#ONE DIRECTION FANDOM

[louisplumpyass]

THIS IS SO FUCKING ICONIC

[always0n3dir3cti0n]

MY SASS MASTER FROM DONCASTER

“This one's for everyone who thinks there's too many One Direction songs on the setlist.”

-Louis introducing Drag Me Down tonight in Zurich!

Zoa City Festival Switzerland. (11 July 2025)

[pinkboaclub]

Cowgirl

[READ PART ONE HERE! Scene Stealers blurb]

Summery: You and Harry are in university and are amateur (yet, famous) porn stars. Your friend invites you to a costume party, but you both can’t wait to get back to your dorm.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: literally just smut, frat Harry, mention of alcohol consumption, fem!reader, this is from your POV so the girl in the photos doesn’t have to look like you !! just a reference for your outfit :), still set in a US university, though Harry is British.

An intense scent wave of alcohol hit you and Harry as you entered the house party. You made your way through the hands holding Red Solo Cups before finding your way to their drinks. Your friends were throwing a costume party, and though he was reluctant to dress up, Harry wore a dark burgundy plaid shirt to match your cowgirl dress.

“Are you drinking a lot tonight?” Harry asked you, as you looked at your collection.

“No, I think I’ll only have a little something. Are you?”

“I think I’ll only have a little too…I was hoping to get a little lucky tonight.” He wrapped an arm around your lower waist, cheekily pulling you into him and giving you a kiss on your neck.

“Oh, were you?” You laughed as his lips casually travelled around your neck.

“Of course, only if you were feeling the same way.”

“We’ll see, cowboy.”

Harry did not attempt to hide his eagerness throughout the night. When you were standing, his hands were on your hips or your ass, when you sat in his lap, his hands were up your dress, resting on your upper thigh. As the night continued and as his hands remained all over you, you felt yourself starting to feel the same. Riled Up. Hot and Bothered. Horny.

“Maybe we get out of here early?” You whispered in Harry’s ear, causing his body to perk up. He hastfully nodded his head and led you to the door.

Your pace only quickened as you raced up the stairs of your dorm room building, hand in hand. As you fumbled with your keys to unlock your door, Harry kissed every square inch of your neck.

“Laila’s not going to be here right?” He asked in between kisses, referring to your roommate.

“She’s still at the party…but we don’t have all the time in the world.” You replied as you opened the door, making sure to lock it behind you.

His lips were immediately on your as the lock on the door clicked.

He turned you around, pushing you onto the bed with a gentle force that made you gasp. The red dress you wore clung to your skin as he yanked it up, exposing you to the coolness of the room. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his thumbs hooking into the lacy thong that barely covered your dripping pussy. He pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside.

He dropped to his stomach on the bed as his eyes took in the sight before him, your legs shaking with anticipation. Harry leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed the inside of your thigh. You whimpered, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. His tongue flicked out, tasting your sweetness as he moved closer to the center of your need. He took his time, teasing the sensitive skin around your pussy, making you beg for more.

As his tongue touched your clit, you gripped his shoulders, stopping him. "Wait," You panted. "You wanna grab the grab the camera"

A cheeky smile spread across Harry's face as he pulled back. "My little slutty girl," he murmured "Always thinking about the fans, huh?”

You bit your lip, unable to resist the urge to watch him as he stood up and grabbed the o camera from your bedside table. You knew it would take a few minutes to set up the tripod and get the perfect angle, but Harry looked too good to not capture him. The bulge in his black jeans was impossible to ignore, straining against the fabric as he moved around the room. You could see his excitement growing with every step, and the anticipation was making your stomach churn.

Finally, the camera was ready, the red light blinking at you from the corner of the room. Harry crawled back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your legs. He leaned in, his tongue tracing the outline of your pussy before delving in like he was starving. You felt like you could melt into the mattress as he ate you, his mouth and tongue working in harmony to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips to meet his eager mouth.

He stopped, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing smirk. "You're going to have to be quiet, baby," he whispered, his voice thick. "We are still in your dorm room, remember?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Harry leaned in and kissed you deeply. He pulled away and whispered, "But I know how much you like it when they can hear you."

You pushed him off of you and sat up. Harry's eyes stayed in you with surprise and intrigue as he took in your newfound assertiveness. You slid off the bed, the white cowgirl boots making a satisfying sound as they hit the floor. Though they gave you a little confidence you slid them off and threw them aside. You strutted over to the camera, your hips swaying with each step, and turned it on. Your red dress clung to your body, your nipples hard and visible through the fabric as you faced Harry with a sultry look.

"Why don't you hold this for a while?" You handed him the camera. You watched him, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you, the lust in them making you even wetter. Harry took the camera, his grip tight as he looked at you through the viewfinder. "You want to show them how good of a little slut I can be for you?" You whispered, your voice low and seductive.

With a smile and a nod from Harry, you straddled him, your knees pushing into the bed on either side of his hips. Your red dress hiked up around your waist, giving him a perfect view of your bare pussy as you reached down to unbutton his jeans. You slid your hands into his boxers, gripping his cock firmly. It was already hard, the heat of it pulsing against your palm.

He groaned as you began to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate. His eyes never left yours, the camera forgotten in his hand as he took in the sight of you, dressed but still open and exposed to him. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his thigh, your ass up in the air, and took his cock into your mouth.

You could feel him swell in your mouth as you worked him, your tongue swirling around his tip as you sucked. The taste of him filled your mouth, making you want to moan around his length. But you held back, knowing you were supposed to be quiet. Instead, you let out little whimpers of pleasure, muffled by his cock, that seemed to drive him even more wild.

His eyes were heavy with pleasure as you deep-throated him, your hands playing with his balls. His grip on your hair tightened, guiding you faster, pushing you down further until you could feel his cock hit the back of your throat, his breath becoming heavy.

But just as you felt him get to the edge, you pulled away, leaving his cock covered with your saliva. You straddled him again, this time with your dress still rucked up around your waist. He watched as you took his cock in your hand and positioned it at your entrance. Without a word, you sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch.

