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loving harry styles, a playlist

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it’s beautiful, harry

Summary: a letter to Harry about Fine Line, which was written about you

Request: nope :)

A/N: Ah hi guys! I don’t really know where this idea came from, but as soon as I had it, I couldn’t let it go. Today was my first day of spring semester classes, and this helped me destress a bit. Enjoy :)

Warnings: just angsty and a lil sad

Word Count: 600

. . .

Harry,

I thought about calling you the other day, but you know me and how I get. I like to overthink, and that’s exactly what I did. I was terrified you would pick up, despite the part of me that aches with a desperate desire to hear your voice -- speaking just to me, whispering words meant only for my ears.

I’ve called before, as you’ve probably come to realize by this point. I used to tease you for holding onto that ancient landline, the one that rings maybe once a month with calls from telemarketers. Now I suppose it must ring twice a month, which remains insignificant, and yet you greet your callers with earnest each time. I’ve come to both dread and anticipate the click on the other end when you answer, and I await your cheerful, “Hello?” even moreso. No longer am I laughing in the background or placing soft kisses on the back of your neck as you set the phone back in its place, grumbling about “bloody advertisements” and how you wish they would just send promotions in the post instead.

And so here I am. Heeding your wishes. Your very own letter, Harry. Of course, you receive countless of these, but not to the same address. Collecting hordes of fanmail from the post office is not quite the same as the postman dropping one off at our your home. I suppose the clank of the mail slot is a welcome relief after the incessant ringing of phones.

I used to curse that landline’s shrill ring that always seemed to interrupt the best moments, but you loved it, said it was endearing. I hope you love the sound still now, even knowing that when you answer and your only reply is the click of the caller hanging up, it is my number on the other end.

All this to say that I could have called you, of course, but I was a coward. Quite reflective of who I was near the end. I couldn’t handle the issues we faced, which should come as no surprise seeing as I cannot even handle dialing your cell phone into my own. Perhaps a part of me fears that if I heard your voice -- the voice you saved just for me -- I would crumble. At least this way, you don’t have to respond. You may not even open this, and I could be writing only to myself and the universe.

But if you do - 

If you do open this letter, I am writing to tell you that I listened.

I listened to your album, to the copy you sent me.

Your fans are going to love it. The whole world is going to love it.

I love it.

I must admit that I cried and yelled throughout most of it, listening over and over until I just felt . . . numb. It is perhaps worse, I think, when the tears begin to flow without any effort, when you hardly realize you feel hopeless.

And then, on every listen, the last track would begin to play. With the sound of the instruments, I could physically feel my heart swell, and I knew one thing for certain. I suppose you said it best: that we’ll be alright.

I could feel the heartbreak that you poured into every note, and I felt my own reflected in it. Even worse, it seems, were the moments of joy, of faith. I can only hope that they, too, are about us.

I should not be surprised at the magic of this album. Everything you touch is golden.

We’ll be a fine line.

It’s beautiful, Harry.

It’s beautiful.

All my love,

Y/N.

. . .

my stories

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Harry Styles: Behind the Album

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gotta be you (up all night, track 2)

Summary: reader insert based on One Direction’s song “Gotta Be You”

Request: nope :)

A/N:  Ah I’m sorry this took so long!!! It’s certainly not the greatest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s an improvement from WMYB, and I spent a bit more time on it. I’m hoping to see my writing improve more and more over time as I continue with this. Anyway... enjoy!

Warnings: angsty pining

Word Count: 2.5k

It is nearing midnight when I look at the clock for the first time in hours.

It feels like forever ago that I took a seat on the couch and pressed play on the DVD player. I remember considering breaking out the chocolate ice cream I keep in the freezer, but I didn’t want to seem too miserable.

In reality, I absolutely am miserable.

How else is a girl supposed to feel when the love of her life chooses someone else?

It has only been a few hours since I finally admitted my true feelings to Harry, but it already feels like a distant memory. That could just be because I want to block it out of my mind forever.

Honestly, I never planned to tell him. If it had been up to me, I would have gone the rest of my life with him never knowing. But as fate would have it, I confessed, and now here I am, watching my favorite movie alone rather than with my best friend by my side.

. . .

“What has she ever done to you, Y/N? You two barely know each other!” Harry nearly screamed, his hands gesturing wildly in the air. “What is so wrong with me liking her?”

