#ONE DIRECTION

[yimmysart]

This one was in need for color

[ghstyles]

For Worse or For Worse

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WC: 3.8K

Masterlist

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A year had passed in whispers of change, in small steps forward and occasional steps back. A dance of rediscovery that had transformed them both. 

The guest house had remained Y/N's sanctuary for three months before she'd started spending most nights in the main house, and by four months, they'd quietly moved her things into what was now undeniably their bedroom. Her textbooks mingled with his music sheets; her practical pottery sat alongside his expensive art; and somehow, the house had become a home once again.

Harry stood in their kitchen, nervously adjusting the collar of his shirt for the fifth time while checking his pocket for the hundredth time to make sure the ring was still there. 

Grumps watched from where he was perched on the counter, head tilted and tail swaying as if puzzled by his human’s unusual restlessness.

"What do you think, mate?" Harry asked the cat. "Too much? Not enough?" He gestured to the room, where he'd spent the morning arranging Y/N's favorite flowers. Not in elaborate bouquets but in simple mason jars, the way she preferred them. Candles waited to be lit, and the table was set for an intimate dinner he planned to cook himself.

Grumps yawned, distinctly unimpressed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry muttered, checking his watch again. Y/N would be home from her afternoon class soon, and everything needed to be perfect.

A year ago, he would have hired professionals to handle every detail, would have made grand gestures designed to impress rather than connect. But he'd learned, sometimes painfully, that it wasn't the grandeur that mattered to Y/N; it was the thought, the effort, the personal touches that showed he was paying attention.

And he had been paying attention. To the way she absently twisted her hair when she was concentrating on her studies. To how she always turned her face to the sun whenever it appeared in London's often gray sky. To the small, contented sigh she made when she took her first sip of tea in the morning.

He'd learned that she preferred walks in the rain to fancy dinners, that she laughed hardest at his worst jokes, that she still sometimes doubted her place in his world but was brave enough to claim it anyway.

Most importantly, he'd learned to be honest, with her and with himself, about his feelings, his fears, his hopes for their future.

The sound of a key in the front door made him freeze, his heart suddenly pounding. This was it.

Grumps immediately perked up, leaping down from the counter and trotting toward the entryway, tail held high in greeting.

"Hello, my sweet boy!" Y/N’s voice carried through the house, followed by the rustle of her dropping her bag and bending to scratch the waiting cat under his chin. "Did you miss me? I was only gone for three hours, you dramatic thing."

Harry took a deep breath, smoothing down his shirt one last time before following the sound of her voice.

He found her crouched in the entryway, still in her coat, laughing as Grumps wove figure eights around her legs, purring loudly. Her hair was slightly damp from the light rain outside, her cheeks flushed from the brisk autumn air, and Harry felt the familiar surge of love that never failed to take his breath away

"Welcome home," he said softly.

Y/N looked up, her smile widening as she took him in. "Well, don't you look nice," she observed, rising to her feet. "What's the occasion? Did I forget something important?" A flicker of worry crossed her face.

Harry quickly shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just thought... it might be nice to have a special dinner tonight."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, brushing a raindrop from her sleeve. "On a Wednesday? Must be very special."

Harry stepped forward, helping her out of her coat. "Maybe," he said with a small smile. "How was class?"

"Interesting, actually. We had a guest lecturer from the Victoria and Albert Museum discussing textile conservation. Did you know they have to use special vacuums with adjustable suction to clean antique fabrics?" She paused, taking in his slightly distracted expression. "And you don't care about this at all, do you?"

Harry laughed, hanging up her coat. "I care that you care," he corrected, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Tell me more over dinner? It's almost ready."

Y/N sniffed the air appreciatively. "Something smells amazing. Did you cook?"

Harry nodded, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen. "Your favorite. That pasta with the spinach and sun-dried tomatoes."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her expression softening. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It's not trouble," he assured her as they entered the kitchen. "Not for you."

Y/N stopped short at the threshold, taking in the flowers, the candles, the carefully set table. "Harry..." she breathed, her eyes wide.

Harry watched her face anxiously. "Too much?"

She shook her head slowly, a smile blooming on her lips. "No, it's... it's perfect. But you're making me suspicious now. What's going on?"

Harry's hand moved instinctively to his pocket, feeling the outline of the ring box. "Can't a man just want to do something nice for the woman he loves?"

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. "He can, but this man usually has ulterior motives when he gets that particular look in his eye."

Harry grinned, unable to deny it. "Maybe I do have something in mind for after dinner."

Y/N stepped closer, sliding her arms around his waist. "Are you sure it has to wait until after dinner?"