His hand immediately came to your thigh to guide you through your slow motions. Without even realizing it, your whimpers became louder, moans began to leave your mouth. "What did I say baby?" You ignored his demand for your quietness, his cock feeling too good inside of you.

Instead you lowered the straps of your dress, letting your braless breasts become exposed to him (a part of you thinking they may even distract him from your increasingly loud moans).

Harry's eyes slightly widened as he took in the sight, his cock twitching in response. You began to bounce on him, your tits bouncing in sync with your movements. His hands shot up to cup them, his thumbs brushing against your sensitive nipples as he filmed you.

You leaned forward, taking his hand and bringing it to your mouth. You sucked on his thumb, your eyes never leaving his as you did so.

As you watched his face express how much pleasure he was in, you felt the need to up the ante. You pulled off of him. Almost causing Harry to protest until he saw the determined look on your face.

You leaned forward, taking his cock and placing it between your tits. You started to titty-fuck him, the wetness of your pussy smearing across your skin as you did so. His moans grew louder as you squeezed your tits together around his cock.

You knew that this was a move that always got him off (and your viewers definitely appreciated it as well), so you made sure to keep it going until he was right on the edge. But you didn't stop there. You leaned down and took his cock in your mouth again, sucking hard as you continued to pump him with your tits. Harry's hand found its way back to your hair, pushing you down further as he started to thrust up into your mouth.

“So fucking good, Y/N. Perfect girl.”

You felt him get closer and closer to the edge, but just as you knew he was about to cum, you pulled away. Harry groaned in frustration, his hand slipping from your hair as he tried to catch his breath. You gave him a wicked smile as you lifted yourself up. You turned around and straddled him again, this time, you were facing away from him.

You hiked up your dress, revealing the perfect roundness of your ass, and slammed back down onto his cock. Harry's hands shot out to grab onto your hips to keep you steady. You leaned forward, placing your hands on the bed as you began to ride him in reverse, the camera capturing every bounce and jiggle of your ass.

"Going to be the star of the show tonight, hmm?" Harry murmured, his voice tight with need. You didn't answer, your mind focusing on your body and his pleasure. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, and it made you want to go even faster. But you held back, enjoying the slow, torturous pace.

You heard him place the camera on the nightstand, pointing towards you and him, so he could have more hands on your body. Your pace quickened dramatically, almost like a reward for him for choosing to focus on you.

Though, your body began to tire quickly, your thighs burned, your thrusts became slower and shorter. Harry could see your weakness spreading.

“Where’s my confident girl? Getting tired?” He teased in a dominant way, causing you to mentally roll your eyes.

“No…just teasin’ you.” You mumbled, fully knowing you were lying to him. He caught on and grabbed your stomach to slowly lean you back onto him.

You succumbed, pressing your back into his chest and he held you in place. His hands found your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples until you were crying out. The camera sat just above your head, recording every moment of your passion. You looked over your shoulder, watching him watch you, his eyes filled with lust.

You reached and grabbed his hand, bringing it down to your clit. "Want you to make me feel good," you whispered, your voice soft but thick with innocence and desire. Harry's eyes never left yours as he began to rub your clit in tight circles, his other hand still kneading your breast. Your hips began to rock back and forth, fucking yourself on his cock as he pleasured you.

“God, Harry…I love it so much.” You moaned out.

“Yeah, baby? Like fucking yourself on my cock?” His lips brushed against your ear, you kept your eyes pinched closed and nodded your head.

The sound of your moans filled the room, no longer muffled by the need for quiet and discretion. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you could feel the tension building in your core. Your moans grew louder, turning into cries of pleasure that echoed off the walls of the small dorm room. You have lost full control now, letting Harry and his thrusts control everything you did.

You felt the bed shake beneath you as Harry picked up his pace, his breathing turning ragged as he neared his own climax. The pressure was building, and you could tell he was getting close. But you weren't far behind. Harry's grip on your hips tightened, his own moans filling the room as he drove into you deeper and harder.

You leaned back into Harry's embrace, his hands roaming your body as he whispered dirty encouragements into your ear. "I know, baby...let go. Let that pretty pussy squeeze my cock."

The friction of his fingers against your clit was too much. You threw your head back and screamed out your release, your body shuddering with the intensity of the orgasm that crashed through you. You felt Harry's grip tighten, his own moans becoming more erratic as he felt your walls clench around him.

"You okay?" Harry asked, his thrusts halting to comfort you. Your head nodded in haste as your body was able to quickly recover from the powerful orgasm.

"M'gonna flip you over sweetie, get a shot of your pretty back with my cum on it."

You nodded, feeling a thrill run down your spine. He carefully flipped you onto your stomach, your dress now bunched up around your waist. You felt his cock slip out of you with a wet sound, and you knew he was close. Harry's hand as it gripped the base of his cock. You slowly started to grind your ass against him, slow circles on his thighs to help encourage the thrusts from his hand.

"Fuck, Baby," Harry groaned, his grip tightening on your hip. Your whimpers continued though you were not receiving any pleasure.

He painted your back with his cum as his release came. He watched it dribble down your spine, mesmerized by the sight, he reached for the camera. He adjusted the angle, capturing your ass still glistening from your own arousal, then panned to your painted back. His cheeky smirk grew as he took a step back to film your entire body.

"Maybe I won't clean you up," Harry murmured, his voice low and full of dark promise. "I'll just keep you like this, with your pretty wet pussy and my cum on your back, for everyone to see." You laughed and lightly kicked his leg.

He turned the camera off, deciding to go against his idea and grabbed a rag to wet in the sink before coming over to clean you. Once his cum was clean from your back, he helped you and your knees, which were beginning to sore, flip onto your back. As he continued to clean you up, your body became light and your eyes were heavy.

“Tired from all the riding you were doing?” Harry asked, your tired eyes staying closed as you laughed.

“I haven’t done that much work in a while.” You joked. Harry threw the washcloth into your dirty laundry and leaned forward to brush your hair away and kiss you.

“I know, the little pillow princess is all tired out from taking control.” You both chuckled as Harry continued to soothingly run his hand in your hair. “Let's get you out of this dress, cowgirl.”