“Nothing,” I squeaked. I felt so small in that moment, so terrified of what I simultaneously knew and was oblivious to. “She hasn’t done anything, Harry. She’s perfect. You know that.”

“Then why do you hate her?” I maintained the gaze I held on my socks as he fumed, but averting my eyes could not prevent the wince that graced my features when he barked, “Why?”

I knew he would not be able to hear me when I whispered my reply, but perhaps I hoped he would just drop the matter. “I don’t hate her...”

“What?” At the top of my vision, I saw him take a step closer. I should have known better. He likes her. I know he likes her, and I know how Harry is when it comes to people he cares about. I also know that even though he is a normally even-tempered person, when he is angry, he will stop at nothing to satiate his annoyance. “What is it, Y/N!”

Make something up, I thought. It’s easy. Tell him she bullied you in middle school.

I swear I was about to tell him that she crashed into my bike as a child when suddenly I felt ready to burst. With frustration, with resentment, with pure, unbridled emotion, I could not say. But I consciously knew that nothing in my power could stop my oncoming words.

“I don’t hate her, Harry!” I ripped my gaze from the floor and shot my eyes straight up to meet his. When he took a step back, I took one forward. “I love you!”

It was silent for a moment, only the sound of our heavy breaths filling the air. 

“I’m— What?” he repeated, although much softer than before. He shook his head, in disbelief, most likely, and continued to stutter.“You—” And although I was now squeezing my eyes shut and could not see him, I knew that when he sighed, his left hand was carving a trail through his unruly hair.

I rubbed a hand over my eyes as if to prepare them for what would come next, for when I opened them, a brimming tear immediately escaped. I swiped it away before Harry could see. I would not have him pity me in this moment. I couldn’t.

I guess I didn’t really need to worry about that, though, because before I could even worry about him noticing the onset tears, he was muttering curses under his breath and grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch. And as he rushed out the door and into the night, I crumbled to the floor.

. . .

I wipe the tears of embarrassment that have fallen from my eyes as I sit in complete awe of my own stupidity.

What kind of idiot just says something like that to their best friend?

“I love you.”

What a bullshit thing to say.

But it’s not bullshit.

Maybe it would be if it wasn’t true. But I do love him, and there is a part of me that wishes I had just admitted it long ago. Because who knows? Maybe then, I would be the one Harry is getting drinks with instead of her.

But she is a perfect influencer, and I am sitting on my sofa reading the subtitles of Love Actually because I want to be sure that I’ll hear Harry’s ringtone if it ever happens to play. I hate to admit it, but I know it won’t. Harry knows who he is, and he knows what he wants, and if that was me, he never would have left. Even if he doesn’t want Lover Y/N, I pray that he still wants Best Friend Y/N, because I truly don’t know what I would do if he rejected me forever.

It might be good in the long run, but it would hurt like hell. I have never lived my life without Harry by my side, and I never thought I would have to. But then he went and stirred up feelings inside of me that I had lost hope for. And now I’ve ruined the best thing in my life. All because I fell in love.

I can’t help but keep replaying the moment he gathered his things and bolted. Harry is the one who always stays behind, but in that span of seconds . . . he just walked away.

I recline on the couch and close my eyes to the Prime Minister and Natalie’s deliciously cringe-worthy love story for a moment to bask in my humiliation. For a time, I focus on my own lack of romance and the mumbled sounds of that very thing coming from the television a few feet away.

The only thing that rouses me from my meditative mortification is the sudden series of raps that occurs. Glancing at the clock again, I see that it is now 12:24 AM. Certainly not an appropriate time for a visitor, but perhaps just the right time for a ghoulish one. It’s dark, it’s rainy, and it’s late: ideal conditions for a ghostly visitor. A ghost is the absolute last thing I need tonight. I wrap my blanket a bit tighter around my body and praise my past self for shutting the blinds earlier. Unfortunately, I fear that will do little good, because another three sharp knocks ring through the house.

This time, though, they are accompanied by the familiar voice of my best friend.

“Y/N, it’s me!” I hear Harry shout, his usually clear voice muffled by the thick wood of the front door. “Let me in before I have to ask your neighbor for the spare key!”

Despite my emotional agony regarding the situation with Harry, I actually smile a bit as I unswathe myself from the blanket and the cushions. Wishing I had put socks on again after my tear-filled shower, I patter across the wooden floors and around the counter in the kitchen.

I shouldn’t be surprised to find Harry when I open the front door, and yet the shock shakes me to the core.

