stylesficrecss

[stylesficrecss]

i’ve been reading some and they are so good! now i need a list of bratty y/n getting spanked from harry! NGL ITS SO ADDICTIVE I FEEL LIKE I FISNIEHD ALL THE FICS POSSIBLE! HELPPPP thankssss

BRATTY!READER

Burnt out by @golden-reverie (reader is not that bratty here but i still think it fits the request)

She’s feeling better by @rrysbabydoll

Punished by @freedomfireflies

Bad Mood by @rrysbabydoll

Busy by @rrysbabydoll

[stylesficrecss]

Hi,

I was wondering if you could help me find a mafia harry fic. I think it was a mini series and I remember one of the chapters being called Elysium (I think??) I read it like a year or so ago and i haven’t been able to find it since 💔

Hi!! I think @ghstyles ‘s series His Angel has a chapter called that, but this series came out this year. I will search some more though!!

[stylesficrecss]

hi! Can you do a roommate/dormmate masterlist? Thanks!

Hi! i already have a roomie!h ficlist!

[stylesficrecss]

subrry please 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

SUBRRY

The fleshlight blurb by @gurugirl

nasty by @daaydreamy

Every last drop by @littlemelaninfics

Sir, Yes Ma’am by @alohajix

Control by @harrywritingsbyme

[stylesficrecss]

Sarah, I'm in a terrible mood and I need something cute wholesome to read. Preferably boyfriendrry or husbandrry. Want fluff not angst. Can't handle it at the moment. Help me. I'm kinda dying inside rn

Hiii lovey!! I’m sorry you’re in an off mood I hope this little blurb helps you feel a bit better, I went husbandrry!! Also I’m sending you lots and lots of love babes 💖

CW: None just fluff

Summary: You and Harry have a fun little moment in the middle of a dinner party✨

Harry places his hands on your hips as he stands behind you at the kitchen counter where you’re cutting up fruit to serve with dessert to the small gathering of friends that are currently scattered around the living and dining room. He leans down and places his lips to the side of your neck as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Did you see the new piece of jewelry Andrea has on?” Your voice is soft mixture of playful with a hint of excitement as you toss a few cut up strawberries into a bowl.

“No? Where is this new piece of jewelry located?” He questions as he rests his chin on top of your shoulder, he feels your chest vibrate as you let out a chuckle no doubt due to his lack of observation skills. But he can’t be bothered to focus on other people that much while in the same room as you, his wife that still manages to steal all the air from his lungs and his attention the moment you step into the room.

“I’ll give you a hint how about that?” You tease as his arms fully wrap around you while you begin to cut up some watermelon.

“Okay hit me with it love.” He mumbles before placing a kiss to the side of your cheek.

“It’s not around her neck.”

“Baby that’s not much of a hint.”

“Yes it is? I’m narrowing down the options for you.”

“Oh is it her new watch? I saw her checking the time a few minutes into dinner.” Harry knows his answer is wrong by the way you lean back into his hold as you let out a loud laugh that you have to cover with one of your hands so you don’t disturb the people you invited over.

“No but you’re close.” Harry rubs his lips together as he tries to think of the brief interactions he’s had with your dear friend Andrea. You smile as you reach over and grab a bowl to place the cut up watermelon in, giving your finger that has your wedding ring on it a little wiggle that catches Harry’s attention.

“No fucking way.” He says shocked that he didn’t notice an engagement ring on your friend’s hand.

“Yes-did you really not notice how she was holding her wine glass? She was practically putting it on display for everyone to see.”

“Well I don’t make it a habit of looking at other people’s hands when yours are the only ones I’m worried about.” You roll your eyes as he nuzzles his nose against the warm skin of your neck. “Know how they like to wander and all that.” He adds as his hold around your middle tightens making you let out a scoff.

“Oh my hands do the wandering do they?” He lifts his head so you can turn around in his hold, placing your hands on his chest as you look up at him. “Whose hands got dangerously high on my thigh under the table during dinner then?” Harry just gives you a shrug as he leans down and presses his lips to the tip of your nose.

“I didn’t hear you complaining about it?”

“Why would I complain about my husband’s hand on my thigh? I’m just saying you’re the one with the wandering hands not me.”