Tags:

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh

[nevermind991]

everytime I see pictures of fetus Louis I remember what Louis said “a lot sweeter, this lad” and I cry

[tobegoodisgood]

“ Do you think I have forgotten about You? “

Harry Styles. Word count : 50k. Hope you’ll like x

There were songs Harry Styles would never release.

Not because they weren’t good. They were good — too good. Raw, like flesh before the scab. They had the kind of lyrics that sat in his phone notes under filenames like “D-5AM-Real” or “For No One.” They were carved from the ribs of nights he wished he could relive, from lips he couldn’t forget, from a name he never said out loud anymore.

Celia.

Her name still had weight. Not a feather. A stone. Heavy, permanent, impossible to shake.

“Harry,” Ava’s voice carried in from the kitchen. “Mail’s on the counter.”

He paused the demo he was building — a rough acoustic hook that he knew would never make it to production — and stood up from his studio chair. The room was lit dimly, on purpose. Warm amber lights, white walls, matte-black floors, a walnut desk. Her colors. The colors that had once covered a different apartment, a different life. He had claimed them as his own after the breakup, under the pretense of design. Ava never questioned it. Ava was too busy for questions like that.

“Got it,” he called back.

There was a small stack of mail beside the espresso machine: a few bills, a package for Ava from some boutique brand, and one ivory-colored envelope with a gold wax seal. Harry flipped it over. His name was handwritten in dark ink, a little flourish to the S at the end of “Styles.”

Curious, he cracked it open. A wedding invitation.

Jonas & Amelia

cordially invite you to their wedding weekend

at Château De Clairmont, Provence

Friday, June 14 – Sunday, June 16

He blinked. Jonas.

They hadn’t spoken in years. College had a funny way of giving you people you thought you’d hold onto forever, only to leave them in the dust of a fast-paced career. Jonas had been his roommate for two semesters. A good guy. Loud, a bit too into classic rock, but loyal to a fault. He’d been there when Celia first came into Harry’s life, and when she left it.

Harry rubbed his chin and exhaled through his nose. “Provence,” he muttered.

Ava walked in, barefoot, her hair twisted up into a silk scrunchie. She wore one of his t-shirts with the sleeves rolled and a pair of linen shorts. Effortlessly gorgeous.

“What’s that?” she asked, reaching for her matcha.

“A wedding invite,” he said, holding it up.

“Ooh. Fancy. Who?”

“Jonas White. From uni.”

“Oh, I remember you mentioned him once. The one who threw up in a popcorn bucket during finals?”

Harry laughed softly. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Are we going?”

“I guess we could. It’s in France. June.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got that week off before the album tour picks up again.”

“Yeah. Could be nice.” He put the invitation down.

She smiled, walked over to him, and kissed his cheek. “Let’s go then. A wedding in a castle? I’m in.”

He smiled back at her. Ava always looked forward. Never back.

But Harry knew exactly who else might be on that guest list.

And suddenly, the room felt tighter. Not hotter — but thinner, like the oxygen wasn’t as deep in here. He turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the small ceramic cat on the corner of his studio desk. A cheap little thing. Black, hand-painted. She had brought it back from Izmir once, after her trip. Said if she ever got a cat, she’d name her Izmir. He had pretended to laugh at the time.

Now he had a real black cat. Named Izmir. Ava thought he chose the name on a whim.

⸻

The flight to Provence felt surreal. Ava, ever the planner, had packed them both two days in advance. She wore a beige cashmere travel set and oversized sunglasses, her blonde hair braided loosely over one shoulder. Harry kept it lowkey — hoodie, cap, headphones. His heart wasn’t racing yet, but it hadn’t settled either.

The château was as picturesque as the invitation promised. Honey-colored stone walls, lavender fields, ancient vines curling up marble columns. It overlooked rolling hills and cobbled villages that looked like they belonged in a Monet painting. There were 47 guests in total, most arriving in pairs. The wedding was elegant but intimate.

And then, after a welcome dinner full of speeches and champagne, he saw her.

⸻

She stood beneath a weeping willow near the edge of the garden, wearing a long dark-green dress with sleeves that caught the breeze. Her hair was still raven-black, and her skin still that soft, glowing porcelain tone that made Harry ache in ways he hated admitting. Celia Cadellson.

She hadn’t changed much. Maybe a little sharper around the eyes. A woman, not a girl. She held a wine glass loosely by the stem, swirling it absentmindedly. Alone.

His chest tightened, and for a brief second, the rest of the garden faded. The laughter, the camera flashes, Ava’s voice — gone. Just her.

“You okay?” Ava whispered beside him.

Harry blinked. “Yeah. Just tired. You mind if I take a quick walk?”

“Go ahead. I’m gonna grab dessert with the bride.”

He kissed her temple. “Back in a bit.”

And then he walked, slowly, toward the tree.

She turned before he reached her. Her lips parted the second she saw him. Her eyes, still the color of burnt cinnamon, widened. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Harry,” she said softly.

“Celia.”

Her name on his tongue again. Like tasting a fruit you haven’t had since childhood.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she added.

“I wasn’t sure either.”

She smiled, just a little. The same crooked smile that had made him write at least seventeen unpublished songs.

“I heard you’ve been doing well. Albums. Touring. Married.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“I work in publishing now. Copy editor, mostly. Write a little, here and there.”

“Poems?” he asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Her eyes flickered. “Sometimes.”

He took a slow step closer. “I never stopped reading them, you know. Back then. The ones you used to leave on napkins.”

She looked down, then back at him. “You never threw them away.”

“No.”

Silence stretched between them. The wind carried the faint sound of a jazz trio from the courtyard.

“You look the same,” he said. “Better, actually.”

“And you still lie well,” she teased, then paused. “You look…tired.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “That’s not a lie.”

They stood in silence for a moment, until Harry lowered his voice. “I think about you more than I should.”

Celia’s eyes darted up to his. She said nothing.

“I write about you. Still. You’re in things Ava thinks are about someone else.” He exhaled shakily. “I designed my studio in your colors. My bedroom. I even got the cat.”

A tiny sound left her throat — half a laugh, half a choke. “Izmir?”

He nodded.

“God,” she whispered, looking away.

“I know,” he murmured.