The teasing lilt in her voice sent a rush of heat through him, momentarily distracting him from his carefully laid plans. He dipped his head to capture her lips in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened as she pressed herself against him.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Harry rested his forehead against hers. "If we start that now, dinner will burn," he murmured.

"Would that be so terrible?" she whispered back, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Harry groaned, genuinely torn. A year together had done nothing to dampen the desire between them. If anything, it had only grown stronger as they'd learned each other's bodies, each other's needs. "You're making this very difficult."

Y/N laughed, the sound low and knowing. "That's rather the point."

With heroic effort, Harry stepped back, keeping her hands in his. "Later," he promised. "Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

Y/N sighed dramatically but allowed him to guide her to the table. "Fine, but I'm holding you to that."

Dinner passed in comfortable conversation, Y/N recounting more details from her lecture while Harry shared stories from his day in the studio. They'd fallen into an easy rhythm over the past year, her studies and his music creating a balance that somehow worked despite their different schedules and demands.

As they finished the last of their pasta, Harry found himself growing increasingly nervous. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say countless times, but now that the moment was approaching, all his carefully prepared words seemed inadequate.

"You're staring," Y/N observed, setting down her fork.

Harry blinked, caught. "Sorry. You're just...you're beautiful."

A light blush colored her cheeks. Even after a year, his compliments still had that effect on her. "And you're being suspiciously sweet tonight."

Harry took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

Y/N's expression grew more serious, a hint of uncertainty entering her eyes. "That sounds ominous."

Harry quickly reached across the table for her hand. "No, nothing bad. The opposite, actually." He paused, gathering his courage. "I've been thinking a lot about us lately. About how far we've come."

Y/N's fingers curled around his. "We have come a long way, haven't we?"

Harry nodded, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "A year ago, I showed up at your door, desperate and terrified I'd lost you forever."

"And I slammed it in your face," Y/N remembered with a small smile.

"Rightfully so," Harry acknowledged. "I was a mess. We both were."

"You brought Grumps as a secret weapon," Y/N teased, glancing at the cat who had settled under the table, watching intently for any opportunity to steal a bite. His tail flicked with lazy anticipation.

Harry laughed softly. "I needed all the help I could get."

He took another breath, feeling the weight of the ring box in his pocket. "That day, I asked you for a chance. A chance to prove that what we had could be real. That I could be worthy of your trust again."

Y/N's expression softened. "And you have been. More than worthy."

Harry stood, still holding her hand, and came around to her side of the table. Her eyes widened as he dropped to one knee beside her chair.

"Harry..." she breathed, free hand flying to her mouth.

He pulled the ring box from his pocket with fingers that trembled slightly. "A year ago, we were legally married but emotionally strangers. Now, we're legally divorced but..." He opened the box, revealing the emerald ring nestled inside. "Y/N, I love you more than I ever thought possible. You've changed me, challenged me, made me better in every way that matters."

Tears filled Y/N's eyes as she looked from the ring to his face.

"I want to marry you again," Harry continued, his voice growing steadier as he spoke from his heart. "Not for publicity or contracts or any reason except that I want to spend my life with you. I want to be your husband, for real this time. No games, no lies, just us."

He lifted the ring from its box. "Will you marry me? Again?"

A tear slipped down Y/N's cheek as she nodded, too overcome to speak for a moment.

"Yes," she finally managed, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, I'll marry you again."

Harry slid the ring onto her finger, his heart so full he thought it might burst. The diamond caught the candlelight, sparkling almost as brightly as Y/N's eyes.

She pulled him up and into a kiss that held all the promise of their future—tender and passionate, familiar yet still thrilling.

When they broke apart, Harry brushed away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "I was so nervous," he admitted. "I wasn't sure if you'd think it was too soon, or if you'd even want to go through another wedding after how the first one started."

Y/N laughed softly, admiring the ring on her finger. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "This time, we'll do it our way. Small, intimate, only people who truly care about us."

Harry nodded, relief and joy washing over him in equal measure. "That sounds perfect."

Y/N stood, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Now, about that promise you made earlier..." She pressed herself against him suggestively.

Harry grinned, all thoughts of dinner cleanup forgotten as he swept her into his arms. "Always so impatient."

"Only for you," she murmured against his lips as he carried her toward their bedroom.

Harry barely made it up the stairs before the weight of his emotions overwhelmed his patience. With a low growl, he pressed Y/N against the nearest wall, his hands framing her face as he kissed her with an intensity that made her gasp.

"Mine," he murmured against her lips, the single word carrying a year's worth of hard-won certainty. "Finally, truly mine."

Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. "Possessive much?" she teased breathlessly, but the flush spreading across her cheeks betrayed how much his words affected her.

Harry lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot just below her ear, nipping gently before soothing the skin with his tongue. "My fiancée," he whispered, testing the word like a fine wine on his tongue. "God, do you know how long I've wanted to say that and actually mean it?"

His hands slid down her sides to her hips, gripping firmly as he pressed his body against hers, letting her feel exactly what this moment was doing to him. The ring on her finger caught the light as she braced herself against his shoulders.

"Harry," she breathed, her head falling back against the wall as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. "The bedroom is literally twenty feet away."

He smiled against her skin, his fingers already working at the zipper of her dress. "Too far," he decided, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, more profound. "Need you now. Need my wife now."

The word 'wife' sent a shiver through Y/N—not just from the possession in his tone, but from the redemption of it. This was nothing like the cold, contractual way he'd once claimed her. This was heat and heart and hard-earned truth.

"Not your wife yet," she reminded him, even as her fingers worked nimbly at the buttons of his shirt. "Have to marry me properly first."

Harry pushed her dress off one shoulder, his mouth following the fabric's retreat. "Semantics," he murmured against her collarbone. "You've been mine since that day at the creek. Maybe always."

His admission, raw and unfiltered, sent heat pooling low in Y/N's belly. She yanked his shirt free from his trousers, needing to feel his skin against hers.

"Prove it," she challenged, her voice husky with want.

Something flashed in Harry's eyes. A primal recognition of the gauntlet she'd thrown down. In one fluid motion, he hitched her up, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Fucking hell, Y/N," he groaned as she rolled her hips against his hardness. "You drive me absolutely mad, you know that?"

She smiled, deliberately grinding against him again. "Good."

Harry captured her mouth in another searing kiss, this one harder, hungrier. Y/N moaned into it, her hands clutching his shoulders for support as he pressed her more firmly against the wall, creating the perfect friction where she needed it most.

"Not. Enough," Harry growled, setting her down just long enough to tug her dress over her head in one impatient movement. It landed somewhere in the hallway, forgotten as his gaze raked over her—black lace bra, matching panties, miles of smooth skin flushed with desire.

"Christ, look at you," he breathed, his accent thickening as it always did when he was aroused. "My gorgeous fucking fiancée."

Y/N reached for his belt, her fingers working quickly. "Too many clothes," she complained, shoving his trousers and boxers down his hips in one determined push.

Harry kicked them aside, then pressed her back against the wall, his cock hard and heavy against her stomach as he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. As it fell away, he cupped her breasts reverently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked.

"Perfect," he murmured, lowering his head to take one sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking gently before grazing it with his teeth.

Y/N arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Harry, please," she gasped, beyond caring about dignity or patience.

He smiled against her breast, one hand sliding down her stomach to push inside her panties. "So wet for me already," he groaned, finding her slick and ready. "Is this what the idea of marrying me does to you, love?"

Y/N would have rolled her eyes at his smugness if his fingers hadn't chosen that moment to circle her clit with devastating precision. "Shut up and fuck me," she demanded instead, her voice breaking on a moan as he pushed two fingers inside her.

Harry's eyes darkened further at her words, his cock twitching against her thigh. "So fucking bossy," he murmured approvingly, hooking his fingers inside her as his thumb continued its maddening circles. "My bossy little wife."

The possessive endearment combined with his skilled touch had Y/N teetering on the edge embarrassingly quickly. Harry, reading her body like a familiar song, withdrew his fingers just before she could fall.

She made a noise of frustrated protest, but he was already lifting her again, pressing her back against the wall as he tore her panties down her legs.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "Need to be inside you now."

Y/N complied eagerly, locking her ankles behind his back as he positioned himself at her entrance. Their eyes met in the dim hallway light—a moment of perfect understanding amid the desperate passion.

"I love you," Harry said, the simple truth more powerful than any vow they'd yet exchanged.

"I love you too," Y/N whispered back, and then words became impossible as Harry thrust into her in one deep, perfect stroke.

They both groaned at the sensation. The exquisite fullness, the slick heat, the completion that still felt miraculous after everything they'd overcome.

Harry held still for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing ragged. "Fucking perfect," he gasped, his hands gripping her thighs so tightly she knew there would be marks tomorrow. Marks she would trace with secret satisfaction.

Then he began to move, setting a relentless pace that had Y/N clinging to his shoulders, her head falling back against the wall as pleasure built within her. The position allowed him to hit that perfect spot deep inside with each thrust, while the friction of his body against her clit provided the dual stimulation that always drove her wild.

