, just like the words you hadn’t said to each other.

Maybe he had never really understood you at all.

Granted, neither of you had ever really talked about the worst parts of yourselves yet. The fears. The insecurities. The things you both tried to hide beneath soft smiles and carefully chosen words.

You only ever saw the best parts of each other. And maybe that was the problem.

But despite the silence, despite the space—both of you secretly wanted to meet.

To hear each other’s voice.

To undo the weight of unspoken words.

Neither of you would admit it, but you still checked. Scrolled through socials, looking for any sign of life. Was he online? Had he posted anything? Had you?

A passive kind of longing. A quiet kind of hoping.

Yet neither of you made the first move. Because space was supposed to help. Because pride, or fear, or both, kept your fingers hovering over the keyboard without ever typing a message.

So the silence stretched on.

...

You were fine. Only fine.

Nothing felt nice, but at least you were functioning.

Here you were, sitting in Feli’s café, laptop open, fingers moving over the keyboard, pretending the work in front of you was enough to keep your mind busy. You needed the change of scenery, needed to escape the sadness you had unknowingly woven into every corner of your flat.

The café was warm, filled with the quiet hum of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine, the occasional clatter of cups meeting saucers. It should’ve been comforting.

But even here, in a space that wasn’t yours, the weight followed. The silence between you and Harry wasn’t just in your messages—it was in your chest, pressing down, lingering like an unanswered question.

The familiar chime of the café door broke your concentration. Instinctively, you looked up—just a quick glance, just a momentary distraction.

And then your breath caught.

Harry.

Standing there, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The café noise faded into the background, the warmth of your coffee forgotten, the work in front of you meaningless.

What was he doing here? Had he come for the same reason—to escape the quiet, the weight, the missing?

Your eyes met, and in that split second, everything you hadn’t said, everything you’d both been holding back, hung between you like a question waiting to be answered.

You didn’t talk.

You didn’t know what to say.

The words you had thrown at him—the ones you couldn’t take back—still hung between you, heavy and unshaken by time. You had hurt him. You never wanted to hurt him.

Your fingers twitched against the strap of your bag before slowly moving to your arm, nails dragging lightly over your skin. A habit. One you barely noticed, but one that always surfaced when you felt overwhelmed.

Harry noticed, though.

His brows furrowed, his gaze flickering to your hand, then back to your face. You could see it—the way he wanted to say something, to reach out. But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled, slow and careful. “You don’t have to run.” His voice was quieter now, gentler. “I just… I just want to talk.”

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could. Because the moment you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if the words that would come out would make it better—or make everything worse.

“Y/N, stop. Please.”

Harry’s voice cut through the noise of the café, steady but laced with something raw. Something real.

You froze, fingers gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles ached. Every instinct screamed at you to keep moving, to walk out the door and pretend this never happened. That’s what you were used to. That’s what was safe.

But then he spoke again.

“Let’s talk.”

Simple words, but they held everything. The weight of the past days, the things left unsaid, the questions that had been gnawing at both of you.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned.

And when you met his eyes, you realized—he looked just as lost as you felt.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could. Because the moment you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if the words that would come out would make it better—or make everything worse.

Slowly, hesitantly, you sat back down.

Your mind was still racing, thoughts colliding too fast to make sense of them. Without thinking, you brought your thumbnail between your teeth, a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

Before you could even register it, Harry’s hand wrapped gently around your wrist, stopping you.

Your breath hitched.

His touch wasn’t forceful, just firm enough to pull you out of your spiral. His thumb brushed against your skin, warm, steady—anchoring.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering to his. There was no anger there. No resentment. Just concern. Just him.

And for the first time since seeing him walk through that door, you weren’t sure if running was what you wanted anymore.

You took a shaky breath, forcing your hands to still, pressing them together to stop the restless movements. But the weight of everything—the silence, the hurt, the unspoken words—pressed harder against your chest.

Tears brimmed at the edges of your eyes, blurring your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze.

Harry’s eyes softened the moment yours met his. No frustration, no anger—just understanding. Just the same sadness, the same longing that had been sitting heavy in your chest for days.

Neither of you spoke. But in that moment, words weren’t needed.

You both knew.

Both of you sat there, silent.

No words, no movement—just the quiet weight of everything unsaid hanging between you.

The café, once filled with soft chatter and the hum of life, had grown still. Customers had trickled out, leaving only the two of you. Even the music playing through the speakers had stopped at some point, making the silence feel even louder.

Felice, ever observant, had noticed. She didn’t pry, didn’t ask questions. Instead, with a knowing glance, she quietly flipped the sign on the door to Closed and disappeared into the kitchen, giving you both the space she knew you needed.

But even with the world narrowing down to just the two of you, neither of you spoke.

Because how did you even begin to fix something when you weren’t sure where it had broken?

...

It was you who broke the silence first.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers curled into your lap, gripping onto the fabric of your sleeve. “I know what I said was hurtful.”

Harry didn’t move, didn’t interrupt—he just listened.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep going. “I won’t excuse the fact that I said what I did… about celebrities. I guess I forget sometimes that you’re people too.” Your voice wavered. “That you’re just… you.”

You exhaled, shaking your head at yourself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were just your status or your money or whatever image people put on you. That’s not how I see you. That’s not who you are to me.”

When you looked up, Harry was still watching you, something unreadable in his expression. But his grip on your wrist hadn’t loosened, hadn’t let go.

And somehow, that told you more than words ever could.

"I understand that gift-giving is one of your love languages, Harry," you said, your voice trembling.

His expression didn’t change, but you saw the way his fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

“I never meant to hurt your feelings,” you continued, your breath hitching. “I never should have…”

But the words wouldn’t come.

Your throat closed up, and before you could stop it, tears slipped down your face. Silent, unrelenting. You tried to blink them away, to pull yourself together, but it was useless.

Your words failed you, but the weight of your emotions spoke for themselves.

Harry exhaled sharply, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to ground you. And then, in the smallest, quietest movement—he reached forward and wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” he murmured. “I get it.”

And somehow, that made the tears fall even faster.

“I’m sorry too, Y/N,” Harry said, his voice low, thick with something heavy. “I never meant to hurt you… with something so superficial.”

You looked up at him, your breath still uneven, but he wasn’t looking away. His gaze was steady, filled with something raw—something real.

“I forget that there are things I should know more about,” he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “God, I shouldn’t have just assumed your size. I didn’t even think—I just picked something and expected you to love it.”

His jaw tensed, his grip on your wrist loosening, like he was afraid he had already done too much damage.

“I made you feel bad about yourself,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And I hate that.”

The lump in your throat grew. Because it wasn’t just about the dress. It was about feeling unseen, misunderstood. And the fact that he realized that—it meant more than he could ever know.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” he murmured. “But I didn’t stop to think about what you actually needed.”

Your tears blurred his face, but you could still see the sincerity in his eyes. The regret. The love.

And somehow, that made it all hurt a little less.

A beat of silence.

You looked at him, eyes still glassy with tears, your breath unsteady. Every word felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but you forced them out anyway.

“I’ll understand if you want to break up, Harry.”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw something in him break.

His brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly like he couldn’t believe what you had just said. Like the thought had never even crossed his mind.

“No,” he said instantly, shaking his head. His grip on your wrist tightened again—not harshly, but firmly, as if to keep you there, as if to stop you from slipping away any further. “No, Y/N. That’s not what I want.”

His voice was raw, desperate, like he needed you to understand.

“I don’t want to break up,” he said again, slower this time, like he was making sure the words settled between you. “I just… I want to do better. I want us to be better.”

Your breath hitched, tears slipping down your cheeks again, and this time, you didn’t pull away when he reached up to wipe them.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you.”

And just like that, the weight in your chest cracked—just enough to let the hope back in.

A shaky laugh escaped your lips, breaking through the heaviness lingering between you. It wasn’t out of joy, not yet—it was the kind of laugh that came from exhaustion, from relief, from the sheer weight of everything.

Through the pain, you reached for his hand, fingers curling around his like they always belonged there. Like they always would.

Harry exhaled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding both of you in this fragile moment.

Looking into his eyes, you both understood—things wouldn’t be the same as before.