And then, barely above a whisper, he said, “Sunshine.”

She closed her eyes.

“I shouldn’t call you that,” he said quickly. “I know.”

But she shook her head. “I haven’t heard it in years.”

Harry moved closer. “Remember that song?”

Her breath caught.

He began humming the melody softly — “You Are My Sunshine.” And then, quietly, under the willow tree with the rest of the world still moving behind them, he sang the first line. - You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

Her eyes filled. His voice broke.

And when he leaned in just enough to smell her hair, the way he used to when she lay curled up against his chest on Sunday mornings — he wasn’t thinking about vows or rings or hotel rooms. He was thinking about her skin on linen sheets, her laughter on his mouth, and all the things he’d buried like bones in the garden of his career.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

“I never stopped missing you.”

Her fingers trembled on the wine glass.

“I still love you,” he said. “In ways I’m not supposed to.”

Then the sound of a cork popping broke the spell. Celia looked over his shoulder, her eyes widening.

Ava was coming down the path. Harry stepped back.

“You should go,” Celia said.

“Will you be at the ceremony tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

He turned and walked away, heart pounding like he was twenty again. Behind him, Celia’s fingers pressed into her wrist like a tether to keep herself from reaching out.

⸻

The morning air in Provence tasted like lemon and thyme.

Harry stood on the stone balcony of their suite, a mug of coffee in his hand, eyes trained on the horizon where the hills curled into fog. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with jet lag. Inside, Ava hummed as she scrolled through the day’s itinerary on her phone.

“We have breakfast in the courtyard in twenty minutes,” she called out, tugging on a silk robe. “Then a guided walk through the vineyards, and the ceremony at sunset. You remember Jonas said it’s semi-formal? Think linen, not tux.”

He nodded distantly.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment. “You’ve been quiet since dinner.”

“Just… nostalgic.”

“Anything specific?”

He hesitated. “A little bit of everything.”

She smiled softly. “I get it. Old friends, old buildings, old vines. Makes you think about who you were when they knew you.”

Harry turned toward her. “Exactly.”

She crossed the room, kissed his cheek, and murmured, “Let’s not think too much. Let’s just enjoy it, okay?”

He smiled back, swallowing the guilt that soured the coffee in his mouth. “Okay.”

But when they arrived at breakfast, the tables were set in clusters under cream parasols — and Celia was seated alone at the far end, legs crossed, wearing a white blouse and black linen trousers, reading a small paperback.

Harry felt his feet hesitate beneath him. Ava didn’t notice. She spotted Amelia and immediately darted toward her with a squeal of affection, already deep in a conversation about flowers and veils.

He could’ve joined them. Should’ve.

Instead, he walked toward Celia.

“Good morning,” he said, voice low.

She looked up, startled. “Hi.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“But you didn’t say no.”

That crooked smile twitched again. “No. I didn’t.”

He took the seat across from her, letting the silence hold for a moment. She sipped her orange juice. Her nails were short, painted a color somewhere between sand and blush. He remembered how she used to bite them when she was nervous.

“You okay?” he asked.

Celia shrugged. “Trying to figure that out.”

Harry glanced around. No one seemed to notice them — the bride and groom were talking to relatives, Ava was still laughing with Amelia. For a second, they were invisible.

“I dreamt about you last night,” he said.

Her eyes locked onto his. “Don’t.”

“Celia—”

“No. Please.”

Her voice cracked on the word please, and he went quiet.

“I can’t go down this path,” she whispered. “I can’t pretend we’re in a time machine.”

He ran a hand over his jaw. “You think I’m pretending?”

“I think you’re married.”

“I am.”

“And I’m not interested in breaking someone else’s heart. I’m not… that person.”

“You wouldn’t be,” he said. “I already broke it myself.”

She looked away quickly, blinking. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“You’re not happy?” she asked softly.

“I’m not whole,” he answered.

A small, bitter laugh slipped out of her. “Jesus, Harry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Celia stared at her hands. “You were supposed to be the one person in my life who didn’t lie to me.”

“I never lied to you,” he said, eyes burning. “I lied to myself.”

And that truth hung there between them like a struck match.

⸻

The vineyard walk was warm and slow. Ava held Harry’s hand, pointing at different grape varietals, chatting excitedly with a couple from Amsterdam. Harry smiled where he was supposed to, nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Behind them, Celia walked alone, sunglasses on, headphones in, her figure half-shielded by the tall reeds that lined the dirt path.

When they reached a clearing where the guide explained the fermentation process, Ava wandered off to take pictures of the lavender. Harry hesitated — and then took his chance.

He stepped to the side, following the narrow path behind the vines where Celia had disappeared. He found her standing in the shade, arms folded.

“I shouldn’t keep doing this,” he said, before she could speak. “But I can’t help it.”

She exhaled. “Why now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Because I thought time had solved it. That being away from you meant I’d moved on. That Ava was the ending of the story.” He paused. “But seeing you again — I realized I was still mid-sentence.”

Celia’s face crumpled for a moment before she caught herself. “You left me.”

“I did.”

“You said you couldn’t see a future with me.”

“I was wrong.”

She looked away, jaw clenched. “You know I waited, right? I didn’t date anyone for almost a year.”

“I didn’t know that,” he whispered.

“I thought maybe… you’d come back. Maybe you needed time.”

His voice shook. “I came back. Too late.”

They stood in silence.

Then Celia’s voice turned flat. “What do you want from me, Harry?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“That’s the worst answer.”

“I know.”

And then, as if on cue, a voice called from the main path.

“Harry! There you are!” Ava’s cheerful voice rang out. “They’re pouring us rosé!”

Celia stepped back.

He glanced toward the sound, then back at Celia. “Will you sit near me at the ceremony?”

“I already checked. Assigned seating.”

“Where?”

“Two rows behind you and Ava.”

“Will you look at me?”

She tilted her head. “What difference would it make?”

“All the difference.”

But she said nothing, turned, and walked back to the group.

⸻

The ceremony was golden.

Literally.

The château’s garden was bathed in sunlight as the guests took their seats under a cascade of floral garlands. The groom wore dark green; the bride shimmered in champagne silk. They exchanged vows under a stone archway laced with blush roses and dried lavender.