"Mine," Harry growled again, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that made Y/N cry out. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

The demand might have rankled once, might have felt like another attempt to control her. Now, earned through months of patience and respect and genuine love, it felt like a gift she was eager to give.

"Yours," she gasped, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. "Always yours, Harry."

Something like triumph flashed in his eyes, quickly consumed by raw need as his pace increased. "And I'm yours," he promised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Only yours, Y/N. Forever."

His hand slipped between their bodies, finding her clit again, circling with just the right pressure to send her hurtling toward the edge. "Come for me," he urged, his voice dropping to that husky register that never failed to undo her. "Let me feel my fiancée come around my cock."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts pushed Y/N over the precipice. She came with a sharp cry, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure crashed through her in overwhelming waves.

Harry followed moments later, driven beyond control by the sight and feel of her climax. He buried his face in her neck, groaning her name like a prayer as he spilled inside her, his hips jerking erratically against hers.

For long moments afterward, they remained locked together against the wall, breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin cooling in the hallway air. Harry pressed gentle kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the corner of her mouth, as if unable to stop touching her even as the desperate urgency faded.

"Okay?" he murmured eventually, carefully lowering her feet to the floor while keeping her steadied in his arms.

Y/N laughed softly, feeling pleasantly boneless and thoroughly claimed. "Definitely okay," she assured him, reaching up to brush a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "Though I think you've ruined me for proper bedroom sex."

Harry grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Couldn't wait," he said simply, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring on her finger with obvious satisfaction. "Needed to make you mine again."

Y/N shook her head fondly at his possessiveness, but couldn't deny the thrill it sent through her

"I think you made your point," she teased, gesturing to their discarded clothes strewn across the hallway floor.

Harry laughed, pulling her into his arms for a softer kiss. "That was just the beginning," he promised against her lips. "I plan to make my fiancée come at least twice more before morning."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a challenge sparking in her eyes. "Only twice? Getting old, Styles?"

Harry's eyes darkened again at her provocation. "Is that a challenge, Mrs. Almost-Styles-Again?"

"Maybe," she replied with a deliberate smirk.

In one swift motion, Harry scooped her up into his arms, carrying her toward their bedroom at last. "Challenge accepted," he growled, kicking the door shut behind them with a decisive thud.

The engagement ring caught the moonlight streaming through their bedroom window, winking like a promise as Y/N reached for her fiancé, her almost-husband, the man who had fought his way back to her through pride and pain and misunderstanding.

This time, she knew, they were doing everything right.

Later, as they lay tangled in sheets and each other, Y/N traced lazy patterns on his chest, her ring catching the soft light from the bedside lamp.

"I never thought we'd end up here," she admitted quietly. "That first day when I showed up at the manor house with your ridiculous contract and your terrible attitude...I hated you."

Harry laughed, running his fingers through her hair. "I was awful. I deserved it."

"You were," she agreed without hesitation. "But somehow, underneath all that...there you were. The real you."

Harry pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You were the only one who ever really saw me," he murmured. "Even when I was trying my hardest to be someone else."

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, studying his face in the dim light. "Do you ever regret it? The way we started?"

Harry considered the question seriously. "I regret hurting you. I regret the lies, the games, the time wasted trying to be what my mother wanted instead of who I really am." He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I can't regret anything that led me to you. To this."

Y/N leaned down to kiss him softly. "Even though I'm just a small-town nobody?" she teased, the old wound now healed enough to joke about.

Harry's expression grew serious. "You are the most important person in my world, Y/N Styles-to-be-again. Don't ever forget it."

She smiled, settling back against his chest. "I won't. Not this time."

Outside their window, London carried on its busy nighttime rhythm, oblivious to the promises being made within the walls of their home. But inside, in the quiet space they'd created together, two people who had started as reluctant partners in a business arrangement lay entwined, planning a future neither could have imagined a year ago.

And somewhere in the house, Grumps sighed contentedly in his sleep, as if he'd known all along that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

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A/N: My babies. I love them so much. I have a few blurb ideas hehe. I can't wait. Feel free to send some over if you have anything you'd like to see these two doing

Taglist:   @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca @nosebeers

[sweet-but-vicious]

No but also ALSO!

When he touches his face, Lou immediately drops his eyes and shifts his weight back just a bit.

His entire body is saying I'm not offended but I'm not interested.

His hands stay between their bodies but he doesn't clench or squeeze his fingers, it would have been instinctual and mostly unnoticed if he had, but he didn't. He stayed relaxed while not leading him on OR! leaning into the "joke" of being hit on by a man!