The cracks were there now, the illusions shattered. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Maybe now, you could finally see each other as you truly were. The messy parts, the difficult parts—the parts you both had avoided for too long.

No more assumptions. No more pretending.

Just two people who cared too much, who still had so much to learn about each other.

And now, finally, you were both ready to move forward.

...

Harry brought you back to his flat, the quiet hum of the city outside filling the space between you.

It was a slight mess—some dishes in the sink, a jacket draped over the couch—but none of that mattered. What caught your eye was the paper bag still sitting on the coffee table, untouched since the night he had left it there.

You walked over, picking it up, fingers brushing over the edge of the bag before pulling out the dress. Holding it up, you let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“Guess we need to get a bigger size,” you said, turning to him with a small, teasing smile.

Harry let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… guess we do.”

But the humor faded quickly, replaced by something heavier.

You sat down, the dress still clutched in your hands. That’s when you said it—the thing you had buried for so long.

“Whenever I was given clothes as a teenager,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric, “they purposely bought a size smaller for me. They thought it would motivate me to be skinnier.”

The room felt impossibly quiet.

Harry’s jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. “Y/N…” His voice was soft, careful.

You let out a small breath, shrugging like it didn’t still sting after all these years. “I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t even care anymore, but…” You shook your head, blinking away the sudden tightness in your throat. “It just reminded me of that for a second.”

That was all it took.

Harry stepped forward, his hands hesitating for only a moment before settling gently on your arms, grounding you. His touch was warm, steady—careful, like he knew exactly how much this meant.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted, guilt flickering across his face. “I should have asked. I should have thought.”

You shook your head quickly. “You didn’t know. And you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

“I never want you to feel like that again,” he said, voice firm. “Not because of me.”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

Let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—someone could love you exactly as you were.

But the weight of it all still lingered.

“These insecurities never go away, Harry,” you whispered, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “They’ll always come back.”

He stayed quiet, listening—really listening.

“When I feel like this, people see it. They take advantage of it.” You swallowed, shaking your head. “They use it to exploit me, to humiliate me. Like my pain is something they’re entitled to.”

A sharp exhale left Harry’s lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your skin. His jaw tensed, his eyes burning with something fierce—something protective.

“I hate that,” he said, voice low, almost shaking. “I hate that you’ve been made to feel like that.”

His hands slid down to yours, holding them, tracing over your knuckles like he was memorizing every detail.

“I won’t pretend I can make those feelings go away,” he admitted. “But I will tell you this—you don’t have to go through them alone.” His voice softened, filled with something achingly sincere. “I’ll be here. Every time they come back. Every time you feel like you can’t fight them off.”

You blinked through the tears, your breath hitching.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he murmured. “Not your worth, not your strength. I see you, love. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And somehow, against all odds, the weight in your chest felt just a little lighter.

“I’m not ready to tell you all of my shame, Harry,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s so much I haven’t said… so much I don’t know if I can say.”

He didn’t press. He didn’t ask for more.

“That's okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Not now, not ever—unless you want to.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

“I just… I never wanted silence from you,” you confessed. “I only ever wanted you to be next to me.”

His breath hitched, his fingers lacing through yours.

“I’m here,” he promised. “I’ll always be here.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Your fingers hesitated against his, and then, finally, you whispered—

“Can I kiss you, Harry?”

His breath caught, his fingers still tangled with yours. His eyes softened, searching your face, like he was making sure this was real—making sure you were sure.

“You don’t have to ask, love,” he murmured. “But I’m glad you did.”

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the last traces of your tears. He was so gentle, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

You leaned in first, closing the space between you. The second your lips met his, the weight in your chest unraveled.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—it was slow, careful, filled with everything neither of you had been able to say. A silent promise that you were still here, still willing to try.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, a small, breathless smile on his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you in that café,” he admitted.

You let out a soft laugh, your hands still resting against his chest. “Guess I saved you the trouble then.”

But then, his expression shifted, his eyes darkening with something unspoken.

“Your words hurt me,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze dropped, shadows flickering across his face as he let out a shaky breath. “I always knew that any relationship I had would come with this lingering doubt—that people would only love me because I’m Harry Styles. Because of who I am, not who I really am.”

He let out a bitter chuckle, running a hand through his curls before shaking his head. “I chose this life. I worked for it, dreamed of it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But I never asked for the loneliness that came with it. I never asked for the hurt.”

His voice wavered, but he didn’t look away. “To tell you the truth, Y/N,” he murmured, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides. “I thought about breaking up after what you said to me.”

He swallowed hard, his breath unsteady. “That’s what always breaks me,” Harry whispered, a shaky sniffle escaping him. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold them back, but the pain in his voice was undeniable. “No matter how much I prepare myself for it, it still hurts every time.”

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his lips trembling as he finally asked, “Will I ever be enough for you?”

“There will always be a divide between our lifestyles, Y/N,” Harry said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you in mine. I want to include you in it, to share my world with you—if you’ll let me.”

“This is what I meant when I said I was afraid of meeting you, Harry.” Y/N’s voice was quiet but firm. “I will never fully understand the life you live. I know there’s a learning curve for anyone who steps into your world—for the people who become part of your life, whether they mean to or not. And now… I guess I’m one of them.”

A breath. A decision.

“If you let me be a part of your life, Harry, I promise to give it my all—for you, for us.”

Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed you harder, pouring every unspoken emotion into it—his fears, his hopes, his love.

And in that moment, he knew, somehow, that everything would be alright.

...

And I still cry - Billie Eilish (SKINNY)

[nickistuffs]

I already have a fanfic on the works for this ehee!

Harry being cheered on by supporters during the Tokyo Marathon - 03.02.2025

[nickistuffs]

Almost Perfect, Almost Enough Part 1

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A heartfelt gift goes terribly wrong, haunted by the weight of unspoken pain.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Angst. self-worth, body image struggles, miscommunication, and emotional disconnect

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

…

Harry always wanted to shower you with gifts. He noticed the little things—the items you left sitting in your online cart, the Pinterest boards filled with outfit inspirations, the way your fingers lingered on certain fabrics or accessories when you accompanied him shopping. He paid attention, memorizing each detail like a quiet devotion.

Anyone would love to be spoiled, and Harry wanted nothing more than to give you everything you desired. But you weren’t like most people. Since you were young, you had learned to weigh the difference between a want and a need, hesitating before indulging in something that wasn’t essential. It wasn’t about depriving yourself; it was just how you were. You lived simply, your wardrobe minimal, your jewelry sparse—something Harry had mistaken for preference rather than restraint.

He didn’t understand at first. He thought maybe you just hadn’t found the right things yet, that you were waiting for something special. So he tried. Little surprises, gifts wrapped carefully in ribbon, things he was sure you’d love. But every time he handed you something new, there was a flicker in your eyes—gratitude, yes, but also hesitation. As if accepting too much made you uneasy. As if love, when materialized, felt heavier than it should.

And that was the part that killed him the most. Because Harry didn’t just want to give you things. He wanted to give you proof—proof that he saw you, that he understood you, that he cherished every small, fleeting moment that made you you.

But maybe love, to you, was never about possession. Maybe it was about presence. And Harry didn’t know how to love you in a way that didn’t feel like giving.

...

That’s when Harry saw it—a beautiful dress, minimal yet sleek, the kind of piece that blended effortlessly into an everyday wardrobe. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it had an understated elegance that reminded him of you.

His fingers traced the fabric, soft and weightless, and for a moment, he could already picture you in it—the way it would drape over your frame, the way you’d instinctively run your hands down the material, testing its feel. He found a size he thought would fit you, holding it up as if trying to convince himself that this, out of everything he had ever wanted to give you, was something you might actually accept.

Because this wasn’t just a gift. It was a quiet understanding, a way of saying, I see you. I know you. And maybe, just maybe, this time, you wouldn’t hesitate to take it.

When he went to the register, he didn’t even glance at the price. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the thought of you wearing it, the way it would complement you so effortlessly. For once, he hoped you wouldn’t overthink it—that you’d simply take it, wear it, and feel even a fraction of the warmth he felt when he thought of you.

...

Harry made a surprise visit to your flat, his excitement practically radiating off him as he greeted you with a quick, eager kiss at the door. His hands found your waist, guiding you backward with effortless ease until the backs of your knees met the couch.