Harry sat beside Ava, fingers loosely intertwined with hers, but his eyes kept drifting.

Celia sat two rows behind. Her dress for the evening was a soft bronze, and the color made her skin glow like dusk. Her expression never broke. Not once.

When the violinist began to play “Moon River,” Harry found his throat tighten. That had been Celia’s favorite. She had once hummed it in the bath with him behind her, her wet hair dripping down his shoulder. She used to call it the loneliest love song in the world.

Ava leaned in and whispered, “This is so dreamy. I hope we renew our vows somewhere like this.”

Harry nodded, forcing a smile.

But his heart was already somewhere else. Back in a candle-lit bedroom in London, eight years ago. Back when her hair was always wet after showers, and her poems always unfinished, and she used to call him sunshine too, when she thought he wasn’t listening.

⸻

Later that night, the reception blurred into a haze of wine and music. The moon was out. Harry stood by the edge of the balcony where string lights swayed in the breeze, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses humming behind him.

He didn’t notice Celia approach until her perfume reached him — fig and smoke. The same one. God. The same one.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” she said.

“I am.”

She sipped her drink. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“You belong here.”

“I don’t belong in your head.”

He didn’t argue. She was right.

But then he turned. Looked at her. Fully.

“You’re still the best part of any song I’ve ever written.”

Celia’s throat worked. “Don’t do this.”

“I can’t lie anymore.”

“You don’t have to lie. You just have to choose. And you already did.”

He looked down.

She took a deep breath. “I’m staying in Room 217. East wing. Just for tonight, I want you to leave me alone. Because I need to forget how it felt to be the echo in your life.”

And with that, she turned and walked away.

⸻

But he couldn’t sleep.

Ava drifted off by midnight, her back to him, her hand on his chest. Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering when exactly his heart had split in half.

Eventually, he got up.

The floor was cold.

He didn’t even put on shoes.

He walked out the suite barefoot, down the hall, past the wine cellar, past the terrace. Every step was louder than it should’ve been.

Room 217.

He stood in front of the door.

His hand rose.

Then dropped.

He leaned forward — pressed his forehead to the wood. A breath. Two. Inside, he imagined Celia lying in a white hotel robe, a half-finished poem in her hand, hair down, skin warm from the wine. Not waiting. Never waiting.

He whispered so softly he wasn’t even sure the words left his lips:

“You are my sunshine,

my only sunshine…”

And then he walked away. Never came back.

⸻

Celia didn’t sleep either.

She lay in the bed in Room 217, unmoving, the white hotel robe tied tight across her stomach, the windows cracked just enough for the sound of cicadas and distant laughter to drift in with the warm French night.

She had heard his footsteps.

Not guessed. Not imagined. Heard.

She knew the rhythm of his walk — the soft heel strike, the slight drag of his right foot. She used to tease him for it. He’d always said, “It’s because I rush toward things too fast.” She never expected that “thing” to be an ending.

When his steps stopped outside her door, she didn’t breathe. Not once.

And when they faded away again, she did.

Just once.

⸻

The morning after the wedding, guests trickled in and out of the breakfast veranda. Everyone was hungover and happy. The couple had already left for a quick honeymoon to Santorini, and the remaining guests were saying their slow goodbyes over croissants and espresso.

Celia wore sunglasses and sat with a glass of water, watching the luggage carts roll past.

Harry walked in alone.

Ava, according to one of the bridesmaids, had gone into town for a last-minute café visit with Amelia before their afternoon flight. He hadn’t gone with her. He said he wanted to walk the grounds one last time.

But now, he walked directly toward Celia.

She didn’t pretend to be surprised.

“Room for one more?” he asked.

She nodded to the empty chair. “Always seems to be, doesn’t there?”

Harry sat, looking rough around the edges. Not unkempt — but older, maybe. Like the last three days had cost him more than just sleep.

“I heard you last night,” she said quietly.

His gaze snapped to hers.

“I didn’t open the door,” she added. “But I heard you.”

He blinked slowly. “I didn’t think I said anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A pause.

“I thought I was quiet.”

“You’re not quiet to me, Harry. You never were.”

The sun caught the edge of his wedding ring as he rubbed his palm.

“I keep thinking,” he said, “if I had just waited longer. If I had pushed through the fog. If I had gone to therapy back then instead of diving into work. Would we have made it?”

Celia looked down at her fingers. “That’s a cruel kind of thinking.”

“But I can’t help it.”

“I know.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop putting me in every song and then pretending I’m not still singing back.”

His throat tightened. “It’s not pretending. It’s survival.”

Celia’s voice dropped. “Then stop surviving and start telling the truth.”

Silence.

He reached into his pocket and slid a small object across the table. A wooden keychain, carved into the shape of a crescent moon, chipped slightly at the edge.

She stared at it.

Her voice broke. “You still have this?”

“You gave it to me the night I got my first production credit. You said, ‘A moon for the night your life changes.’”

“You kept it?”

“I kept everything”

She didn’t touch it.

“I can’t carry your ghosts, Harry,” she whispered. “You’re the only one who still thinks we’re haunting each other.”

“I’m not haunting you,” he said. “I’m begging you.”

“For what?”

He stared at her, mouth dry.

“I don’t even know anymore,” he admitted.

And somehow, that hurt more than if he’d said something selfish.

⸻

When he returned to the suite, Ava was packing.

She looked up and smiled. “Hey, babe. I brought you those almond pastries you liked. I left them on the table.”

“Thanks.”

He kissed her forehead. She paused.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Just a lot in my head.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

He hesitated. “Not yet.”

She smiled. “Alright. Later then.”

He sat down beside her suitcase and watched her fold a scarf — that lemon-colored one he always thought was too bright for her, and yet she wore it because he once said it looked like sunlight.

Everything in his life was chasing light that didn’t belong to him anymore.

⸻

On the plane back to London, Ava slept. Harry stared at the seat-back in front of him, trying not to let his mind spiral.

He texted Jonas.

- Need to ask something. Was Celia invited last minute?