“I can’t help it I just want to be touching you in someway all the time.” He explains as you reach up on the tips of your toes so you can place a kiss to his cheek making him grin.

“Did you really not notice the giant rock on her finger?” Harry raises an eyebrow as your hands slide up his chest to the back of his neck.

“Giant rock? Bigger than yours or-”

“Harry not everything is a competition.” You answer cutting his question short with a teasing laugh. He lets out a huff as his hands slide lower down your back. “See what I mean about the wandering?” You ask him as he gives your bottom a nice squeeze, he just acts as if he’s not doing anything as he leans down and places his lips against yours in a sweet kiss.

“Will you help me with the fruit?” You ask as you pull away, Harry gives your bottom another soft squeeze as he leans back in for a quick peck.

“Sorry baby I’d love to but I’ve got my hands full at the moment.” He says smugly making you laugh and give his chest a playful swat.

“You’re horrible.”

“I know but luckily that’s what my wife loves most about me.” You can’t help but smile as he leans in to place a kiss to your forehead before he loosens his hold on your bottom and slides his hands back up to your hips.

“I do-I love you and your wandering hands.” You tell him before turning back around so you can finish cutting up the fruit.

“I love you too.” He whispers in your ear before placing a kiss to the spot just below it.

[stylesficrecss]

Still

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: Explicit sexual content, cockwarming, D/S dynamic, gentle discipline (thigh slap), consensual power exchange, emotional vulnerability, soft dom Harry, established romantic relationship.

Synopsis: You sneak up on Harry while he’s busy working, begging him to put it in and promising not to move. Despite multiple warnings, you can’t help but shift.

Harry was focused, brows slightly furrowed as he scanned through the pages of the thick black notebook resting on the coffee table. You watched him quietly from the hallway, chewing at the end of your sleeve. He looked so calm and put together.

Your heart fluttered, tummy warm and fluttery.

You padded over in your baby pink socks, wearing one of his oversized shirts. You didn’t say anything at first, just stood by the edge of the counter and tugged at the hem of the shirt nervously. He noticed you right away, of course.

“Hi, bun.” He didn’t look away from his notes, but his voice was soft, fond. “What’s the matter?”

You pouted, swaying slightly. “Wanna be close to you.”

“You are close to me.” He smiled a little, flipping a page. “Right there, aren’t you?”

You stepped closer, pressing your front to his side gently. “Wanna be closer.”

He paused this time, looking over at you.

You tilted your head, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as you stepped between him and the table. “Please?”

Harry’s brow lifted. “Please what, baby?”

“Please…” You glanced down shyly, voice barely above a whisper. “Wanna have you inside.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, almost laughing. You always did this when he was mid workflow. You couldn’t help it, it was like your body needed him in ways you didn’t fully understand. You weren’t asking for him to fuck you, not yet. You just… needed to feel full. Filled with him. Your safe space.

“I won’t move. Promise.” You swore it, already rising up on your toes to kiss the corner of his jaw.

Harry tilted his head a little, watching your big doe eyes blink up at him. You were all flushed from anticipation, thighs pressing together, clearly already aching.

He exhaled slowly, as if debating with himself. “Bunny…”

“Please, I’ll be good. I promise.” You pouted.

Harry leaned down and kissed your lips, soft and slow. You made a sweet sound, going pliant instantly, hands curling around his neck. When he pulled away, he cupped your jaw.

“Alright,” he said finally. “But you stay still, yeah? Just wanna finish this, then I’ll take care of you properly. You understand?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, lovie.”

“Yes, I understand.”

He kissed your forehead, then lifted you easily by your waist to sit you on his lap. He tugged your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take them off. You gasped quietly as he pushed in slow, thick and hot, stretching you in that way that always made your tummy flutter.

“Oh—” You whimpered, curling into him instantly.

“Shh. Breathe.” He steadied you, both hands on your hips as he eased himself all the way in. “There you go.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, forehead pressed to his collarbone. It was your favorite place to be, stuffed full of him, surrounded by his scent, warm and safe.

“You good, bun?”

You nodded into his skin. “Mhm. So full. Love it.”