You barely had a moment to process before you noticed the way he was holding something behind his back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed, tilting your head as you narrowed your eyes at him. “What are you up to now?” you asked, giggling at his antics.

Harry grinned, biting his lip like he was barely holding back his excitement. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

Covering your eyes with a playful sigh, you felt the weight of something settle onto your lap—a paper bag, soft and crinkling under your fingers.

"Okay, now open your eyes," Harry murmured, anticipation lacing his voice.

Blinking, you glanced down at the bag, your heart already tightening at the realization. "Harry… you didn’t have to," you said softly, looking up at him with a mixture of fondness and hesitation.

But Harry only shook his head, his smile unwavering. "I wanted to."

With hesitation, you reached into the bag, fingers brushing against the smooth fabric as you carefully pulled out the dress. Your eyes practically sparkled as you took in the design—the simplicity, the elegance, the way it was so perfectly you.

"Wow… this is beautiful, Harry. Thank you," you breathed, holding it up against your chest. But then, as the weight of the gesture sank in, doubt crept in alongside your excitement. "I don’t know if I can accept this..."

Harry, however, only grinned, leaning forward as if to dismiss your uncertainty before it could settle too deep. "No expense spared," he said with that effortless confidence of his. "You deserve everything."

His words were meant to reassure, but they left you feeling slightly off balance. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful—you were. It was just that, ever since you were a child, you had been taught to refuse gifts, to be mindful of generosity, to say no even when you secretly wanted to say yes.

And now, sitting there with a dress that felt both too much and just right, you found yourself caught between old habits and the undeniable warmth of being seen.

"Go on, try it on for me. Please?" Harry murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet plea beneath it, a hope that you wouldn’t let hesitation win this time.

You hesitated for a second longer, the familiar instinct to decline tugging at you—but then you looked at him. His eyes held nothing but warmth, nothing but the purest intention. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you. He just wanted to see you in something he knew you’d love.

With a small, breathy laugh, you nodded. "Alright… but only because you asked so nicely."

Harry beamed, stepping back as you stood, dress in hand, already imagining the way his face would light up when you returned.

...

You stepped into your room, closing the door softly behind you. Facing the mirror, you held the dress against your chest, admiring the way the fabric fell effortlessly over your frame. For a moment, excitement bubbled in your chest—you wanted to love this, to let yourself have this moment.

But as you slipped into the dress and reached for the zipper on the side, your heart sank. It wouldn’t go up. No matter how you twisted, tugged, or adjusted, the fabric wouldn’t budge past a certain point.

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach.

Harry had been so excited. You had been excited. And now, instead of feeling beautiful, all you could think about was how you had let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this could be easy, that accepting something so thoughtful wouldn’t come with a sting of self-doubt.

You hated how quickly your mind turned on itself, whispering cruel thoughts. That maybe this was why you never let yourself want things too much. That maybe it was a mistake to let yourself get swept up in the moment.

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the frustration burning in your eyes. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin this.

But now, standing there in a dress that didn’t fit, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to walk back into that room and face Harry without disappointing him.

...

You took a deep breath, fingers gripping the fabric near the stubborn zipper. There was no point in hiding it—not from Harry. You weren’t shy about things like this anymore. You were used to it, to the quiet disappointment of a dress not fitting quite right, to the feeling of something so close to perfect slipping just out of reach.

So you walked out, head held steady, the dress still draped over you as best as it could be. Harry, who had been sitting on the couch, perked up immediately at the sight of you. His eyes flickered with excitement—until they landed on your hands gripping the side, the zipper still undone.

You gave him a small, almost resigned smile. "Looks like I’ve still got to shrink to get into this," you said lightly, trying to turn it into a joke, to keep the air from turning heavy.

Harry didn’t laugh. Instead, he stood up, crossing the room in just a few strides, his brows knitting together in something that wasn’t disappointment—but something else entirely.

"Hey," he said softly, fingers brushing over yours where they held the fabric. "That’s not on you, alright? That’s on the damn dress."

The warmth in his voice made your throat tighten. You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe some fleeting awkwardness, maybe even guilt on his part for choosing the wrong size. But instead, there was only understanding, only that unwavering way he looked at you like none of this changed a thing.

"We can exchange it," he continued, giving you a small, reassuring grin. "Or we can get it tailored. Or—" He tilted his head, eyes glinting mischievously. "I can just let you keep it open and call it avant-garde."

That pulled a laugh from you, quiet but real. The tension in your shoulders eased, and for the first time since putting the dress on, you allowed yourself to believe that this moment wasn’t ruined—just another part of the story.

"It’s fine, Harry. No need to exchange it," you said, forcing a small smile. "You can return it and get your money back—it’s okay with me."

You tried to keep your tone light, but the words felt heavier than you intended. You glanced down at the fabric in your hands before adding, "Especially from a high-end store… I know they don’t really make sizes for plus-size women like me."

You meant it as a simple fact, something you had come to accept over time—knowing that high-end brands catered to rigid beauty standards, ones that had been set in stone long before you ever had a say in them. They didn’t design for women like you, didn’t want their clothes to be seen on bodies they deemed too much.

But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw the shift in Harry’s expression—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the way his brows furrowed, as if he was already preparing to argue with you.

"Hey, don’t say that," Harry cut in, his voice gentle but firm. "There are always other clothes we can look at. Ones that actually deserve you."

He said it so easily, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like the problem wasn’t you—it was the clothes, the brands, the standards you had spent so long making peace with.

But the way he looked at you, unwavering and certain, made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right. But, no

"No need, Harry. Thanks, but no thanks," you said blankly, turning on your heel as you walked back to your room to change.

You didn’t mean for it to sound so cold, but you just wanted this moment to be over. The dress, the conversation, the way his kindness only made the tightness in your chest worse—it was all too much.

But before you could disappear behind the door, his voice stopped you.

"I just wanted to give you something nice, Y/N… is that so bad?"

There was no anger in his tone, no frustration—just something softer, something almost hurt. And that was the worst part of all.

"I never asked you to give me these gifts, Harry," you said, your voice quieter this time, but no less firm. "I didn’t want this dress."

You gestured vaguely around your apartment, a small, lived-in space that was nothing like the world Harry came from. "God, just look at this place. We live very different lifestyles."

It wasn’t just about the dress. It was everything—the way he spent without thinking, the way he wanted to give and give while you had spent your whole life learning how to go without. He moved through the world so effortlessly, while you had always been careful, always conscious.

And standing there now, in an expensive dress that didn’t even fit, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever truly understand.

"We both understand what it means to work hard for our money," you continued, your voice steady but tired. "But not everyone wants the extravagant life celebrities are always portraying."

You meant it as a simple truth—one you had lived by for as long as you could remember. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw something flicker across Harry’s face, something unspoken but unmistakable.

That hurt.

Because that’s what he thought you saw when you looked at him—an A-lister, someone wrapped up in a life of luxury, of excess, of things that didn’t matter to you.

And maybe that was the worst part. No matter how much he tried to show you otherwise, you still believed there was a distance between you that couldn’t be bridged.

You both stood there in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you like a barrier neither of you knew how to cross.

Harry’s fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should. His jaw clenched for a second before he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

You, on the other hand, just held onto the fabric of the dress, staring at the floor, feeling the tension wrap around you like a second skin. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. And yet, here you were, watching the light in his eyes dim just a little.

Neither of you knew what to do next. Neither of you knew how to fix this.

Without another word, you turned and stepped into your bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Leaning against it for a moment, you let out a slow breath, your fingers tightening around the dress. The excitement you’d felt earlier had long since faded, replaced with something heavier—something you couldn’t quite name.

You changed quickly, slipping back into your usual clothes, ones that felt safer, less complicated. But even as you shed the dress, the weight of the moment still clung to you.

Outside, you could still feel Harry’s presence, still picture the way he had looked at you, caught between understanding and hurt. You hated that look. Hated that you had put it there.

And now, you weren’t sure how to walk back out and face him.

Your breathing was heavy, uneven—shaken by the fear creeping up your spine. Not fear of him, but of what you had just done. Of the way your words had landed, sharp and unintended, leaving behind wounds you couldn’t take back.