A reply came a few minutes later:

+ No, mate. She RSVP’d ages ago. Didn’t you know she was coming?

- No.

+ Figured you’d be over that by now.

Harry didn’t reply.

Because that’s the thing about grief — you don’t get “over” it. You build a house with it. A career. A marriage. You raise a cat in its name. And sometimes, you walk through a vineyard and realize you’ve never really moved out of the ruins at all.

⸻

Back home, Ava threw herself into preparing for the album tour. She spent days rehearsing, recording final vocals, and curating outfits with her stylist. Harry should’ve been equally busy — he had three new collaborations lined up, a magazine interview, and a remix due by next Friday.

But every beat sounded hollow. He sat at his desk for hours without playing a single note.

He found himself scrolling Celia’s name in his phone. It was still saved. Just her name. No emoji. No photo. He had never been able to delete it. She was buried in the middle of his contacts like a secret he never had the guts to get rid of.

He opened the chat.

Blank.

Never once used.

He typed:

- Room 217 feels like a door I never opened.

Then deleted it.

Then typed again:

- I hear you louder in silence than I ever did in song.

Then deleted that, too.

Then nothing.

And then, finally:

- Are you okay?

He hit send.

She replied ten minutes later:

+ No.

His heart thudded.

He stared at the screen, unsure what to do. But she beat him to it. Another message came in:

+ And I hate that I’m not okay because of you.

But I still wrote a poem last night.

The last line was your name.

He swallowed hard.

- Can I read it? he typed.

A pause. Then:

+ Only if you let it hurt.

⸻

Two days later, he got an envelope in the mail. No return address.

Inside was a single page, typed.

“A Room of Echoes”

by C.C.

We were always a house without a street,

no numbers on the doors,

no clocks in the kitchen,

just the sound of your name in every drawer.

I tried to forget the way you opened things —

cabinets, arms, me — like music you didn’t write

but couldn’t stop humming.

We are echoes now.

And I hate that echoes don’t ask for permission

to be heard.

— Harry

He read it three times.

Then he cried.

And in the next room, Ava called out, “You okay?”

He wiped his face, cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Just allergies.”

⸻

The London rain had returned with a quiet vengeance.

It ran in rivers down the kitchen window, pooling on the sill, streaking the glass in soft lines that distorted the city lights outside. Inside the flat, everything looked perfect — from the curated framed vinyls on the wall to the glimmering stovetop untouched by real cooking. A magazine could’ve shot in here.

But not everything was still.

Ava Styles stood barefoot on the cold tile, staring at the cat.

Izmir sat on the windowsill, tail twitching, eyes wide and green, watching her with mild suspicion.

“You don’t like me,” Ava said aloud, arms crossed.

The cat blinked slowly, then turned her face away.

Ava frowned. “You were his idea, weren’t you?”

The thought had come to her slowly, then suddenly — like cold water on the back of her neck. Something about the name. The color. The odd way Harry had insisted on getting a black cat even though he was never around to feed it. Even though he didn’t like litter boxes or fur on the furniture.

Why Izmir?

She’d asked once. He’d said, “I like how it sounds.”

And she believed him.

Until she didn’t.

⸻

Harry was late.

He’d gone to his studio and stayed there. Again. Lately, he was always there — locked inside his soundproof box of solitude, pretending to produce when, really, she knew he was unraveling.

She wasn’t stupid.

She was observant. Lyrics had taught her that. You couldn’t write truth unless you studied it in detail. Harry had once admired her ability to catch the pain behind even the prettiest lines in a melody.

So when his music stopped being about them, she noticed.

When the bedroom decor shifted from warm golds and creams to white, brown, and black — she noticed.

When he started sleeping facing away from her — she noticed.

And when he came home from France quieter than she’d ever seen him, that was when the final piece locked in.

There had been someone there.

She just didn’t know who.

Yet.

⸻

Celia had not written since she mailed the poem.

She had avoided it — the pen, the journal, even the voice memos she usually whispered lines into while brushing her teeth. She’d gone cold, quiet, routine. She woke up early. She watered the small plant in her window. She took the same bus to her publishing office and edited manuscripts for people who would never know her name.

It was safer this way.

The poem had been too much.

Harry’s silence after receiving it had been worse.

And so she resolved to vanish again. Like a story you forget the ending of. Like a dream that once made your chest ache but now was only fog.

But that was before he showed up at her building.

⸻

She was walking home from work, hood pulled up against the drizzle, grocery bag light in her hand, when she saw the black car parked across the street.

And him — standing beside it. Cap low. Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. Like he was afraid of being seen. Like he still didn’t know what he was doing here.

“Harry,” she said quietly as she crossed.

He straightened like a man pulled from a trance.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I shouldn’t have come.”

She stared at him.

Then said, “But you did.”

He looked down at the pavement.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted.

“You have a wife.”

“I know.”

“Then go to her.”

“I can’t.”

Celia’s throat tightened. “Why?”

He didn’t answer.

So she turned. Walked past him. Toward her building.

But halfway to the door, she heard his footsteps behind her.

She stopped.

“I’m not going to invite you in,” she said, not turning around.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Good.”

Silence.

He was closer now, just a few feet behind.

“Celia,” he said.

Her name sounded like forgiveness in his mouth.

“I feel like I left a version of myself inside you,” he continued. “And every day since, I’ve been pretending I don’t need him.”

“You’re not fair,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m not your safe space anymore.”

He moved closer. “You were never safe. You were fire. And I needed it.”

She turned then. Slowly. “And now?”

“Now I’m freezing.”

She looked at him, truly looked, for the first time in years.

He looked tired. Not just physically. But soul-tired. The kind of exhaustion that comes from living a life that doesn’t match your heartbeat.

She wanted to tell him to leave.

But instead, she opened the door and walked in.

He followed.

⸻

They didn’t kiss.

They didn’t even touch.

She made tea. He sat on the floor, back against the couch like he used to in college. She brought him a blanket and lit the candle that always smelled like cinnamon and black tea.

They sat in silence for what felt like an hour.

Then he said, “I keep a souvenir you gave me in my desk drawer.”

She nodded. “The moon?”

He looked up, startled. “You knew?”

“I always knew.”