Why is he back? He left. He could have stayed gone, and I wouldn’t have blamed him.

His hair is dripping water droplets onto my front porch, and when he lifts his hand to wipe the water from his forehead, a splatter of raindrops shoots onto the interior floor. His face is flushed, and his hair is a mess, and he is wearing just a pair of black skinny jeans and a white shirt, but I cannot remember him ever looking better.

Without making a move to come inside, Harry looks me in the eye. “Y/N,” he sighs.

I scrunch my eyes at him and poke my head outside to look around. Not understanding, I step to the side and gesture for him to enter.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He takes a breath and swallows. “No, I need you to hear me.”

“Harry, please come inside,” I insist. I may be mad at myself, but I could never be mad at him. Certainly not enough to make him stand outside in the rain.

As if to knock sense into himself or shake around an idea, he gives one flick of his head. “Please just let me say what I came to say.”

I relent and whisper, “Okay.”

Turning my body to regain my position directly in front of him, I listen.

“I need you to know I canceled my date with Sofia.”

When he doesn’t continue, I open my mouth to question him, but he makes the first move.

“That’s not what I meant,” he continues. “I didn’t just cancel it. I mean I’m not seeing her anymore.”

Immediately filled with guilt, I interrupt: “Harry, I didn’t—”

“I’m not seeing her anymore because I realized she’s not the girl I want to pursue.”

If he just came to tell me that there’s another girl also in the mix, I think I might just slap him across the face.

But then he grants me a little smile, and I know I shouldn’t, but I just absolutely melt. He releases a frustrated grunt and smiles to himself now.

“I don’t know why I can’t just get it out,” he admits. For someone so eloquent with his songwriting, Harry has never had a way with words. “What I mean to say is . . . I disappointed you. You’ve trusted me to be honest with you all these years, and I’m just now realizing that I never have been. I could see in your eyes, earlier today and right now, that I broke my promise to keep your heart safe, and I am so incredibly sorry. But I want to make a new promise. If you’ll let me. Because, Y/N, the only thing I’m surer of than how sorry I am, is how much I am in love with you.”

My brain registers nothing but the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops against the roof and the compelling color of Harry’s bright eyes for several moments. A drop of rain forges a path down the slope of Harry’s nose and collects in the crease between his nose and cheek. When he blinks, his long eyelash knocks it from its hiding place, and it travels down the rest of his face, finally ending its journey on the sharp drop of Harry’s jaw.

I blink, long and hard, and although his perception is far from the truth, I suppose Harry takes my dumbfoundedness as his cue to leave.

“That’s it,” he concludes.

I am frozen in the seconds between his words and the rotation of his body, but as soon as I see him take the first step away from me, my muscles activate again.

Completely ignoring the cold and the rain and the dark, I step into the midnight air and grab Harry’s arm. When he turns to me, he is clearly alarmed, but it is replaced with shock when I pull his face to mine and press my lips to his.

We are one and the same, he and I, and his reaction to my kiss is the same as my reaction to his words. He is frozen. But right when I think this is futile, he springs into action. When he pulls away from my lips, I am petrified, chilled by the thought that this is all a ruse, that Sofia is hiding behind the bushes with a camera. That is, until he meets my eyes and whispers my name with parted lips.

And before I know it, Harry is crashing them into mine.

This time is different. This time, Harry is animated, and he grasps my hips to pull my body flush against his own, eliciting a gasp from my own mouth. Once I am sufficiently attached to him and soaked with rainwater, he moves one hand to cup my cheek and tilt my head to further accommodate our needs. The size of his fingers against my face catches me off guard, and I have never before appreciated so much a man’s touch. The way my fingers slip right into his hair despite its boundless curls makes me think we were built for each other.

Hell, a part of me has always know we were built for each other.

The force of Harry’s lips nudges my head back, and I realize that while the rain around us is so wonderfully cliche, it is so perfect, for it accentuates every part of Harry that I love the most. He is tough in stature and soft in nature. His arms curve around my body, and his figure against mine makes me feel safer than ever before. His chest is firm but warm. He stood in the rain to tell me he loved me, just in case I decided to send him home.

I am in love with you, he said.

I gasp suddenly, and Harry pulls away. He searches my eyes for an answer to my action, but of course, does not find one.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I thought—”

I transfer a hand from his hair to his cheek and caress his bottom lip. He sighs and lets his eyelids flutter shut for a heartbeat.