Seeing Harry hurt by something you had said—it scared you to death.

With trembling hands, you peeled the dress off, careful, almost reverent, as if letting a single tear fall onto the delicate fabric would shatter whatever was left of this moment.

But it was already ruined. The excitement, the warmth, the way he had looked at you like you deserved nice things—it was all gone now, slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it.

The only thing you could think about was how much you had hurt him.

It replayed over and over in your mind—the way his expression had shifted, how his eyes dimmed just slightly, the subtle tension in his posture as if he was bracing himself for more. You had never wanted to push him away, never wanted to make him feel like his kindness was unwelcome.

But you had.

And now, standing there in the quiet of your room, staring at the paper bag the dress had come in, you wondered if you had just ruined more than just this moment.

Harry was surprised—he had never seen or heard you say anything mean before. Not to him, not to anyone.

But tonight, your words had cut, not because they were cruel, but because they carried something deeper—something sharp with exhaustion, with walls built from years of disappointment. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

He didn’t know if he should leave or stay.

Part of him wanted to give you space, to let you sit with your thoughts and breathe. But another part—the stronger part—couldn’t bear the idea of walking away, of letting this moment settle between you like something permanent.

So he stood there, unmoving, caught between his instinct to hold on and his fear that maybe, this time, you wanted him to let go.

You took deep, shaky breaths, but it didn’t help. The memories came rushing back, uninvited and relentless—voices from the past whispering, taunting, telling you to be slimmer, to take up less space, to mold yourself into whatever version of acceptable they had decided for you.

Your chest tightened, anger and hurt tangling together until you couldn’t tell which was stronger. It made your head spin, made your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you had buried this. Thought you had learned to live past it. But here you were, standing in your bedroom, a beautiful dress in your hands, and all you could feel was that same suffocating weight of never being enough—or maybe, being too much.

Gripping the paper bag tightly as if it could steady you. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest, but you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Harry was still out there, waiting.

You weren’t sure what you were going to say, or if anything could fix the tension lingering between you, but you had to face him. Swallowing hard, you squared your shoulders, steeling yourself before reaching for the door.

Harry’s attention snapped to the door the moment it creaked open. His eyes landed on you—on your rigid posture, the way your fingers clutched that damn dress like it was something heavier than fabric.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just stood there, face to face, the silence stretching between you, thick with everything left unsaid. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—soft, searching—held something that made your throat tighten.

You weren’t sure who was supposed to speak first. Or if words would even be enough.

You held out the paper bag to him, your fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to speak.

"I—I’m sorry," you stammered, the words feeling small, pathetic, not nearly enough.

Harry took the bag, but his eyes never left your face—watching, waiting. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your eyes stayed downcast, focused on anything but him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Your chest felt too tight, breaths coming slow and heavy, like each one was a battle.

A beat of silence. Then—

"I’m sorry too," Harry murmured, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I should go."

The finality in his words settled like a stone in your stomach.

Harry didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t spare one last glance.

He just turned, walked to the door, and left.

You heard the way his footsteps picked up, turning into a jog as he made his way to his car—like he couldn’t get out fast enough. Like he just needed to be anywhere but here.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, but it might as well have been a slam for how final it felt.

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment the door closed, the weight of it all crashed down on you.

A loud, broken sob tore from your throat, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache, but it was useless. The dam had burst, and there was no holding it back now.

Tears streamed down your face, silent at first, but then the sobs came harder, louder—shaking your whole body. You didn’t even try to stop them.

Because he was gone. And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if he’d come back.

...

I had to, I'm sorry.

Here’s Part 2 Almost Perfect, Almost Enough

[nickistuffs]

Hey I love your designer fix ! 🤩🤩🤩🤩😄

Just wanted to let you know that when you put word count in your one shots , it seems like it is the word count for THAT one shot instead of the cumulative word count of whole story. You'd get more notes if you mentioned the word count of the one shot instead of the story bcz people check that before reading (to decide WHEN to read) ❤️Just wanted to help you! 🙂

Absolutely! Thank you for the advice. I’m still new to this fanfiction writing. (Doing this has significantly lessen my daydreaming)

Hopefully I don’t forget to add the actual word count. On my next fics. Too Da Loo!!

[nickistuffs]

Hello!

I have lots of Harry x Designer Reader fanfic for my series titled Tethered Together. Should I post the angst one next or more fluff? Oh yeah, I’ll most likely post these on Fridays (GMT+8).

[nickistuffs]

Babysitters Club

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A simple night of babysitting turns into an unexpectedly sweet and chaotic day

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: None. Fluff

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry had been caught up in a last-minute Valentine’s Day favor for his sister, Gemma, and her boyfriend, Michal. Wanting them to have a proper night out, he had eagerly volunteered to babysit their daughter. He had even done it before—at least, that’s what he insisted. But in his rush to help, he had completely forgotten to mention it to Y/N.

Now, standing in the middle of his living room, Harry gently rocked his niece in his arms, his brows knitted in concern. The tiny baby let out another wail, her little fists clenched as if she were determined to protest his every effort.

"Come on, love," he murmured, bouncing her lightly, his voice a soothing lull against her cries. "What’s all this about, huh? I’ve given you a bottle, changed your nappy, did tummy time, and let you nap—what else could you possibly want?"

Just as he was about to try singing to her, a sharp knock on the door made him jolt. His niece let out an even louder cry at the sudden movement, and Harry groaned. "Brilliant," he muttered under his breath.

He shuffled over to the door, cradling the baby against his chest as he swung it open. Y/N stood on the other side, smiling—until her eyes landed on the squirming, red-faced baby in his arms. Her smile faltered, confusion washing over their features.

“Uh… Harry?” they said, blinking. “Are you—are you holding a baby?”

Harry exhaled, looking entirely exhausted. “No, I’m holding a very tiny, very angry boss who refuses to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Y/N gaped at him for a moment before stepping inside, shutting the door behind them. They quickly toed off their shoes and made a beeline for the bathroom. Harry frowned, shifting the baby in his arms.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Washing my hands,” Y/N responded over the sound of running water. “I’m not about to touch a baby with gross, outside hands.”

Harry let out a tired chuckle. “Good call.”

A few moments later, Y/N returned, drying their hands on a towel before tossing it onto the counter. They walked over to Harry, eyes softening at the sight of him looking absolutely drained.

“Here,” she said gently, holding out their arms. “Let me take her for a bit. You look like you could use a break.”

Harry hesitated only for a second before carefully passing his niece over. The second Y/N cradled the baby against her chest, and the crying softened. Within moments, the tiny girl had snuggled into Y/N’s warmth, her breathing evening out as her tiny fingers clutched onto the fabric of Y/N’s shirt.

Harry blinked in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Y/N grinned but kept her voice soft. “Guess she just needed a change of scenery.”

They stood there for a while, swaying gently, letting the baby fully relax. Soon enough, her little breaths turned deep and steady, the rise and fall of her chest slow and peaceful.

“She’s out,” Y/N whispered, glancing at Harry. “Where’s the crib?”

Harry, still sprawled on the couch, pointed toward the hallway. “Guest room down the hall. Set it up earlier—thought I’d actually get to use it.”

Y/N chuckled softly before carefully making their way to the room, mindful of every step. Inside, a small crib was set up beside the bed, blankets neatly folded, a soft nightlight casting a warm glow over the space.

Lowering the baby with careful precision, Y/N held her breath as they placed her down, gently pulling their arms away. The little girl stirred for a moment, scrunching her nose, but after a second, she settled, her tiny body relaxing into the mattress.

Y/N let out a quiet breath of relief, stepping back slowly.

From the doorway, Harry leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching with a smirk. “That was impressive.”

Y/N turned, smirking back. “Told you I’ve got the magic touch.”

Harry chuckled as they both crept out of the room, closing the door just enough to keep an ear out. As they walked back to the living room, he sighed dramatically. “Think she likes you more than me.”

Y/N shrugged playfully. “Can you blame her?”

Harry shook his head with a grin. “Nope. Not one bit.”

...

Now that the baby was peacefully asleep, Y/N patted the couch beside her. “Alright, sit. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “You sure? I should probably—”

“Sit, Styles,” Y/N insisted, hands on their hips. “I’ve got it.”