He gave your waist a light squeeze. “Stay like that. Don’t move.”

He slipped out from your arms reluctantly, leaning back just slightly so he could still stay buried inside while he worked. He leaned forward over his notes again, arms on either side of you, adjusting slightly.

You were still for maybe five minutes.

Then your hips rolled. Just a little. Just a tiny shift forward.

Harry stilled. “What did I say?”

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Didn’t mean to.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Don’t do it again, bunny.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Sorry.”

He went back to reading, underlining something with his pen.

Then you did it again.

Another slow roll of your hips, this time trying to be more subtle. But he felt everything. You felt so hot and tight around him, he didn’t miss a thing.

“Bunny,” he warned again, firmer this time.

You whimpered quietly, trying to still yourself, thighs trembling.

But then… you did it again.

That time, he didn’t say anything. Not at first.

He just sighed, exasperated, pulled back slightly, and gave the soft underside of your thigh a sharp slap.

You gasped, flinching with a little whimper, body tensing.

If you had actual bunny ears, they would’ve drooped. That’s exactly what he thought, watching your sweet face twist in guilt. Your eyes were round and glossy, lips parting in surprise.

“‘M sorry,” you whispered, soft and sad.

Your head dropped slightly, voice barely audible now. “Didn’t mean to. Just needed to feel more of you.”

He saw the way your shoulders rounded forward, chest rising and falling faster. You weren’t pouting to tease anymore, you looked like you were going to cry.

His heart softened instantly.

He didn’t let it show. Instead, he reached out and gently rubbed where he’d slapped, smoothing circles into the soft skin of your thigh.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured. “You know better. Just needed you still. Not askin’ much.”

You nodded, face pressed into his shoulder now, hiding from him.

“Not mad,” he added quietly. “Just want you to listen.”

You didn’t answer. You were still so still.

But he could feel your little heart pounding against his chest as you leaned into him, curling in like a chastised kitten. Your nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of your breath fanning over his skin.

And then you stilled even more. Breathing slowed.

You’d fallen asleep.

He smiled to himself, not saying anything. Just reached back and wrapped both arms around you, letting the weight of you rest fully against him while he went back to his notes. You were so sweet, always a little too sensitive for your own good. Always clinging to him like your life depended on it.

You twitched in your sleep once, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out. One of your arms curled tighter around his waist.

“You’re alright, baby,” he murmured, kissing your hairline. “Just rest. Got you.”

He stayed like that, you completely still, his cock resting inside your warm little body, your breaths soft and shallow against his neck.

He knew he’d take care of you the moment he was done.

Take his time with you, make you feel like the only girl in the world.

And you’d be so good for him.

Especially after a nap.

[stylesficrecss]

dom!harry list plss

DOM!HARRY

Greedy by @rrysbabydoll

Burnt out by @golden-reverie

Don’t judge a book by its cover by @gurugirl (i love this fic sm i can’t not put it here)

Kitten by @pinkboaclub

First by @heartateasee

A God on stage by @rrysbabydoll

this blurb by @gettingyourselfwetforme

personal by @shawnxstyles

Hitchhikerry masterlist by @cherry-titz (warning- this is dark!h au, so it may not be suitable for everyone)

Unsatisfied by @paulyenvol6

Temptation by @rrysbabydoll (im just gonna link her masterlist here because i love her writing so much!!! masterlist)

[stylesficrecss]

I’m not sure if there much fics like this specifically but do you know any where Yn gets hurt/is sick like faints or something, not necessarily serious like life changing, but serious enough in the moment for Harry to get really worried?

i’ll add more when i find!!

Y/N FAINTS

never too much by @autumn-sunflowers

exhaustedly in love by @meet-me-in-the-kitchen

this blurb by @meet-me-in-the-kitchen

Dizzy by @harrysgoldenline

[stylesficrecss]

Hiii can i ask about the fics ive read but i forgot what is it, the story goes like she is an artist and h is athlete or smh but not dating, he dating the girl friend but the friend is so mean to her but he always defend her and one day they breakup and he start to chase y/n.

Of course you can!!! I haven’t found anything yet but i’ll update if i do. If anyone knows this fic, let me know!