Personally I think he was a bit uncomfortable with the direction (heh) his part of the sketch took as he was the LEAST hammy and over the top of the boys when we all know he is usually doing the most. I think he was upset with the situation, not the actor that was hired to play a part.

Reason number 8bil 9hun 28 why I stan one(1) sassy little prince

Can we just talk about how the most-gay-rumoured member of one direction is the one who got given the part of being stroked on the neck and shoulder.

But more importantly, how he didnt react in his normal flinching homophibic way, but infact gave a soft sweet smile and responded to his question so lovingly ‘im just a bit tired’.

When has he ever responded to a mans touch like this? It is also said that the boys werent given a script for the advert (apart from niam introducing) so how louis reacted was completely him.

[daisyblog]

Mother’s Day

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry’s Mother’s Day Instagram post for YN.

harrystyles

liked by annetwist, ynstyles and 4,872,982 others

harrystyles Happy Mothers Day to my beautiful wife and the mother of my children. I couldn’t wish to have a better Mum for my two babies. We love you🤍 View all 9,863 commengs

ynstyles I love you🥹🤍

annetwist Best Mama to Grace and Baby Styles🩷🩵

gemmastyles We love you sis💞

louist91 Enjoy your day Tiny!! X

lottietomlinson Best mummy to my niece and soon baby nephew❤️❤️❤️

the.daisytomlinson The best💕

thepheobetomlinson You inspire me everyday YN💞

marktommo1111 Proud of you all❤️

harryfan5 🥹🥹🥹

harryfan2 If this isn’t love, I don’t want it!

ynrryupdates Happy Mother’s Day to our Queen🥰❤️

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994 @fruity-harry

[hl-obsessed]

•°•°•🌙✨🌟 •°•°•

🟧 ✖️ 🦋 <<<

[whoreforlarrystuff]

One Direction + Leather

[pagingdr-iverson]

Cute lol.

💜☂️🍇🎆🔮

[punkpillowprincess]

ZAYN - MEXICO CITY, MEXICO. NIGHT 2

STAIRWAY TO THE SKY

(27.03.25)

☆ ☆ (two of this photos are mine, can you believe that?)

buy me an iced latte

[tpwkmadeline]

body so tea no wonder he’s british

[specklelouis]

i found the original on pinterest like this so if you know the artist i’d love to tag them ❤️

[mothtummytat]

the fact that this year marks 15 years of One Direction is not only insane but also makes me feel so old. like what do you mean i’ve loved one direction for more than half of my life ????

[louisplumpyass]

harry serving cunt in london! (28/03)

[recoveringdirectioner]

type shit!!

[kateluvshaz]

Real.

I want to sit and gossip with Harry while consuming multiple beverages at a time 🥰

[ghstyles]

House Call - FWFW one shot

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WC: 3K

Masterlist

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The Tokyo festival had been over for almost two weeks, but the exhaustion that had settled into Y/N's bones hadn't lifted. If anything, it had worsened, accompanied now by a persistent headache and a sore throat that felt like she'd swallowed broken glass.

Curled up in the oversized bed of the guest room she occupied in Harry's London mansion, Y/N pulled the duvet tighter around her shoulders, shivering despite the sweat beading on her forehead. The digital clock on the nightstand showed 2:17 PM—she'd slept most of the day away, yet still felt like she could sleep for another week.

A sharp knock on the door made her wince, the sound driving a spike of pain through her already throbbing head.

"What?" she called out, her voice a raspy croak that barely carried across the room.

The door opened without waiting for further invitation. Harry stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of her with narrowed eyes—the rumpled sheets, the pile of used tissues on the nightstand, the untouched tea that had long gone cold.

"You look like shit," he announced, making no move to enter the room.

Y/N glared at him through watery eyes. "Thanks for the update. Is that all?"

Harry crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You missed the charity luncheon."

Y/N's hand flew to her mouth. "That was today? I completely forgot—"

"Obviously," Harry cut her off. "I had to make excuses for you. Told everyone you had a migraine." His tone made it clear what he thought of having to cover for her.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said, genuinely contrite. Despite their arrangement being a business deal, she took her obligations seriously. "I would have gone if I'd remembered."

Harry's expression shifted slightly as he studied her more carefully. "You actually are sick, aren't you? This isn't just you skiving off."

"No, I'm lying here sweating and shivering for fun," Y/N retorted, then broke into a coughing fit that left her gasping.

Harry frowned, finally stepping into the room. "How long have you been like this?"