“You’re fine,” I tell him with a smile. “You’re perfect. I just . . . I never thought . . .”

Harry grins and chuckles before resting his forehead against mine. Although the rain is cold, I have never felt as warm as when he touches me.

“You said you love me,” I whisper with closed eyes. And this time, despite the noise around us, he hears my breathy words and confirms them.

“I do, Y/N.” He places another quick, soft kiss against my lips. “There’s no one else for me.”

I open my questioning eyes and look to him for an answer.

“I know why these other relationships haven’t worked out. It’s because they weren’t with you,” he clarifies. “The problem was with me being too blind to see it. But I see it now. It’s gotta be you.”

My eyes fill with tears at Harry’s words for the second time this evening, but now for an entirely different reason. No wonder all these girls—including me—have fallen for him.

“I just need you to give me another chance.” He rears back and dips a finger under my chin to tilt my face up. “I’ll love you right this time. That’s my promise.”

While I would love to scream, “Yes!” and shout from the rooftops, I hold a finger up in hesitation. “On one condition,” I propose.

Harry nods eagerly. “Anything.”

“We get out of this horrid rain.”

A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s mouth, and I admire his delighted smile. He looks at me with what I can only call adoration and wraps his large hand over my much smaller one. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

And finally, finally, I think, we are on the same page.

. . .

my stories

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this one made my heart do a lil flutter

“hi, I’m Harry Styles. I work in a bakery”

_________

proud is an understatement

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my stories

one direction series:

up all night:

1. what makes you beautiful

2. gotta be you

3. one thing - coming soon

imagines:

it’s beautiful, harry

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what makes you beautiful (up all night, track 1)

Summary: part 1 of reader insert series based on One Direction songs; “What Makes You Beautiful”

Request: no no

A/N:  I am not particularly proud of this one. In fact, it’s probably one of the worst imagines I’ve ever written. BUT it is a first draft after a dry writing spell of many months, and it got me back in front of the computer, so I guess that’s all that matters. . . . ? So what you see is basically my brain matter. If you’re reading this, thank you.

Warnings: alcohol; insecurities

Word Count: 1.5k

“I really don’t want to,” I groaned, nearly stomping my foot in a childish tantrum. I glanced over my shoulder at Amy. “Come on, girl, I’m just really not up for it tonight.”

“Y/N.” My best friend narrowed her eyes at me and placed her hands on her hips, surely attempting to appear intimidating but failing miserably. Amy was so sweet, she couldn’t be scary no matter how hard she tried. She blew a lock of wayward hair from her face and refocused her attention on my slumped form. “It will be fun,” she promised as she approached my bed.

Amy placed her hands on either of my shoulders and pulled me up from leaning against my pillows. I resisted, convinced that I was too comfortable to move.

Once she had me sitting up, Amy looked me in the eye. “We need this,” she said. “Just a night to have a good time and get absolutely hammered if possible. Meet ourselves some nice boys.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and draped the dress that sat next to me over my shoulders.

I sighed. Well, perhaps it was more of a groan.

I peered at her and held up a single finger as she squealed. “One drink.”

…

Twenty minutes later, both Amy and I were ready to leave. I had ended up remaining in my own black jeans and silky long-sleeved pink top instead of the tiny red dress Amy had pulled from her closet. Besides, she was much smaller than me, and the dress would have looked like a tube top anyway.

As soon as we exited her building, Amy flagged down a taxi.

“Spice on Cedar, please,” she requested of the driver. He had the windows rolled down, as it was a definitely breezy but also quite warm New York night.

As Amy adjusted her strapless, yellow jumpsuit, I felt ridiculously underdressed. I had never been to the bar we were headed to, but based on Amy’s outfit and the one she had offered me, I suspected it was a bit more flashy than I was used to.

Being with Amy always had a way of making me feel underdressed. Or under-attractive, if that’s even a word.

I preferred not to tag along on her hunts for men, seeing as they were almost always drawn to her over me. Of course, if I were a horny guy, I probably would be too. Even the cab driver sent her a wink when he dropped us in front of Spice.

Upon entering the building, I immediately felt out-of-place. Some guests were dining at the tables littered in the front of the establishment while others filtered toward the back near the bar. All of them were beautiful, laughing people.

Amy grabbed my hand and led me through the maze of tables and straight to the bar.

“Two shots,” she sang to the bartender as she slid into one of the few remaining chairs.

“A shot counts as a drink,” I reminded her.

She waved a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, alright Y/N.”