[stylesficrecss]

Okay so this isn't a fic rec request but.... I'm looking for a fic going off of a TikTok video I saw of a girl talking about a fic she read on tumblr. Harry was not famous and was a single dad, daughter named Darcy. The other main character (the female y/n) lived in the same apartment building as Harry. Some details about it, Darcy dropped a toy in the elevator and y/n picked it up handing it back to her. Y/n reader also had a stalker and one day when feeling uncomfortable she went to Harry's apartment knocking on the door. Harry left her stay with them since her apartment was unsafe and the relationship grew from there. The video created mentions she thought the fic was taken down at somepoint to make some changes but then was reposted, but she couldn't remember the name of it but the authors name was Aj. Harry also had a guitar and would single and play to his daughter tho but didn't have a music career. I didn't know if you or any of your followers might know which fic she was talking about?

if anyone knows this fic please let me know! if i find anything i’ill add it here

[stylesficrecss]

i miss rome

A Night In Rome

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: Alcohol consumption, public intoxication, suggestive sexual behavior in public, light dominance/submission dynamics, clingy Y/N.

Synopsis: A night in rome with a very drunk clingy Y/N.

You were wearing a white lace dress, with your hair tied loosely back, a few strands slipping free to frame your flushed face. The streets hummed around you, but you weren’t really paying attention to anything except Harry, well, Harry and the icy drink in your hand.

The cobblestone streets of Rome glistened under soft amber lights. It had rained briefly earlier that evening, just enough to coat the city in a sheen that made every step feel cinematic.

You were tipsy. Gloriously, gigglingly tipsy.

Harry leaned back against the wall of the trattoria you’d all just left, the collar of his blue shirt slightly undone, the hem of his trousers brushing his ankles. He was sipping slowly, his other hand tucked into his pocket, eyes watching you with that amused, adoring little smile.

Alessandro Michele was standing nearby with an arm lazily draped around his partner. He was telling some story to the group gathered around, all talking over one another.

But you were entirely fixated on your boyfriend.

You took a sip of your cocktail, lips pursing. “Why is this so good?” you said, stumbling a little as you reached Harry. You clung to his side, wrapping your free arm around his waist like you needed him to stay upright.

Harry chuckled, low and patient. “Because it’s your fourth one, bunny.”

You smiled dreamily. “It’s not my fourth.”

“It is.” He slid your glass gently from your hand. “And that’s enough, lovie.”

You blinked up at him, swaying just slightly on your feet. “You’re mean.”

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, hands gliding over the silk of his shirt, and buried your face in his neck. “You smell so good,” you whispered, then nuzzled in deeper and left a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away or tell you to behave. Just let you nuzzle and nip at the soft skin beneath his ear, your lips brushing just beneath his jaw as if you were trying to memorize the shape of him with your mouth. You were delicate at first, barely-there kisses, your breath warm and sweet against his skin, but then your teeth grazed him, playful and a little greedy, and he made a low sound that barely passed as a laugh.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

His arm wrapped more securely around your waist, hand warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow, grounding circles. He was still listening to Alessandro and laughing softly with the others, nodding along, but every now and then, his hand would slide just a little lower, soothing, steadying, as your lips trailed along his neck with lazy devotion.

You kept going, half-draped over him, mouthing at the skin above his collarbone, barely noticing how your lip gloss had smudged just a little. You pressed another kiss to the side of his neck, then did it again, just because you could.

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly, offering you more space, still not saying anything. He didn’t need to. His body was so relaxed, like this was just second nature, letting his tipsy girl crawl all over him in the middle of a Roman alley while he chatted with old friends.

Every now and then, his fingers would tighten at your waist, squeezing gently when you got a bit too close to his collar or a little too sharp with your teeth. But he didn’t move you away. He just kept talking.

At one point, Giovanni, Alessandro’s partner, caught Harry’s eye and raised a brow with a knowing smirk.

“She’s had fun tonight,” Harry said smoothly, not missing a beat. He kissed the top of your head without even looking. “Haven’t you, bun?”

You hummed in reply, completely blissed out against his neck, lips still grazing skin as if it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

Then you said softly, right against his skin: “You taste good too.”

That was when Harry finally blinked and let out a quiet laugh.