They sat a while longer.

Then, out of nowhere, she asked, “Did you write the bridge in ‘Winter Skin’ about me?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to hers.

She already knew the answer.

He didn’t lie.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

“You always wore that scarf in December. And you said snow felt like a second chance.”

She looked away.

Then softly: “I wish you’d let me go sooner.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“And now?”

“I still don’t.”

That was the worst part.

⸻

Back in the London flat, Ava found herself cleaning.

Not because it was dirty. Because she needed to move.

She opened drawers. Rearranged spices. Refolded his t-shirts.

That’s when she found it.

The keychain.

A crescent moon.

Buried under headphones and guitar picks, in the drawer of the desk he always said was “just tools.”

She picked it up. It was old. Worn.

Not something new.

She stared at it for a long time before putting it back exactly where she found it.

Then she walked to the bedroom.

She stared at the black sheets. The pale white curtains. The walnut nightstand.

“Who are you?” she asked aloud, not of herself.

Of him.

Of the version of Harry she’d been living with.

Of the version he never let her meet.

⸻

That night, Harry didn’t come home.

Ava watched the clock. Midnight. One. Two.

No message. No call.

When the sun rose, she was still awake.

And when he finally walked through the door at 6:42 a.m., wearing the same clothes from the day before, she didn’t scream.

She just looked at him.

And said, “Who is she?”

Harry froze.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

“You don’t get to lie right now,” she said calmly.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” he said.

“But you were with someone.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Ava took a breath. “And is she the reason we have a black cat?”

Silence.

“Did she name Izmir?”

“No. She just mentioned it once. Years ago.”

Ava swallowed. “And the moon keychain?”

He sat down heavily. “She gave it to me the night I became someone. And I never let go of who I was with her.”

Tears didn’t come. Not yet. Ava was too stunned for grief. This wasn’t betrayal in the way tabloids wrote about. This was worse. This was identity theft.

“You built our life on someone else’s ghost,” she said. “You wrote me songs that weren’t mine. Loved me in a house painted with her memory.”

“I did love you,” Harry whispered.

“But not enough to forget her.”

He looked up, eyes red. “I tried.”

“And she?” Ava asked.

“She didn’t ask for any of this.”

Ava nodded slowly. Then left the room.

⸻

At her flat, Celia stared at her front door for the third hour in a row.

Harry hadn’t called.

She hadn’t expected him to.

She hated how much she wanted him to.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it.

Unknown number.

She answered. “Hello?”

Silence. Then: “Are you Celia?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ava Styles.”

Her stomach dropped.

“…What?”

“I thought you should know. He told me everything.”

Celia didn’t breathe.

“He said you didn’t do anything wrong,” Ava continued, voice calm. Too calm. “But I thought you should know that I’m not angry at you.”

“I didn’t mean for this—”

“I know. I can tell. That’s why I’m calling.”

Celia sat down slowly. “I’m leaving him,” Ava said. “Not because I hate him. But because I deserve a song that’s mine.”

Celia whispered, “You do.”

“Goodbye, Celia.”

The line clicked off.

⸻

There was no music playing.

Not in the background. Not from a speaker. Not in Harry’s mind.

For once, the noise had stopped.

Celia stood in her doorway, barefoot, hair tucked behind one ear, wearing a faded shirt from a bookstore he once visited with her in Paris. She hadn’t known he’d remember that detail. He hadn’t known she still wore it.

He stepped inside slowly, as if expecting the walls to cave in. They didn’t.

She didn’t say anything. Just walked to the kitchen, poured two mugs of water, and handed him one. The ceramic was warm from her hands. That felt significant.

Harry looked around.

It was simple — wooden shelves, framed lines of poetry pinned to the fridge, mismatched cups, a vase of dead tulips that hadn’t been thrown out yet.

There was a coat on the chair. Her keys on the hook. Her scent everywhere.

This wasn’t a place where someone had waited for him.

It was a place someone had survived without him.

He sat down on the couch. She sat opposite him.

The silence stretched.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said finally.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in.”

“I didn’t know if I should.”

He nodded.

They both stared at their mugs.

A minute passed. Maybe more.

Then he looked up. “She left me.”

Celia’s jaw tightened.

“She called me,” she said. “Ava.”

His brows lifted. “She did?”

Celia nodded.

“What did she say?”

“That she deserved a song that belonged to her.”

Harry looked down. “She’s right.”

“She also said she’s not angry at me. Just heartbroken. That’s worse.”

“I know.”

Celia’s eyes shone. “I didn’t want this.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I would never ask you to choose.”

“But I already did,” he whispered. “Years ago. And I made the wrong choice.”

Celia rubbed her chest with the palm of her hand, as if her heart was sore.

“You didn’t make the wrong choice, Harry. You made a safe one.”

He met her eyes. “What if I’m done being safe?”

“You’re too late.”

He swallowed. “Maybe.”

“But…” She hesitated. “I don’t think love works on a clock.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding since the wedding.

Then said, “Tell me where it hurts the most.”

Celia blinked.

He repeated, voice lower, “Tell me where I broke you.”

She looked away. Then back at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came for a moment.

“You broke me,” she said quietly, “in the silence.”

“What do you mean?”

“After we ended,” she said. “You didn’t call. You didn’t write. Not even once. I kept thinking — maybe he’s hurting, too. Maybe he’ll show up. But all I got was your music. And the worst part? I knew which songs were about me.”

She looked at him, eyes glassy. “Do you know how painful it is to hear yourself in someone else’s greatest hits and still be forgotten in real life?”

Harry’s mouth parted. He couldn’t speak.

“I bought the vinyls,” she whispered. “Even after you left. I didn’t play them. I just… kept them. Because it felt like the only proof that I’d been something real to you.”

“You were,” he said, voice breaking.

“Then why didn’t you fight?”

“Because I was scared,” he choked. “Because you deserved someone who wasn’t half a man.”

Celia stood. He stood too.

“Tell me you don’t love me anymore,” he said. “Say it. Right now. And I’ll leave.”

She stared at him. “Don’t do that.”

“Please.”

Celia’s jaw clenched. Her eyes filled.

“I never stopped,” she said.