Y/N shrugged weakly. "Started feeling bad after we got back from Tokyo. Got worse the last couple days."

Harry approached the bed, his movements hesitant, as though venturing into enemy territory. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Don't need a doctor," Y/N mumbled. "It's just a cold or flu or something. I'll be fine."

Harry reached out unexpectedly, placing the back of his hand against her forehead. His touch was cool against her burning skin, and she couldn't help leaning into it slightly.

He withdrew his hand quickly, his frown deepening. "You're burning up. You need to see a doctor."

Y/N shook her head, immediately regretting the movement as pain lanced through her temples. "No doctors. I just need rest and fluids. It'll pass."

"Don't be stubborn," Harry said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I'll call my physician. He makes house calls."

"I said no," Y/N insisted, struggling to sit up against the pillows. "I don't want some fancy doctor poking at me and charging thousands for telling me to take paracetamol and drink water."

Harry's jaw tightened. "Money isn't an issue."

"It is for me," Y/N shot back. "This is my body, and I decide who examines it."

"This is ridiculous," Harry said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You're clearly ill, and you're refusing medical care out of what? Pride? Stubbornness?"

Y/N's eyes flashed despite the fever glazing them. "Not everyone runs to a doctor for every little thing. Some of us grew up learning to tough it out."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "There's nothing admirable about suffering unnecessarily."

"I'm not seeking admiration," Y/N replied tiredly. "I just want to be left alone to rest."

"Fine," Harry said curtly. "But if you're not better by tomorrow, I'm calling the doctor whether you like it or not. We have the album release party on Friday"

Y/N didn't respond, her eyes already closed as another wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her.

Harry stood watching her for a moment, his expression conflicted. Then, with a barely audible sigh, he moved to the en-suite bathroom, returning with a cool, damp cloth. With unexpected gentleness, he placed it on her forehead.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to bring your fever down," he said matter-of-factly, avoiding her gaze. "My mother used to do this when I was sick as a child. Before she..." He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

A tense silence settled between them, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing.

"Thank you," she said finally, the words barely audible.

Harry's expression hardened again, as though he regretted the momentary kindness. "Don't read into it. I need you functional."

He moved away from the bed, creating distance between them. "I'll have Mrs. Winters bring up some tea and dry toast. Try to keep it down—you're getting dehydrated."

Before Y/N could respond, he was gone, the bedroom door closing firmly behind him.

Y/N sank back into the pillows, too exhausted to maintain her anger. She knew, rationally, that seeing a doctor would probably be sensible. But years of growing up in a household where medical care was a luxury reserved for true emergencies had ingrained habits that were hard to break.

Besides, accepting help from Harry felt like conceding something in their ongoing cold war. An admission of weakness she wasn't prepared to make.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · · 

By evening, Y/N's condition had worsened. The fever had climbed higher, leaving her alternating between violent chills and sweats so intense she'd soaked through her pajamas twice. Her throat felt like she'd swallowed razor blades, and a persistent cough had settled deep in her chest, each spasm sending pain shooting through her ribs.

She'd managed to drag herself to the bathroom once, nearly collapsing in the process, but otherwise hadn't left the bed. The water glass on her nightstand remained empty—the thought of navigating the stairs to the kitchen seemed as impossible as climbing Everest.

Through the haze of fever, she heard the bedroom door open again. Harry's tall figure appeared, silhouetted against the hallway light.

"Still alive in here?" he asked, his voice lacking its usual edge.

Y/N tried to respond but could only manage a weak cough.

Harry stepped closer, switching on the bedside lamp. In the soft light, his expression shifted from annoyed to concerned as he took in her deteriorated state.

"Jesus, Y/N," he muttered, reaching out to feel her forehead again. "You're burning up."

This time, Y/N didn't have the strength to argue when he pulled out his phone.

"I'm calling Dr. Reynolds," he stated firmly. "This isn't a debate anymore."

Y/N closed her eyes, too miserable to protest. She heard Harry speaking quietly into the phone, his British accent becoming more pronounced as it always did when he was stressed.

"Yes, high fever... No, I haven't measured it, but she's burning up... Coughing, sore throat from what I can tell... No, I don't think she can get to the phone... Yes, that would be ideal. Thank you."

He ended the call and returned his attention to Y/N. "He'll be here in thirty minutes. Think you can manage some water before then?"

Y/N nodded weakly, her pride long since overwhelmed by physical misery.

Harry disappeared briefly, returning with a fresh glass of water and what appeared to be a digital thermometer.

"Here," he said, holding the glass to her lips. "Small sips."