You kissed him again, then again, sloppier this time, hot lips dragging across the column of his throat. “Can we go back home?” you murmured.

“Not yet, bun.”

“Wanna be alone with you.”

“I know you do.” His voice was still gentle, but there was a warning edge to it. You’d pushed past that edge.

Your hand slid down, tracing the front of his shirt, nails dragging lightly, until you reached the waistband of his trousers. You giggled, brushing the heel of your palm over the slight bulge in his pants.

His eyes widened. “Jesus,” he muttered, laughter bursting from him as he quickly grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“But it’s Rome,” you whispered with a giggle. “They’re romantic here.”

“Yeah, not that romantic,” he said, still laughing.

You pouted, leaning up to kiss him again. This time it was full-on, your mouth open, messy, hungry.

Your lips found his like it was the only thing in the world you could focus on. You tilted your head and opened wider, tongue brushing his, fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt as you pressed up on your toes to reach him fully.

Harry let you kiss him. Let you take and take, groaning softly into your mouth as one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, steadying you. His other arm stayed looped around your waist, keeping you anchored, flush to him. His fingers curled at your lower back again, a slow, reassuring stroke up and down, up and down.

Around you, no one paid much attention. The group had splintered into smaller conversations, Alessandro now theatrically reenacting something with wide hand gestures, everyone too caught up in their own tipsy laughter and stories to care that you were practically devouring your boyfriend in the street.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, angling yourself closer, knee slipping between his, and Harry chuckled again, deep in his chest.

“You’re a menace tonight,” he murmured against your lips.

But he still didn’t stop you.

You were about to say something, something about how warm he was, or how you wanted to crawl into his shirt and live there, when a sudden arm slung casually around your shoulders from the side, pulling you back slightly with affectionate force.

“Alright, bambini,” Alessandro grinned, standing between you and Harry now like a human barrier, one arm still draped across your shoulders, the other flung around Harry’s. “Save some of that passion for behind closed doors, hmm?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

You blinked up at Alessandro, dazed and pouty, but didn’t resist his grip. You stood there for a moment, swaying a little under the weight of his arm, then slipped out from under it with a tiny huff and wandered toward the table nearby, sinking into one of the wrought iron chairs with a sigh.

Your cheek smushed against your hand, elbow propped on the table. You kicked your feet slightly under the chair and started humming to yourself, some soft, dreamy tune you couldn’t quite remember the name of. Probably something Harry had played for you once, or something Alessandro had blasted through his villa speakers.

Your dress caught the light every time you shifted, your flushed face dreamy and content as the night swirled on around you. People talked and sipped and smoked and laughed, and you just hummed and watched Harry from your little spot, like he was the center of your universe.

Because he was.

You kept humming, now swaying slightly in your seat, arms folded on the table in front of you. The streets had grown quieter now, just the low hum of traffic in the distance, a few passing voices, the clinking of ice in glasses.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze slip past and cool your flushed skin. You imagined Harry’s hand instead, those warm fingers tracing down your back, over your thighs, up the inside of your—

“Bun,” came his voice suddenly, close.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him crouching beside you, glass of water in one hand and that soft, bossy smile on his face.

“Drink this,” he said, nudging it toward your lips.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want water.”

“I know,” he said gently, tilting the glass anyway. “Be a good girl, yeah? Just a little.”

You let out the tiniest whine, dramatic and pouty, but opened your mouth. He helped you sip, watching you the whole time, free hand rubbing your thigh slowly under the table. You finished a little less than half before turning your head dramatically into his shoulder.

“There,” you murmured. “I’m healthy.”

Harry laughed, soft and warm. “You’re getting healthy. One more sip, bunny.”

“This is so entertaining,” Alessandro said suddenly, perched across from you both with a smirk on his face, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, as you glared at him.

Harry smiled down at you, ignoring them entirely, lifting the glass once more.

“You gonna finish this for me?” he asked sweetly.

You stared at him. “If i get a kissy after.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

You took another sip, then immediately threw yourself at him. His arms came around you instinctively, laughing into your shoulder as you tried to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.

“Christ,” he muttered, letting you do whatever you wanted, still smiling as he glanced back toward Alessandro. “She’s relentless tonight.”