Letting out a long sigh, Harry flopped down onto the couch, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Fine, but don’t judge the mess.”

Y/N surveyed the scene—baby bottles on the coffee table, a half-folded blanket hanging off the armrest, a used burp cloth crumpled beside Harry, and tiny clothes piled near the laundry basket. “Oh, I’m definitely judging.”

Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I was in survival mode, alright?”

Y/N smirked, grabbing the bottles first and heading to the kitchen sink. “Survival mode or not, I have no idea how you managed to turn your place into a war zone in just a few hours.”

Harry peeked through his fingers. “Talent?”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head as she tossed the burp cloth into the laundry pile and folded the baby blanket neatly. After wiping down the coffee table and gathering the tiny clothes, the place looked significantly less chaotic.

Turning back, Y/N found Harry sprawled on the couch, head resting against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.

Shaking their head fondly, they grabbed a throw blanket and draped it over him. “I swear, you’re as exhausted as the baby.”

Harry cracked one eye open, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, babysitting is harder than it looks.”

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Good thing you’ve got me, then.”

...

Y/N sat down beside Harry, and without hesitation, he shifted closer, letting his head rest on her lap with a tired sigh.

Feeling the warmth of him, Y/N hesitated for a second before murmuring a shy, “Hey.”

Harry hummed in response, eyes still closed, a small, sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “Hey.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them like a blanket. Y/N glanced at him, her heart softening at the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks, exhaustion written all over his face. Without thinking, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open at the feeling, and almost instantly, a slow smirk crept onto his lips. He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting theirs, something playful yet affectionate swimming in his green eyes.

“Mm,” he murmured, his voice laced with sleep and amusement. “That was sweet, but…” He lifted his head just enough so that their faces were mere inches apart. “Kiss me properly, please,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet longing, his eyes pleading.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart thudding as Harry’s gaze flickered to their lips. The invitation was clear.

And with a soft smile, she closed the distance, pressing her lips against his in a slow, lingering kiss—one that melted away the exhaustion, the chaos of the day, and left only the warmth of them, together.

When she pulled away, Harry let out a contented sigh, his forehead resting against theirs. “That’s more like it,” he murmured, grinning.

Y/N laughed softly, their fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt. “Happy now?”

Harry hummed, wrapping an arm around them and pulling them closer. “Very.”

...

A sharp, heart-wrenching wail pierced through the air, jolting both of them awake.

Harry’s eyes snapped open first, blinking away the haze of sleep. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand over his face as he quickly sat up. Y/N groaned softly beside him, still half-asleep.

His niece’s cries grew louder, making his instincts kick in. Without hesitation, he pushed himself off the couch, mumbling, “I got it,” as he hurried toward the guest room.

Y/N sat up groggily, rubbing their eyes as they listened to Harry’s footsteps fade down the hall. After stretching and yawning, they got up and followed him.

Inside the guest room, Harry was already leaning over the crib, his niece’s tiny face scrunched up in distress, her little fists flailing in frustration.

“Hey, hey, love,” he cooed softly, scooping her up into his arms. “What’s wrong now, hmm?”

She was fussy, her pretty eyes staring up at Y/N as if searching for something. Y/N tilted their head, watching her for a moment before saying, “Maybe she’s hungry?”

Harry glanced down at her, noticing the way she was smacking her tiny lips between whimpers. “You might be right,” he murmured.

Y/N was already a step ahead, heading toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll warm up a bottle.”

Harry followed, bouncing the baby gently as they made their way to the kitchen. “I swear, this girl has the appetite of a grown man.”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “She’s got your genes, after all.”

Harry smirked. “True. Guess that means she’s gonna have excellent taste in food and music.”

Y/N rolled their eyes fondly as they prepared the bottle. “Sure, Styles. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Harry chuckled, watching Y/N test the bottle’s temperature before handing it over. As soon as he placed it against his niece’s lips, she latched on, drinking eagerly.

“There we go,” Y/N murmured, smiling softly.

Harry exhaled in relief, shifting her in his arms. “Crisis averted—for now.”

They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, watching as the little one drank, her tiny fingers curling around Harry’s shirt.

Y/N looked up at him, their voice softer now. “You’re good at this, you know.”

Harry met their gaze, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Only because I’ve got you.”

Y/N felt their heart skip a beat, but before they could say anything, Harry smirked.

“And, well… because I’m naturally amazing, of course.”

Y/N groaned, lightly shoving his arm. “And there it is.”

Harry chuckled, adjusting his hold on the baby. “You love it.”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Harry grinned, nudging them playfully. “Lucky me.”

Y/N shook their head with a small smile, watching as the baby’s eyes grew heavy again, her tiny body relaxing in Harry’s arms.

...

After finishing her bottle, Harry carefully lifted his niece against his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles on her back to help her burp. A few pats later, she let out a small, satisfied burp, making Harry chuckle.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head.

But instead of getting sleepy like he had hoped, his niece suddenly seemed wide awake, her tiny hands reaching out to grab at the fabric of his shirt.

Y/N smirked, crossing their arms as they leaned against the doorframe. “Looks like someone got a second wind.”

Harry groaned, looking down at the little one, who was now tugging insistently at his shirt with a newfound determination. “Oh, come on, love. We’re supposed to be winding down, not gearing up for playtime.”

His niece cooed in response, her chubby fingers grasping onto a loose thread, pulling at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Harry sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, destroy my shirt. I didn’t need it anyway.”

Y/N laughed, stepping closer. “She’s got style. Maybe she’s just trying to redesign it for you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You saying my fashion needs work?”

Y/N shrugged playfully. “I mean, she does have good taste.”

Harry scoffed, shifting his niece in his arms as she continued her assault on his shirt. “Alright, miss stylist, what now? She’s supposed to be asleep, not gearing up for a runway show.”

Y/N reached out, gently running a finger over the baby’s tiny hand. “Maybe she just wants to play a bit before she knocks out again. Let her get it out of her system.”

Harry sighed, but there was no real frustration in his voice—just exhaustion mixed with fondness. “Fine. But if she’s still wide awake in an hour, you’re taking over.”

Y/N smirked. “Deal.”

They both sat on the couch again, Harry settling his niece in his lap as she kicked her little legs excitedly, still clutching at his shirt. Y/N watched with a soft smile as Harry let her play, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at her.

“You really love her, huh?” Y/N murmured after a moment.

Harry looked up, his expression softening even more. “Yeah,” he admitted, brushing a hand over his niece’s tiny head. “She’s a little troublemaker, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight of him—disheveled curls, sleepy eyes, a worn-out shirt covered in baby drool—but still completely enamored with the little girl in his arms.

And in that moment, Y/N realized something else.

She was completely enamoured with him, too.

...

Harry sighed, running a tired hand through his curls as his niece continued tugging at his shirt, her tiny fingers grasping onto the fabric with surprising strength.

Y/N sat beside him, watching with an amused smile. “She’s really making sure you don’t go anywhere, huh?”

Harry huffed. “Tell me about it. I think I officially belong to her now.”

But just as he said that his niece suddenly turned her attention to Y/N. Her big, curious eyes locked onto her, and after a few seconds of staring, she let out an excited squeal and immediately stretched her little arms out—tiny fingers wiggling in the air, making clear 'grabby-hands' toward Y/N.

Both of them froze.

“Oh?” Y/N’s brows lifted in surprise, glancing between the baby and Harry. “Is she…?”

Harry blinked, looking down at his niece, who was now fussing impatiently, her grabby-hands growing more insistent.

“Oi, what’s this about?” he said, feigning offense. “I thought you were Team Uncle Harry?”

His niece responded by making an even louder noise of demand, her chubby fingers still reaching for Y/N.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Guess she’s switching sides.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Traitor.” But despite his words, he smiled fondly and carefully passed her over to Y/N.

The moment Y/N took her into their arms, she settled almost immediately, tiny hands gripping her shirt instead. Her little head rested against their chest as she let out a soft, content sigh.

Y/N’s heart melted. “Oh, she’s such a sweetheart.”

Harry stared at the two of them, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unreal. I’ve been entertaining her all night, and she ditches me the second you walk in?”

Y/N smirked. “What can I say? I’ve got the magic touch.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Or you bribed her.”