The cool water was heaven on her raw throat. Y/N drank carefully, grateful for the assistance despite herself.

"Now this," Harry said, holding up the thermometer. "Under your tongue."

Too weak to argue, Y/N complied. When the device beeped, Harry checked the reading, his eyebrows shooting up.

"39.7°C," he read aloud. "No wonder you look half-dead."

"Charming as ever," Y/N managed to whisper.

A flicker of something, perhaps relief at her retaining some spirit, crossed Harry's face.

"I'm going to get you something clean to wear," he said, glancing at her sweat-soaked pajamas. "You can't see the doctor looking like that."

Before Y/N could respond, Gary went back to their room, rifling through her dresser drawers, returning with a fresh t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Can you manage, or do you need..." he trailed off, suddenly awkward.

Y/N shook her head. "I can do it. Just... turn around."

Harry obliged, facing the wall while Y/N struggled to change, the simple act leaving her breathless and dizzy. When she finally collapsed back against the pillows, he turned back, assessing her with critical eyes.

"You look marginally less like death warmed over," he concluded. "The doctor will be here soon."

Y/N nodded, too tired to maintain their usual combative dynamic. "Thank you," she said softly.

Harry looked momentarily taken aback by the genuine gratitude. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still annoyed about the luncheon."

Despite everything, Y/N found herself smiling faintly. "God forbid you show basic human decency without reminding me you're doing it under protest."

A corner of Harry's mouth quirked upward. "Exactly. Wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea."

They lapsed into silence, the usual tension between them temporarily suspended by the more immediate concern of Y/N's illness. Harry remained in the room, scrolling through his phone but occasionally glancing up to check on her.

When the doorbell rang, he stood immediately. "That'll be Dr. Reynolds. I'll bring him up."

Y/N nodded, suddenly nervous. Despite her reluctance to see a doctor, the severity of her symptoms had convinced her it was necessary. Still, the prospect of being examined by a stranger, especially one who was Harry's personal physician, made her uncomfortable.

Minutes later, Harry returned with an older man carrying a medical bag. Dr. Reynolds had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and a reassuring manner that immediately put Y/N more at ease.

"Mrs. Styles," he greeted her, setting his bag on the nightstand. "I hear you're feeling rather poorly."

"Just Y/N, please," she corrected automatically, her voice barely audible.

The doctor nodded, already taking out his stethoscope. "Y/N, then. Let's have a look at you."

The examination was thorough but efficient. Dr. Reynolds checked her throat, listened to her lungs, felt the lymph nodes in her neck, and took her temperature again.

"Well," he said finally, straightening up, "you've managed to contract a rather nasty case of influenza. Your lungs are congested, and I'm concerned about the possibility of secondary bacterial infection given the duration of your symptoms."

Harry, who had been hovering near the door, stepped closer. "Is it serious?"

"Influenza is always serious," Dr. Reynolds replied, "though not usually life-threatening in otherwise healthy young adults. However, left untreated, complications can develop."

He turned back to Y/N. "I'm going to prescribe an antiviral medication, which will help shorten the duration of your illness. I'll also give you antibiotics as a precaution against secondary infection, and something for the fever and pain."

Y/N nodded weakly. "How long until I'm better?"

"Even with medication, you're looking at a week of significant symptoms, possibly longer," the doctor said frankly. "You'll need complete rest, plenty of fluids, and someone to monitor your condition."

Harry frowned at this. "I have commitments. The album release, interviews..."

Dr. Reynolds looked at him sternly over his glasses. "Your wife needs care, Mr. Styles. She shouldn't be left alone in this condition."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Y/N stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. Their marriage was a business arrangement, not a partnership of mutual care and support.

"I'll make arrangements," Harry said finally, his tone clipped.

Dr. Reynolds nodded, seemingly satisfied. He wrote out prescriptions, giving Harry detailed instructions for Y/N's care.

"I'll have these medications delivered within the hour," he said, packing up his bag. "In the meantime, keep her fever down with cool compresses and make sure she drinks water regularly. Call me immediately if her temperature goes above 40°C or if she has difficulty breathing."

After the doctor left, Harry remained in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You don't have to cancel your commitments," Y/N said, breaking the silence. "I can manage."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "You heard the doctor. You need someone to monitor you."

"I'm not your responsibility," Y/N insisted, though the words lacked her usual fire.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Actually, legally, you are. And more importantly, if you collapse and die in my house, it would be terrible publicity."

Despite everything, Y/N let out a weak laugh that quickly devolved into coughing. "At least you're honest about your priorities."