“Let her be,” Alessandro said.

“C’mon, time to go.” Harry said after a while.

You blinked. “Already?”

“It’s nearly two,” he said gently, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I thought you wanted to go home?”

You pouted again. “No, I like it here.”

“I know, lovie,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “We’re gonna come again tomorrow, right now you need sleep.”

You giggled and let him pull you to your feet.

Your legs wobbled a bit, and Harry steadied you immediately with both hands around your waist, then leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose.

“I want pizza,” you said dreamily as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the group.

Alessandro gasped. “Finally, someone says what we’re all thinking!”

Within minutes, the group was making their way down the winding street toward a place Alessandro swore had the best late-night margherita in the entire city. You walked with Harry, arm wrapped tightly around his middle, your body practically glued to his side.

You kept kissing his shoulder as you walked. His arm never left your back.

“You know how much I love you?” you asked, not quietly.

Harry glanced down at you with a soft laugh. “How much, bun?”

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. “This much,” you declared, stretching your arms wide, nearly twirling in your spot.

He caught you before you could wobble too far and kissed your forehead, tucking you safely back under his arm. “That’s a lot.”

“You’re my favorite person,” you whispered into his chest.

He squeezed you closer. “You’re mine, too.”

Eventually, the group stumbled into the tiny pizza shop Alessandro had spoken of, and you curled up beside Harry in the booth, half-asleep on his shoulder by the time your slices arrived. He fed you bites between sips of water and whispered something against your hair that made you giggle again.

And when you finally left, the cobblestone streets still warm beneath your sandals, Harry wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, held your hand tightly, and guided you all the way back home.

[stylesficrecss]

guys, omg, harry is in rome right now. i’m sad cuz i didn’t meet him and i’m leaving tomorrow :(((

[stylesficrecss]

rebloging something about rome because i’m currently in rome!!!

https://x.com/hs_news_/status/1795678779970662517?s=46&t=xX9XI-7pJPjEXE_Xxj4eNw

Its them!!!🥹🥹😍

Maybe y/n was spotted in public after a very long time(we know why) and the fandom goes crazzzyyyy!!!

He’s all over her and them shopping for groceries and stuff and him searching for her favourites to satisfy her cravingssss!!!!

And fans be like..which god did you pray y/n?????🥹🥹🩷🩷🩷

Roaming Rome

SUMMARY: The MIA couple has finally come out of hiding and walk the streets of Italy. (1k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married!ynrry, pregnant!yn

Since 2010 masterlist

Italy has been their safe space. 

These past couple of months have been nothing but the bliss and relaxation that they’ve been needing for the past two years of being on tour—for the past 14 years of their career in the band. This is by far the longest break they’ve taken from performing on stage, interviews—from the rest of the world.

Since going on their second honeymoon, the couple has kept a low profile traveling to some of their favorite places: walking along the beaches in Jamaica, getting tipsy at their favorite karaoke bars (before they got pregnant) in Tokyo, and going to see Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House in London.

But since discovering that baby Styles was growing in YN’s belly, they’ve decided to momentarily pause their travels in Rome. When the time comes, they’ll travel back to England where their baby will be born. Their baby is an Englishman, through and through.

Being the dutiful husband that he is, Harry has been running errands while his wife sits at home to keep her growing belly away from the watchful eyes of paps and fans, seems like a must. Still undecided about when to share their news with the rest of the world, YN keeps herself busy with things like making music or reading to her belly.

She humors Harry with her pregnancy milestones. Like the time she called him into the shower to let him know that she officially can’t see her toes anymore (which led him having to put her socks on for her). Or the time they were watching a movie on the couch and she suddenly wondered if she could still do the splits with her baby belly. He watched with a humored smile at her impromptu demonstration and laughed when she wondered if she could still twerk too. After finding out she still could, he told her to be careful because “that’s how you got pregnant in the first place.”

So as much as he doesn’t mind running errands, he can’t help but wish that his love was beside him. Call him lovesick, but when hasn’t he been?

Before he’s ready to take off, he taps his jean pockets before calling out to his wife, “Babe!”

“Yeah?” Her voice comes from somewhere upstairs.

