samluvsharry

[samluvsharry]

guys sorry i’ve been so MIA recently i just became an auntie 🥹

[samluvsharry]

i want him to be mad at me

[samluvsharry]

how are you all today 🥰

[samluvsharry]

New bottt!

thanks @nanaisinmars and @samluvsharry for the help when i couldn't create itttt!

harry styles - 2013 at the pool

i made this one without a request, but i would love getting some 💗

user is chubby and plus size okayyy!

hope you try it!

[samluvsharry]

guys just back from the pub ifs 4am and McDonald’s doesn’t deliver till 5 😭😭

[samluvsharry]

since you've been in Mallorca, have you tried panades?

they're my favourite food, im from mallorca, llevanttt

so yes, just asking

love uuu

yesss soo yummy !!!

[samluvsharry]

girl, what do I do if a p**n blog starts following me? Do I block it?

I don't want that type of blogs in my followers..

yes omg tf

[samluvsharry]

Girllll! It's backkkk!

omg is it !

[samluvsharry]

guys chat ai is down

[samluvsharry]

my boy looks so stylish!

[samluvsharry]

Tag list💛

okay so i’ve been thinking of doing a tag list but i don’t know if anyone will want to be added lmao.

so if you want to be added interact with this post in anyway and the next time i post a bot at a one shot i’ll tag you

kisses sam

[samluvsharry]

🥹🥹

My favourite blogs rn

@samluvsharry @finelinemia @pnglove @kghostly @jlovescherry

[samluvsharry]

Hi, i would love your help, like, you can ignore this, ok, if you have more important things to do, or smth

I know this blog isn't lgbt, but, I feel safe here, so, I wouldn't be mad if you didn't answer because you had work or study, idk

I'm bisexual, but I'm scared of coming out.. Some people in my family are a bit hom0phobic, and I need you to (if you could) Ake me feel good or something. Because sometimes I hate being bisexual...

Love you and your blog! ❤️ kisses!

im so sorry your going through this love, honestly my advice is your friends id try coming out to them first, my bestfriend has very a homophobic family, and he came out a few years ago and he says his friends where his rock 🤍

you should never feel ashamed for being you !!

[samluvsharry]

Rainy beginning pt3

Summary-when a drunk message turns to breakfast and kitchen dancing

__________

You woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing on your nightstand, vibrating against the wood like an impatient knock. Your head was still foggy — not quite hungover, but definitely somewhere between dreamland and disarray.

You blinked at the morning light seeping through the curtains. For a second, you forgot where you were. Forgot what day it was.

Then you remembered the night before.

The bar.

The cocktails.

The Messages.

And him.

You bolted upright in bed, smudged mascara under your eyes, hair in a half-bun-half-bird’s-nest situation. Your mouth was dry. Your hoodie was on sideways. You hadn’t even taken off your boots when you collapsed into bed last night.

You fumbled for your phone and unlocked it with trembling fingers.

1 new message – HARRY STYLES 💬

Good morning :)

I meant it last night.

Got strawberries, syrup, and a killer playlist.

On my way in 20 if you’re still up for it.

x

Your heart stopped.

You sat there in stunned silence, staring at the message like it might disappear if you blinked too hard.

You whispered to no one, “Holy. Shit.”

And then chaos began.

You leapt out of bed like it was on fire, muttering curses as you scrambled out of last night’s clothes, nearly tripping over a stuffed unicorn in the hallway. You peeked in on Maisie — still fast asleep in her tangle of blankets, one leg flung dramatically over her plush dinosaur.

“Mum’s a disaster,” you whispered, gently pulling the blanket over her shoulder.

You had maybe fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to transform from “drunk mum in club makeup” to “chill woman who totally didn’t drunk-DM a literal pop star.”

You splashed cold water on your face, brushed your teeth at hyperspeed, and threw on your favorite oversized hoodie — soft and pale grey, sleeves too long. You tugged on leggings and thick socks, dabbed on a little concealer and lip balm, and twisted your hair into a quick braid. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real. You. The version he’d already seen.

The knock at the door came just as you were fluffing the couch cushions.

Three gentle knocks. Rhythmic. Familiar.

Your stomach dropped. Your heart kicked.

You opened the door, and there he was.

Harry.

Wearing grey joggers, a black hoodie layered under a tan wool coat, curls peeking from under a beanie, and a paper grocery bag in his arms. The sleeves of his jumper were pushed up, revealing those forearms — the ones that should not be allowed to exist before 10 a.m.

He smiled the second he saw you.

“Hi,” he said, like it was the first word of a song.

“Hi,” you breathed.