Y/N chuckled, gently swaying with the baby in their arms. “Maybe she just knows I’m your favorite.”

Harry scoffed but couldn’t hide the way his lips twitched up at the corners. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get used to it. She’s only letting you hold her because she’s curious.”

But as if to prove him wrong, his niece suddenly reached up and clumsily patted Y/N’s face with her tiny hand before nuzzling against them even more.

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Oh, did you see that? That was pure affection. I think she really loves me.”

Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. “This is unfair.”

Y/N grinned, looking down at the baby who was now dozing off against them. “Looks like I win.”

Harry peeked through his fingers before dropping his hands with a defeated sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

Y/N smiled softly, gently stroking the baby’s back. “You know, she’s got good taste.”

Harry tilted his head. “Oh?”

Y/N looked up, meeting his gaze. “She likes me. And so do you.”

Harry blinked, lips parting slightly, before a slow, knowing smirk curved on his lips. He leaned in just a little, voice dropping to a soft murmur.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his green eyes twinkling. “I really do.”

After settling his niece down, Harry made his way into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He was exhausted, but he figured a quick, warm meal would do them both some good.

He grabbed a pot, setting it on the stove before drizzling in a bit of olive oil. As the oil heated up, he tossed in some diced onions and minced garlic, the kitchen quickly filling with a rich, mouthwatering aroma.

Just as he gave the pan a stir, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Turning his head, he spotted Y/N walking in, his niece cradled in their arms.

“Let’s see what Uncle Harry is making for us,” Y/N murmured, bouncing the baby gently as they approached the stove.

Harry grinned, waving the wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton. “Hello, ladies. Tonight’s special is a delicious pastina soup, made with love by yours truly.”

Y/N smirked, peeking over his shoulder. “Mmm, smells good. Let’s hope it actually tastes as good as it smells.”

Harry gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “The audacity! You wound me.”

Y/N laughed, shifting the baby in their arms. “Well, guess we’ll have to be the judges.”

Harry huffed, turning back to his pot. “You’ll both be begging me to cook for you every night after this.”

As if to emphasize his confidence, he banged the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot with a playful thunk-thunk.

A second later, an unexpected sound filled the air—his niece’s loud, gleeful giggles.

Both Harry and Y/N froze before turning to look at the baby, who had the biggest, most delighted grin on her tiny face.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wait… did she just—?”

Y/N beamed. “Oh my God, do it again.”

Harry, still in shock, lifted the spoon and banged it against the pot once more.

Thunk-thunk.

The baby immediately burst into another round of giggles, her tiny fists waving excitedly in the air.

Harry gasped, grinning. “Oi, you think Uncle Harry is funny, huh?” He banged the spoon again, this time adding a silly wiggle of his hips for extra effect.

His niece cackled, her giggles filling the kitchen like the sweetest melody.

Y/N laughed along, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “You’re right, love. Uncle Harry is funny.”

Harry placed a hand on his hip, dramatically flipping the spoon like a microphone. “Finally, someone who appreciates my comedic genius.”

Y/N rolled their eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Just hurry up with that soup, funny man.”

Harry chuckled, stirring the pot with a newfound sense of pride. “Coming right up, my little audience.”

As the soup simmered, the kitchen felt warmer—not just from the heat of the stove, but from the laughter and easy comfort shared between them.

And as Harry sneaked another glance at Y/N and his niece, he realized—this moment, right here—was exactly what happiness felt like. ...

Just as Harry was about to ladle the soup into bowls, the front door swung open.

“Helloooo!” Gemma’s familiar voice rang through the house, followed by the sound of heels clicking against the floor. “Where’s my baby, baby brother?”

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes as he set the ladle down. “I’m literally a grown man, Gem.”

Gemma waltzed into the kitchen with a knowing smirk, Michal trailing behind her with an amused expression. “Yeah, yeah. But you’ll always be my baby brother.” She glanced around before her eyes landed on Y/N, who was still holding her daughter.

“Oh, look at that! She’s absolutely fine,” Gemma teased, walking over to Y/N. “And judging by the smell in here, you even managed to make dinner without burning the house down.”

Harry scoffed. “Rude. I made pastina soup, and it’s actually really good, thank you very much.”

Michal chuckled, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Good job, mate. Proud of you.”

Gemma cooed at her daughter, gently taking her from Y/N’s arms. “And how was my little angel? Did Uncle Harry do a good job?”

Her baby let out a happy squeal, reaching for Gemma’s hair, making everyone laugh.

Y/N stretched their arms out, pretending to be exhausted. “Oh, she was a sweetheart. But Uncle Harry, on the other hand, was the one who needed babysitting.”

Harry shot them a look. “Oi!”

Gemma smirked. “That sounds about right.”

Harry groaned dramatically, but there was no real irritation in his voice—just the warmth of a family reunited. He looked at Y/N, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

Y/N grinned. “Not a chance, Styles.”

Gemma and Michal exchanged a glance, silently noting the fondness in Harry’s eyes.

“Well,” Gemma said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head. “Sounds like you had quite the Valentine’s Day.”

Harry’s gaze flickered to Y/N, his smirk softening. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I really did.”

...

Harry wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and turned to Gemma and Michal. “You sure you don’t want a bowl before you go? Made it with love, you know.”

Michal chuckled, adjusting the sleeping baby in his arms. “Tempting, mate, but we should get her home before she wakes up.”

Gemma, now holding the baby’s essentials—her diaper bag slung over one shoulder and a small blanket in her hand—gave Harry an affectionate smile. “Yeah, thanks though. We had a great night, and clearly, she did too.”

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Harry in a tight hug. As she pulled back slightly, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, her tone both teasing and serious.

“She’s a keeper, Harry. Don’t fuck it up.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up, his gaze instinctively flickering toward Y/N, who was absentmindedly wiping down the counter, completely unaware of the weight behind Gemma’s words.

Before he could respond, Gemma pulled away with a smirk, turning to Y/N and giving them a quick hug as well. “Bye, love. Thanks for keeping my brother in check.”

Y/N laughed. “Anytime.”

With a final wave, Gemma and Michal stepped out into the night, leaving Harry standing in the kitchen, hands on his hips, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips.

He glanced at Y/N, watching as they moved around his kitchen like they belonged there. His heart did a little flip. He can't wait to have more moments like this with you.

Gemma was right.

And he had no intention of messing this up.

...

[nickistuffs]

Aching Wrist

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: Aching wrists turns into playful teasing

Word Count: 361

Warnings: None. Fluff

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry found himself at your place again, watching you work with quiet fascination. He had always admired how you moved, completely absorbed in your tasks, but today, he noticed something different.

You rolled your aching wrist with a small wince, and he recognized that pain instantly. It was the same soreness he felt after hours of playing guitar, the dull ache that crept in after repetitive movements. His brows furrowed slightly as he observed you switching between tasks with effortless ease—drawing with your left hand, then seamlessly using your right to cut paper with precision.

"You're ambidextrous?" he asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

You looked up, momentarily surprised by his attention. "Yeah, kind of. I guess it just happened over time."

He hummed in understanding, watching as you flexed your fingers, trying to shake off the stiffness. Without thinking, he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "You should stretch more," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your wrist in slow, soothing circles. "Overworking your hands isn’t worth it, trust me."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Says the guy who plays guitar for hours on end."

He grinned, giving a casual shrug. "Touché. But I still know a thing or two about sore wrists. Had to get surgery for it." His grip lingered for a second longer before he let go, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

For a moment, silence stretched between you—comfortable, warm, and laced with something unspoken.

"Want me to help?" he offered, nodding toward the stack of papers you need to cut

"There's no need to, Harry," you said, waving him off. "I'll work on that later—I have other tasks to prioritize. You can continue with your own work."

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you glanced at him. "Mr. I-Want-to-Hangout-and-Do-Work-but-Gets-Distracted-Easily," you teased.

Harry scoffed, placing a hand over his chest in mock offence. "Excuse me, I am a very productive person."

You raised a brow, unconvinced.

"Okay, sometimes productive," he admitted with a grin. "But can you blame me? You make multitasking look cool."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the amused smile creeping onto your face.

...