I giggled and shook my head at her. I pulled out my phone as the bartender prepared our drinks and saw I had a missed call from my roommate.

“Give me one second, Rachel called me while we were in the taxi,” I explained, standing up from my own stool. “Let me just go call her real quick.”

“No no!” Amy protested. The bartender set down the shot glasses right as she scolded me. “Shot first!”

I groaned. “Fine, whatever.” I grabbed the shot glass and threw the alcohol down my throat, wincing at its strength.

Amy shook out her arms and let out a “whoop!”

Rather than go back outside and have to weave through all those tables again, I quickly asked the bartender where the bathrooms were and turned in that direction.

“Hurry back, babe!” Amy called after me.

It did not surprise me that when I completed the maze of people and finally entered the bathroom to call Rachel, she didn’t pick up. It was certainly not unheard of for her to make a call and immediately lose her phone. Before we were friends, it was something I hated about her, but now it was just a part of who she was.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took a note to call her later, although based on the plans Amy had for us tonight, I wasn’t sure I would remember much of anything. I had agreed to one drink, but Amy could be persuasive.

It also did not surprise me that when I went to exit the bathroom, I opened the door right into something solid.

A guy.

Fabulous.

I looked up just as the figure backed away, holding his arms up in mock surrender. I nearly had to tip my head back to get a good look at his face, and when I did, he was already showcasing a goofy grin. He pushed a curl of brown hair out of his face and let out a short laugh.

Startled at both the situation and his apparent friendliness, I blinked and stammered, “I - I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching - I didn’t see where I was going -”

He chuckled again. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said. There was an accent there. Immediately, I guessed Australian — probably because I had a thing for Australian accents — but then I figured British sounded more accurate and also more likely. “Not like you broke anything.”

I smiled a little and admitted, “Yeah, I guess not.”

His sharp jaw became even more pronounced when he grinned wider and stuck his hand out in front of him.

A handshake? I thought. Really? Who is this guy?

“I’m Harry,” he said.

I watched my own movements as I placed my hand in his much larger one. “Y/N,” I returned.

“Y/N.” He paused. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

I nodded and released my hand from his grasp.

“You know,” Harry said, “it’s polite to look one in the eyes upon meeting them for the first time.”

My heartbeat sped up with embarrassment, and flushed, I raised my eyes to meet his smirking ones.

He was incredibly handsome. Probably one of the most attractive men I had ever met, and there were a lot of lookers in New York City. With the constant flux of tourists, businessmen, and foreigners, there was no lack of attractive men here. But Harry… . Something about him made my heart flutter, and it wasn’t just the shame from him calling me out. And somehow his next words overwhelmed me even further

“You have beautiful eyes,” he commented, staring directly into mine. “Not sure why you didn’t want to show them.”

With his eyes on me, I felt overwhelmingly subpar. I couldn’t handle the staredown for long, and I quickly averted my own gaze from his and found a sudden interest in his outfit. He was not dressed up in any sense of the words; he donned a pair of black jeans, not much unlike my own, and a white tee-shirt, which hints of tattoos shown through. His bare arms proved he was slim but built, and his choice of Chelsea boots on his feet suggested he could still be fashionable. Had my throat had any lubrication, I would have hummed in approval.

Harry crouched down a bit to meet my gaze again, that persistent son of a bitch, and I was a little creeped out. “You can look at me, you know. You’re the one who caught me on my way to have a wee. I’m the only one who really has the right to be embarrassed.”

I covered my face with my hands. “I literally hit you with a door.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining. It’s not every day you’re run into by a beautiful girl, now is it?”

I moved my hands to wrap around my front and took a step back so that Harry was no longer in my face. I shook my head. “Oh, please.”

He opened his mouth. “Wha-”

“You really don’t need to make me feel better.”

He widened his eyes at me and insisted, “I haven’t said anything I wouldn’t say otherwise. You are a beautiful girl, and you hit me with a -”

“Alright,” I said with my eyes on the potted plant behind Harry’s figure. “I should get back to my friend.”

“Just tell her you met a dashing stranger who was entranced by your magnificent looks.”

I scoffed. “It’s been very nice meeting you, Harry, but she’s waiting.”

“Alright, then,” he relented. “Perhaps we’ll meet again. And perhaps by then you will know how beautiful you truly are.”

And he walked away.

…

my stories

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if you're happy doing what you're doing, then nobody can tell you you're not successful

harry styles