Harry watched her struggling to catch her breath, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "I'll have my assistant reschedule what she can. For the things I can't miss, I'll arrange for someone to stay with you."

Before Y/N could respond, he added, "And don't argue about it. You look like hell, and for once in your life, you're going to accept help without making it into some kind of class warfare statement."

Y/N blinked, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. "Fine," she conceded quietly. "Thank you."

Harry nodded curtly, turning to leave.

"Harry," Y/N called, stopping him at the door. "I'm sorry about the luncheon. Really."

He glanced back at her, something complicated flickering in his green eyes. "Just focus on getting better. We can go back to arguing when you're not half-dead."

With that, he left, closing the door softly behind him.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · · 

The next three days passed in a fever-induced haze for Y/N. The medications helped, but recovery was slow and painful. True to his word, Harry had arranged for care. A rotation of his household staff checking on her regularly, bringing meals she could barely eat, and ensuring she took her medication on schedule.

To her surprise, Harry himself appeared periodically throughout each day, usually with a terse inquiry about her condition or to inform her of some commitment he was attending "in case anyone asks where you are."

On the fourth day, Y/N woke feeling marginally more human. Her fever had finally broken during the night, leaving her weak but clear-headed for the first time in days. She managed to shower and change into fresh clothes, the simple tasks exhausting but necessary.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was startled to find Harry sitting in the armchair by the window, scrolling through his phone.

"You're up," he observed, glancing up at her. "And vertical. That's an improvement."

Y/N nodded, making her way carefully back to the bed. "I feel better. Still weak, but the fever's gone."

"Good," Harry said, returning his attention to his phone. "The album release party is tomorrow night. Think you'll be well enough to attend?"

Y/N hesitated. She was far from recovered, but she understood the importance of the event for maintaining their public image. "I'll try," she said finally. "I can't promise to last the whole night, though."

Harry nodded, seemingly satisfied with this compromise. "We only need to make an appearance. You can leave early if necessary."

A silence fell between them, less hostile than usual but still awkward.

"Thank you," Y/N said eventually. "For arranging everything. The doctor, the care... I know it wasn't what you signed up for."

Harry looked up, studying her face for a moment. "Neither of us signed up for a real marriage," he said bluntly. "But basic human decency isn't optional, even in our arrangement."

Y/N smiled faintly. "Still, I appreciate it. I know I was stubborn about seeing the doctor."

"Stubborn is an understatement," Harry replied, though without his usual bite. "You were being ridiculous."

"Maybe," Y/N conceded. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Harry's expression shifted, curiosity replacing his usual guardedness. "Why were you so resistant? It wasn't just about the money, was it?"

Y/N looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet. "Growing up, doctors were for emergencies only. We couldn't afford insurance, so unless someone was dying, we just... handled it ourselves."

She shrugged, embarrassed by the admission. "My dad once set my brother's broken arm in our kitchen because the ER was too expensive. When I was ten, I had strep throat so bad I couldn't swallow, and my mom treated it with salt water gargles and honey because the urgent care clinic wanted three hundred dollars up front."

Harry listened in silence, his face unreadable.

"So yeah," Y/N continued awkwardly, "I guess I learned that being sick isn't reason enough to see a doctor. You have to be really sick. And even then, you try everything else first."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. "That's fucked up," he said finally.

Y/N laughed softly, wincing at the lingering pain in her throat. "Yeah, well. That's life for a lot of people."

Another silence fell, this one heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"For what it's worth," Harry said eventually, rising from the chair, "you don't have to worry about that anymore. Not while we're married."

The statement was a reminder that their arrangement was temporary, that whatever understanding they'd reached during her illness was as transient as their legal connection to each other.

"Right," Y/N said quietly. "For the next nine months, anyway."

Harry nodded, moving toward the door. "I have interviews all afternoon. Mrs. Collins will check on you at lunch."

Y/N watched him go, struck by the strange realization that for the first time since their arrangement began, they'd had a conversation that wasn't filled with barbs and antagonism.

"Harry," she called as he reached the door.

He paused, looking back at her with raised eyebrows.

"Good luck with the interviews," she said simply. "I hope the album does well."

Surprise flickered across his features, quickly masked by his usual composed expression. "Thanks," he replied, the single word carrying an unusual weight.

As the door closed behind him, Y/N leaned back against the pillows, exhausted by even this brief interaction. Whatever truce had formed between them during her illness would likely evaporate once she was fully recovered, their relationship returning to its usual state of barely concealed contempt.

But for now, in this strange liminal space created by her vulnerability and his unexpected care, something almost like peace existed between them—fragile, temporary, but real nonetheless.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · · 

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