I have painfully sore wrist T-T

[nickistuffs]

this is me all day

[nickistuffs]

A Reminder to Breathe

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: After pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion with work, Y/N finds an unwavering source of comfort in Harry

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None. Fluff slight angst.

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Everything felt overwhelming, chaotic, and messed up. The weight of it all pressed down on you, and all you craved was his presence—his soft voice to soothe you. But no, here you were, at work, running yet another onsite project.

Today had been a whirlwind. You’d spent hours running around town with one of your contractors, picking up materials for a clothing store your client was planning to open. It was a job you loved, but exhaustion always crept in. From overseeing your team’s work to managing quality control, it seemed like there was never an end.

Then the client arrived to check on the progress.

“Hey, Y/N! How’s everything going?” he greeted with a smile, eager for an update.

“All is going well,” you replied, trying to keep the exhaustion out of your voice. “We’re on schedule and already planning the next steps to avoid any confusion.”

As you wrapped up your conversation with the builders, he wandered over to a wall where your plans were laid out, studying every detail of the room’s design. When he spoke, his tone was casual but firm.

“Y/N, is this what you initially planned for this section of the room?”

You walked over, confirming his observation. “Yup. I’m actually really excited about this part. That’s why I wanted to be here in person to give specific directions.”

He studied the layout for a moment before his eyes flicked back to you. “Well, I don’t think it’s popping like I imagined. Can you change it?”

Your heart sank. The audacity of this guy to change everything with the snap of his fingers. Your blood boiled as you held your ground.

“Well,” you began, keeping your voice steady, “it’s easier said than done. We’re already behind schedule from the last round of revisions. And honestly, the deadline you set won’t align with the store opening unless we stick to the original plan.”

You met his gaze, frustration creeping into your expression as you tried to make him see reason.

“I’m your client, Y/N,” he snapped, his tone growing colder. “I’m paying you, and people keep saying you’re the best. So, I expect new plans for this section in four days. Got it?”

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, fuming.

Henry, your contractor, noticed your irritation and patted your back in a supportive gesture. “You do what you need to do, Y/N. I’ll start on whatever can be done now. We’ll finish this and have another meeting afterwards.”

You nodded but couldn’t shake the frustration. As much as you loved your work, dealing with clients like this always felt like a battle. Gathering your things, you left the site, knowing you had a long night ahead. At least you could take some time to breathe before diving back into the chaos.

Two days had passed, and you had barely stopped working. It was nonstop, relentless. Sketching, adjusting, planning, and coordinating—your life had become a blur of blueprints and emails. You weren’t even sure when you last ate a proper meal. The only thing you knew for certain was that your body ached, your head pounded, and sleep had become a distant luxury.

You barely had time to check your phone, and it wasn’t until you glanced at it, seeing the unread messages, that guilt settled in. You hadn’t replied to Harry.

Harry, who always checked in. Harry, who had probably noticed your silence by now.

At that very moment, Harry was at Felice’s, ordering lunch for both of you, worry evident on his face.

“Hey, Harry, how’s Y/N?” Felice asked, handing over the order.

“I actually don’t know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “We haven’t been in touch for two days, so I’m worried.”

Felice frowned, glancing toward the kitchen. “That’s not like them.”

Harry sighed, picking up the bags. “Yeah. I know they’re busy, but… I don’t know. I just hope they’re okay.”

With that, he left, heading straight to your place, determined to check-in. Because if you weren’t going to take care of yourself, then he would.

Harry knocked on the door of your workshop, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of your overworked computer. You blinked, your bloodshot eyes straining from hours of staring at the screen. Your glasses had slid down your nose, and your hair was shoved into a messy bun, strands falling loosely around your face. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on your shoulders, but the knock startled you enough to jolt upright.

When you opened the door, you were met with Harry’s concerned gaze. His eyes swept over you, taking in your disheveled state, and his brows furrowed.

“Y/N…” he said softly, stepping inside before you could protest.

“You—what are you doing here?” you stammered, genuinely surprised by his presence.

Harry sighed, lifting the bag of food. “You haven’t answered me in two days. Felice is worried. I’m worried. And looking at you now, I was right to be.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed. You hadn’t realized how bad you looked until you saw the concern written all over his face. He set the food down on your cluttered desk and reached out, gently squeezing your shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “Eat first. Then we’ll talk.”

And for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

After finishing your food, you felt energy returning to your body, the warmth of a real meal helping to shake off some of the exhaustion. Instinctively, you pushed your chair back, ready to dive back into work.

But Harry’s hand was on your wrist before you could stand, stopping you.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice laced with concern. “You’re working yourself to the bone. Did you sleep here?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his sharp gaze told you he already knew the answer. The messy pile of blankets in the corner, the half-empty coffee cups littering your desk—it was obvious.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what I thought.”

His disappointment stung more than any lecture. You wanted to argue, to tell him you were fine, that you had deadlines to meet. But the exhaustion settled deep in your bones, and for once, you didn’t have the energy to fight him.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you gently to your feet. “You need sleep, not another round of revisions.”

You hesitated, looking at your screen, but Harry squeezed your hand. “Please, Y/N.”

And somehow, that was enough to make you nod, letting him lead you away from your desk and toward the rest you desperately needed.

...

Harry drove you back home, the soft hum of the car’s engine lulling you into much-needed rest. The moment your head rested against the window, exhaustion took over, and you drifted off into a deep sleep. Harry glanced at you briefly, his expression softening. You had pushed yourself too hard, and he wasn’t going to let you do it alone anymore.

As he pulled up to your place, he gently shook your shoulder. “Y/N, we’re here.”

You stirred, eyes heavy with sleep. He smiled slightly. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” As you stepped into your apartment, the weight of exhaustion hit you like a wave. Without a word, you shuffled straight to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the stress of the past few days. The warm water felt like a small mercy, soothing the tension in your muscles as you changed into your softest pyjamas.

Meanwhile, Harry moved around your kitchen with quiet efficiency. He set a kettle on the stove, pulling out your favorite tea blend and preparing a mug. As the water heated, he glanced toward the bathroom door, listening for any signs of movement. His worry hadn’t faded—not entirely—but at least you were home, taking care of yourself, even if it was just for a moment.

When you emerged, looking slightly more refreshed but still utterly drained, Harry held out the steaming cup. "Drink this," he said gently. "Then we’ll talk about getting you some real rest."

You took a slow sip of your tea, the warmth spreading through your chest as you settled onto your bed. The familiar comfort of your mattress made you realize just how much you had missed it. Your body ached in relief, sinking into the softness, but before you could relax completely, Harry sat beside you, his expression unreadable.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N… I'm disappointed in you. You didn’t reach back to me in two days. Two days. Do you know how worried I was?"

His voice wasn’t harsh, but the weight of his concern settled heavily between you. You stared down at your tea, guilt creeping up your spine. You hadn’t meant to shut him out—it just happened, lost in the whirlwind of work. But looking at him now, at the way his brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, you knew you had to say something.

"I'm sorry, I know... I just had to finish it," you mumbled, the words spilling out in a tired rush. "My client really laid it on thick, saying that I was ‘the best’ and that I should do whatever I needed to do. I didn’t want to let them down."

You rambled, voice cracking slightly from exhaustion. You weren’t even sure if you were making sense anymore, but the need to justify yourself clawed at your chest. Harry sighed, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. He knew you loved your work, knew how much passion you poured into every project—but he didn’t think you would go this far. That you would sacrifice your own well-being for it.

He shook his head, his voice softer now. "Y/N… being the best doesn't mean running yourself into the ground." That's when the waterworks started. Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as the weight of exhaustion, pressure, and the looming deadline finally broke through. A choked sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I know I need to work on this—on asking for help instead of trying to do everything alone."

Harry didn’t hesitate. He immediately pulled you into a firm, reassuring hug, his warmth grounding you as he gently rubbed your back. "You're not alone, Y/N. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. I’m here, always."

His words broke something in you, and you clung to him, letting yourself feel everything you had been holding in for too long.

You sniffled against his shirt, his steady presence grounding you as exhaustion seeped deeper into your bones. "Thank you for looking out for me, Harry," you murmured, voice thick with emotion.

He pressed a reassuring hand against your back, his touch warm and familiar. "Lie down, Y/N. You need to rest."