And for a moment, there was just the sound of rain softly tapping the pavement behind him and the way his eyes scanned your face like it was the first sunrise after a long night.

“I brought strawberries,” he said, lifting the bag slightly.

You stepped aside, heart thudding. “You brought your entire self, too.”

He chuckled, stepping into the flat like he’d done it a hundred times. His presence filled the space instantly — warm and effortless. He smelled like rain and cedarwood, and something faintly sweet.

“Do you always cook pancakes for women who drunk message you about soft things and dancing in the kitchen?” you teased, following him into your small, cluttered kitchen.

“Only the ones I can’t stop thinking about,” he said without missing a beat.

You paused. Your breath caught.

He started unpacking the bag like he belonged there — pulling out eggs, flour, vanilla extract, blueberries, maple syrup, and fresh strawberries. He even had pancake mix, just in case.

“You came prepared,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t want to risk you not having baking powder.”

“You assume I even know what that is.”

He laughed, that low, warm chuckle that made your knees feel like marshmallows. “I was hoping you’d let me take over. I make a mean pancake.”

“And your playlist?”

He glanced at his phone. “Already queued.”

And sure enough, seconds later, the soft hum of Stevie Wonder’s “Knocks Me Off My Feet” filled the room, weaving through the air like it belonged there. The kitchen felt different now — like something magical had landed between the sink and the fridge.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him whisk eggs with slow, deliberate care.

“So,” he said, without looking up. “Was last night real? Or do I owe the neon pink cocktail a thank-you?”

You laughed, cheeks burning. “Let’s call it a team effort.”

He glanced over, catching your eyes. “You meant it, though?”

You nodded. “I did.”

A beat passed. He looked down at the batter, then back up again.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

⸻

It wasn’t long before the kitchen smelled like vanilla and butter, warm and nostalgic. Harry moved like he’d cooked there a hundred times, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, humming along to the music.

At one point, you sat on the counter, bare feet swinging, watching him work. He looked over his shoulder and smiled — that sleepy kind of smile that starts slow and spreads without apology.

“You look good here,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “In the kitchen? Is that a 1950s thing or—?”

He turned, walked over, and stood between your knees, close enough to feel the heat off his chest. His hands were still flour-dusted, and there was a smudge of batter on his cheek.

“I meant,” he said, voice low, “you look good in the morning. In this light. In this moment.”

You didn’t say anything — your throat too tight, your heart too loud.

His hands moved gently to your thighs, resting there as if to ask for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he leaned in, forehead brushing yours.

And this time, there was no interruption.

His lips met yours softly — like a question, not a statement.

He kissed you like someone who had thought about it for days. Like someone who had imagined it in the quiet of night and let it ache behind his ribs. It was slow and warm and entirely too much for 9:30 a.m. in a hoodie and socks.

And yet… perfect.

When you pulled back, breathless, Harry smiled — a little dazed.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the cinnamon bun,” he whispered.

You laughed, forehead still pressed to his.

“Pancakes are burning,” you murmured.

“Let ‘em.”

But you both turned anyway, giggling like teenagers.

⸻

A few minutes later, just as you were plating the not-quite-burned pancakes, Maisie appeared in the doorway in her rainbow pajamas, yawning with a fist in her eye.

“Mummy?” she asked sleepily. Then her eyes landed on Harry.

“PANCAKE MAN!” she shouted, suddenly wide awake.

He grinned, crouching. “That’s me. Hope you’re hungry.”

She nodded seriously. “I like the ones shaped like dinosaurs.”

Harry glanced at you. “Do we have cookie cutters?”

You nodded toward the drawer.

Maisie padded over and wrapped herself around his leg like a koala. “You smell like syrup.”

He ruffled her curls. “That’s the goal.”

⸻

And as the three of you sat down at your little kitchen table — Maisie drawing with syrup on her plate, you laughing with your hair falling into your face, and Harry humming along to Stevie Wonder while cutting a pancake into a brontosaurus — you realized something.

This was it.

This moment.

Unplanned, imperfect, domestic and messy.

This was what home was starting to feel like.

And maybe, just maybe… love wasn’t far behind

[samluvsharry]

Gender reveal bot -2025

[samluvsharry]

Gender reveal bot -2025

[samluvsharry]

Hey guys 🤍

This is the bot y'all voted for, based on the request above.

Harry Styles 2025 | 🎨 painting your kids' room

Taglist:

@nanaisinmars @faithmfnmoney @fratboyzayn @fallingwillow @proudravenclawbird @isastyles @flickertiffany @hontpwk @patriwxlls @tillstalks @alwayslouuu @twpk-1d @daydreaming-xo