“Have y’seen my keys?”

“Yeah, up here!”

When he enters their bedroom, he stops in his tracks. He sees her sitting on the end of the bed in a sports bar and her jeans unbuttoned as she bends over to tie her shoelaces—well, trying to.

“Hey, hey,” Harry quickly goes to her struggling fingers and begins tying the laces himself. “Be careful, my love. Squishing my baby in there.”

“Yeah well, tell yeh baby that is he could stop pressing down on me bladder,” YN plops down on the bed behind her with a huff, her arms spread out. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“She can’t help it, darlin’.” One of the many late night conversations (debates) they’ve been having lately is what they think their baby is going to be. Harry’s wishing for a girl while YN’s very adamant about them having a boy. “She’s growing big and strong in there,” He places his hands gently on her belly and coos, “It’s that right, my sweet girl?”

“Stop,” She laughs once his kisses on her taut skin begin to tickle from his facial hair. She pushes his head away with a playful shove, “Stop, you’re smothering him.”

Once he’s finished securing the laces into a bow, he stops to question, “You gonna take a walk around the garden again, baby?”

Being housebound by choice can come with its downsides. So to avoid the inevitable cabin fever that has already begun to bubble up inside of her, one of the ways she keeps herself sane is taking walks around their private villa. There’s truly nothing like strolling around the property filled with giant trees, bushes with various flowers growing the perimeter, and feeling the summer sun on her skin. 

The time off has been very much needed, but if she were speaking freely, she has to admit that she’s getting bored.

YN lifts up her hands towards her husband and he gently helps her stand up on her feet. 

“No. M’joining you today.”

Her words make him physically pause.

“You sure?” He hesitates. As much as the thought of having her by his side again excites him, nothing is more important than making sure that she’s comfortable. With her going out, it increases the possibility that someone can not only recognize the two, but figure out that her belly is getting bigger with their child growing. 

They aren’t ready to share the news with the rest of the world yet, but when they do find out, it's going to be on their terms.

“Yeah. I want to.” She puts her hands on her belly and the smile she gives him is enough reassurance, as is. “Wearing one of yeh hoodies can be big enough to cover him. And as long as I don’t hug anyone, I think I’ll be alright.”

He leans down to press a kiss to her lips, sealing the deal. Before he pulls away, he mumbles against her lips, “Her.”

“Just go get my bag, Styles,” she laughs, eyes squeezing shut when he feverishly presses kisses into the crook of her neck.

And oh how the fans immediately take notice—not of her belly, but of how sweet Harry’s being on her. It’s been a while since the people have seen him with his other half and if they didn’t know any better, it seemed like he hadn’t seen her altogether in weeks. He constantly has an arm around the tops of her shoulders and will press a kiss into her hair when walking down the cobblestone pathways. The one time he lets go of her hand is to buy her a small bouquet of flowers from the local vendor. And it would be silly of Harry not to see his wife’s pregnancy cravings kicking in when they pass by a gelato shop. And it would also be silly to be surprised when he has to switch cones with her when she suddenly likes his flavor better.

And there's something so glowly, so radiant about her that the people can't quite put their finger on it.

After putting their errand bags in the car—they almost forgot the reason for going out—Harry goes to open the door for his wife but pauses when he sees the look on her face. He sees how her eyes scan to somewhere in the distance with the tiniest furrow of her brows, her eyes beginning to squint. He doesn’t even try to hide the amused look on his face and instead leans a forearm on the vehicle as he patiently waits for what’s to come. Her nostrils widen a bit, “Do you smell pastrami?”

Harry can’t hold back his laugh. Being in shape for a two-year long world tour was a must. Since then, the couple has maintained a fairly healthy lifestyle—moreso Harry while YN still likes to enjoy a bit of junk food every now and then. Yet, it’s been a while since she’s indulged in something like a beefy, greasy sandwich. 

Yup, definitely pregnancy cravings.

The inevitable comes sooner than later as they turn their attention towards the two ladies saying their names. Harry—already taking in a breath to gently decline the request to take a picture with the two fans—is interrupted by YN’s sweet acceptance. 