You nodded, too drained to argue, and let yourself sink into the comfort of your bed. Just as you were about to close your eyes, Harry hesitated before speaking, his voice softer this time. "Can I stay? Just for tonight?"

You blinked up at him, surprised but comforted by the thought. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he interrupted gently. "I just want to make sure you’re okay."

A small, grateful smile formed on your lips as you shifted, making space for him. "Okay. Stay."

Harry settled in beside you, the quiet of the room wrapping around you both like a cocoon.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. It painted golden streaks across the sheets, illuminating the quiet intimacy of the space. Harry stirred first, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he registered the familiar weight pressed against him—the quiet rise and fall of your breath against his chest. It took a moment for reality to settle in—he was still in your apartment, still in your bed, and still holding you close.

His arms were wrapped around you protectively, your body curled into his warmth, and he found himself reluctant to move. He had been in relationships before, had woken up next to others, but this—this was different. There was no rush to slip away, no lingering regret or fleeting connection. With you, it felt natural. Easy. Like he belonged here.

His gaze flickered to your sleeping face, the exhaustion still evident in the delicate creases around your eyes. He thought back to the past few days, to the way you had pushed yourself beyond reason. He saw you pour every ounce of yourself into your work, into the people you cared about, until there was hardly anything left for yourself. It was a pattern he knew all too well too, and one that made his heart ache in ways he never expected. And yet, despite everything, here you were—peaceful, safe, finally resting.

Harry exhaled softly, running a hand through his unruly hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. He never imagined he’d feel this way—that he’d want to take care of someone as much as he wanted to take care of you. The thought sent warmth flooding through his chest, an unfamiliar yet welcome sensation. He had always been the one to keep his heart guarded, to tread carefully in matters of love, but with you… there was no fear, no hesitation. Just certainty.

His fingers traced lazy circles over your back, reveling in the way you instinctively nuzzled closer, seeking him even in sleep. He smiled, something soft and tender curling at the edges of his lips. He wanted to memorize everything about this moment—the way the sunlight framed your features, the way your fingers clung lightly to his shirt, the way your presence alone filled every empty space inside him.

Carefully, he shifted just enough to press a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin as if sealing an unspoken promise. He knew the world would call you both back soon, that the quiet sanctuary of the morning wouldn’t last forever. But for now, he let himself sink into the comfort of you, of this shared warmth, of the undeniable truth settling in his chest.

He wanted to be here for all of it—the bad, the good, in every way—just be with you.

...

Take your time lovelies. <3

[nickistuffs]

Our First Valentine

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference

Summary: A moment of warmth, understanding, and unspoken love.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None. Fluff 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry had planned everything. He was supposed to be the one to ask you out for Valentine’s Day. He had it all figured out—the flowers, the words, even the slightly nervous but charming smile he’d give you when he asked.

But then, here you were, standing at his doorstep, flipping his plan upside down.

You held a bouquet of pink flowers in your hands, a card tucked neatly between your fingers. Your cheeks were a lovely shade of pink—whether from the cold or from nervousness, he wasn’t sure, but either way, he wanted to reach out and pinch them.

With a deep breath, you shyly extended the bouquet and card toward him. Your voice was soft, but there was determination in it.

“Harry… would you want to be my Valentine?”

For a split second, Harry forgot how words worked. Then, all at once, his brain caught up with him.

“Yes. Absolutely yes. No doubt in my mind,” he blurted out, stepping aside. “Come in—it’s cold out.”

A small, relieved laugh slipped from your lips as you stepped inside. As always, you carefully took off your shoes and placed them neatly by the corner near his, and before you could even think about feeling the cold floor beneath your feet, Harry was already back with a pair of warm, fluffy slippers.

“For you,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “I, um… got these just in case you ever needed them.”

Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of it. Slipping them on, you looked up at him with a soft smile. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

That’s when Harry noticed the card still in his hand. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning over your delicate handwriting:

"Thank you for being my first Valentine. I hope the season of love can prolong with the both of us. Sincerely yours, Y/N."

Harry swallowed hard.

First Valentine.

That made this moment even more special than he had thought.

When he looked up again, you were already watching him, nervously biting your lip as if afraid of his reaction. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tight hug, his chin resting gently on top of your head.

“You have no idea how much I love this,” he murmured.

And you had no idea how much he meant it.

Neither of you wanted a fancy night out. Harry wasn’t fond of the spotlight, and honestly, neither were you.

So instead, here you both were, sitting in front of his fireplace, wrapped up in the same shared blanket, talking about anything and everything while waiting for your dinner delivery to arrive.

The night was easy, filled with laughter, warmth, and little moments that made your heart swell. Harry told you about a ridiculous dream he had the other night, complete with dragons and accidentally showing up to a concert in his pajamas. You shared an embarrassing childhood story in return, one that made Harry laugh so hard he had to wipe away tears.

At one point, he pulled out a box of chocolates, offering you first pick. You grabbed one, but before you could eat it, Harry leaned in.

"Wait—let me guess which one you got," he said, squinting at the chocolate in your hand as if it held some great mystery.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Go on, then."

He hummed, then smirked. "Caramel-filled."

You bit into it, your eyes widening. "...How did you know?"

Harry leaned back, grinning. "I pay attention."

Your heart did a little flip at that.

As the fire crackled beside you, you realized something—this was perfect. This moment, this night, this feeling of just being with Harry. You didn’t need a grand gesture or an extravagant date. Just him.

Just this.

As the night continued, the atmosphere between you both shifted into something softer, something unspoken yet deeply felt.

The way Harry had been looking at you… it made your heart race. His eyes would flicker down to your lips every now and then, but he never made a move, never pushed.

And the thing was… you wanted him to.

You had never really kissed anyone before. Not in a way that mattered. Not in a way that made your chest feel tight with anticipation.

But now, with Harry sitting so close, the warmth of him wrapping around you like a second blanket, the thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

You curled your fingers against your lap, forcing yourself to find the courage. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned to face him.

“Harry?”

His gaze snapped to yours instantly, his expression soft yet curious.

“Yeah?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You sucked in a breath, steadying yourself.

“Can I kiss you?”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in surprise. He didn’t speak for a moment, and panic started creeping into your chest.

Maybe I shouldn’t have—

“Yes.”

The word was barely above a whisper, but it was full of certainty.

His fingers brushed lightly against your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“You sure?” he murmured. “You don’t have to if—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, surprising even yourself with how firm you sounded. Then, quieter, you admitted, “I just… I’ve never really done this before.”

Harry’s expression softened instantly, something tender flickering in his gaze.

“You haven’t?” he asked, voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, but you shook your head. “Not like this.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Harry noticed.

Not like this.

His brows furrowed slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t need to—because the small squeeze of his hand around yours told you that he understood. That he had caught the weight in your words.

Someone had hurt you before. Maybe not in a grand, obvious way, but enough that this moment—this first real kiss—felt different. Safer.

Harry exhaled softly, his thumb grazing over your knuckles in a soothing motion, grounding you in the present.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice laced with something gentle, something unwavering, “then we’ll take it slow.”

And just like that, the fear melted away.

Harry leaned in slightly, giving you the space to close the distance. Your breath hitched, but you wanted this. Wanted him.

So you closed your eyes and leaned forward, your heart pounding so loudly you swore he could hear it.

At first, it was just the faintest brush of his lips against yours, soft and tentative—an unspoken question, waiting for an answer.

You let out a shaky breath, tilting your face slightly, leaning into him, telling him without words that this was okay. That this was what you wanted.

Harry’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin as he deepened the kiss ever so slightly. His lips were warm, gentle, and patient, moving against yours in a way that made your stomach flutter.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t overwhelming.

It was tender.

It was Harry.

And it was perfect.

The warmth of him, the way he held you like you were something precious—it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you caught your breath.

Harry let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“You beat me to it again, Y/N.”

You blinked at him, still a little dazed. “What?”

He laughed, his thumb still brushing against your cheek. “I was supposed to be the one to kiss you first.”

You giggled, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. “Well… I guess I just couldn’t wait.”

Harry grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his arms.

And in that moment, he knew—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

...

I wanted a romantic and cheesy kiss, you can't blame a girl.