The couple stands behind the two ladies as they take a group selfie. Thankfully, YN has her flowers to discreetly hold in front of her belly as she gives the camera a smile. But before they depart, YN asks them where’s the best place to get a pastrami sandwich in the area.

Yeah, pregnancy cravings for sure.

.

.

taglist:

@ashtongivesmebutterflies  @cacapeepee @thurhomish @armystay89 @be-with-me-so-happily

(Let me know if you wanna be added I'm starting a new one!💚)

[stylesficrecss]

i need protective harry fics🙏🙏🙏

you ask and you shall receive!!!

PROTECTIVE!HARRY

Soft spot by @cloudyluun

go with it by @eveningepiphany

private show by @cloudyluun

overprotective by @chrisevansonly

Knockout by @freedomfireflies

[stylesficrecss]

hey. can you make me a list of smut one shots mustache harry?

MUSTACHERRY

Stached by @rrysbabydoll

Obsessed with harry’s facial hair by @watermelonlovershigh

So, You’re Mr… by @cinemastyles-blog

Late Night Talking by @cinemastyles-backup

this blurb by @watermelonlovershigh

right choice by @stylesberries

A Keeper by @0nlythrowharrybeaux

this blurb by @meetmymouth

Facial hair by @whitemanscumslut

[stylesficrecss]

I Didn’t Mean to Break You | Commission

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

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

Word Count: 6,5k

Warnings: 

Anxiety & emotional dysregulation (medication-related)

Crying/reader crying

Harry being dismissive at first (borderline cruel)

Hurt/comfort dynamic

Deep emotional vulnerability

Oral sex (f receiving)

Protected sex

Praise kink / soft dom!Harry energy

Aftercare (bath scene)

Cursing

Emotional smut / comforting sex

Reader doubts her worth

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

Slight angst before resolution

Tour setting

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, it makes you ache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not stressing.”

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

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

Today, though, it doesn’t land right.

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

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

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

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

you alright?

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

You don’t reply. Not yet.

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

He’s glowing. You’re unraveling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, sobers a little. “Go on.”

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

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

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

“Why’s she think that?”

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

“Sounds like she’s overthinking everything.”

“She probably is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You didn’t answer my text.”

“Didn’t see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

You’re done trying to make him listen.

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

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

You keep it together until Lisbon’s last night.

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

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

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

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t lift your head.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

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

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

“I know.”

“I didn’t know you’d take it like—”

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

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

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

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

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

His whole body stills.

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything.

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

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

“You weren’t looking.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

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

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

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

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

You laugh once, bitter. “Little late.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

Your heart kicks once, startled.

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

You glance at him. “Scared of what?”

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

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

“You already did.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

You don’t forgive him. Not yet.

But you don’t walk away, either.

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

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

You take the bag slowly. “You remembered?”

“Course I did.”

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

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

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

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

He turns to you, suddenly serious.

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

You look up.

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

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

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

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

“Terrifying, huh?” you finally say.

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

“You’re really not.”

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

“That’s a strong maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s still here.

Trying.

Looking right at you.

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

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

Then there’s a soft knock.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod once, not trusting your voice.

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll go slow.”

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re crying before you even realize it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believe him. God, you believe him.

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

You just feel wanted.

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

“Still okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

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

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

“I’ve never been more sure.”

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

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

“This okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t move for a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely,” you mumble. “Floating.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner.”

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

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

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

Not leaving.

Not this time.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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

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

[stylesficrecss]

mutual friends who don’t get along fics until they do? kind of enemies to lovers but not exclusive to that could just be not knowing eachother very well and not being able to catch a vibe and preferably ending in smut

this is all i could find, i’m sorry :(. if i find anything else i’m gonna add it

FRENEMIES TO LOVERS

Enigma by @heartateasee

Harry and Y/N are in the same ballet class, and they hate each other part 2 part 3 part 4 by @jawllines (this mini series isn’t quite what you requested, but i think it’s kind of fitting)

Dentist the bad boi by @muffindaddystyles

Y/N and Harry hate each other, until they don’t part 2 by @harrys-titties

Kiwi part 2 by @sweet-creature101

harry finds you annoying and snaps at you by @havethetimeofyourstyles