Harry stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wild animal that might bolt. “Me either.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

“I don’t know how to trust you.”

“I’ll spend every day earning it.”

“I don’t want a love that hurts.”

He cupped her face — not with desire, but reverence.

“I want a love that heals,” he said. “But I know I broke the one I want to heal.”

She closed her eyes.

His thumb gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’re not an echo,” he whispered. “You’re the sound.”

And when she leaned into his palm — just slightly, just enough — they both knew the door was open again.

⸻

They didn’t sleep together that night.

They fell asleep beside each other. On her couch. Clothes on. Lights off. Legs tangled. Her head on his chest.

Like people who had been buried and were just now waking up.

⸻

Three days later, Harry came back with a box.

Inside: clothes. Headphones. The moon keychain.

He didn’t ask to move in. He just said, “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Celia looked at the box.

Then up at him.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “There’s nothing left for me to run from.”

“And Ava?”

“She said she’s starting over. I told her she deserves peace. I mean that.”

Celia stared at him.

“I want slow,” she said. “Not another song. Not another high. Just slow.”

Harry smiled. “Then we take it slow.”

⸻

They lived like shadows for a while.

Quiet, soft mornings. Working separately in different corners of the flat. Dinner on the floor. Long walks with Izmir in a carrier she pretended not to like.

They didn’t tell anyone yet.

Not because they were ashamed — but because the story was still writing itself.

Harry paused his tour. Canceled the press.

He spent hours recording private tracks. Not for release. Just for her. Songs like letters. Not polished. Honest.

He played them for her at night.

She didn’t say much.

But she never left the room.

⸻

One night, months later, they walked through a bookstore together.

Harry picked up a poetry collection.

Celia paused.

“That one’s edited by me,” she said quietly.

He smiled. “Of course it is.”

He flipped to the dedication page. And there, written in small serif print:

For H—

For the music in my quiet, and the quiet in my music.

Harry exhaled slowly.

He bought ten copies.

⸻

That night, he lay beside her.

The lights were off.

And after a long silence, he said, “Do you ever think we’re still the same people?”

“No,” she whispered. “We’re better. Because now we know what not to do with each other.”

He smiled in the dark.

“Do you miss the old us?” he asked.

“I mourn it,” she said. “But I don’t want it back.”

He pulled her closer.

“Then let’s write a new version,” he murmured.

Celia whispered, “Only if there’s no fade-out this time.”

“No fade-out,” he promised. “Only crescendos.”

[humanfae]

the accuracy is actually so insaneee omfg

[hazzashouse]

Through the Darkness (Harry Styles one shot)

This topic is incredibly important to me. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, please know you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust—a friend, a family member, or a professional. You are not alone, and you are loved. There is strength in asking for support, and there are people who want to be there for you. You are never alone.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Triggers: Depression, anxiety, emotional distress, mentions of isolation, self-doubt, and heavy themes of mental health struggles. Please read with care.

The world outside your apartment window was cold and colorless, mirroring the ache in your chest. Days blurred into nights, the sun rising and setting without your notice. It had been weeks since you last stepped outside for more than a grocery run. Even then, the strain of smiling at the cashier left you drained for days.

The depression you thought you’d left behind had returned, a familiar weight pressing against your chest, heavy and relentless. It was worse this time because it felt like failure. You’d been doing so well—hadn’t you? Harry had told you how proud he was. Your friends had said you seemed lighter. And now, here you were again, feeling like a burden to everyone you loved.

Harry was away on tour, as he always was this time of year. The texts and calls were there, of course. But you hadn’t told him. You couldn’t. His life was busy, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds, and you couldn’t bear to drag him into the shadows with you. He didn’t need that—not when he was living his dream.

So you suffered in silence, telling yourself you’d find your way out. Except, you didn’t.

Your best friend, Emily, was the first to notice. She’d stopped by unexpectedly, armed with a smile and coffee. You hadn’t answered her texts for days, and she’d decided to check in. When you opened the door, she froze, her face dropping.

“Hey…” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “What’s going on, babe?”

You didn’t have the energy to lie.

Emily took one look at the unwashed dishes, the unopened curtains, and the dark circles under your eyes and immediately understood. She’d seen this before.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, pulling you into a hug. The warmth of her arms broke something inside you, and the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

Emily didn’t leave that night. She made you tea, coaxed you into eating something, and stayed until you fell asleep. The next morning, she tried to talk to you about reaching out to Harry.

“He’ll want to know,” she said gently. “He loves you. You know he’d drop everything.”

But you shook your head. “I don’t want to ruin his tour. He’s happy.”

Emily sighed but didn’t push. Instead, when you weren’t looking, she sent Harry a message herself:

Hey, I know you’re busy, but she’s struggling again. She didn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know. Call me when you can.

Harry didn’t see the text until hours later. His phone had been in the dressing room while he performed to a sold-out crowd. When the show ended and he finally unlocked it, Emily’s message was waiting.

He read it twice before his heart sank.

————————

Harry’s decision to leave wasn’t even a question. His team tried to reason with him, suggesting he finish the next two shows before taking a break, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me. She’s more important than any of this.”

————————

The sound of a key in the lock woke you from a restless sleep. You sat up, your heart pounding as the door creaked open. When Harry’s familiar figure appeared, relief and guilt warred inside you.

“Harry?” Your voice cracked.

He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room in a few strides and pulled you into his arms. His chest rose and fell against yours, and you realized he was trembling.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m here.”

You didn’t mean to cry, but his presence—his warmth, his steady heartbeat—was the comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

Harry didn’t try to fix you. He knew better than that. Instead, he stayed close, quietly reminding you of his love in the small ways that mattered most.

He opened the curtains one morning and sat with you on the couch, not saying a word as you watched the sunlight pour in.

He ran a bath for you, adding your favorite lavender oil, and sat outside the door in case you needed him.

He cooked meals you didn’t have the energy to eat but never made you feel guilty for it.

On the hardest days, when leaving the bed felt impossible, he stayed with you, holding your hand as if anchoring you to the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told you one night, his voice steady. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Slowly, the darkness began to lift. Harry’s patience, his unwavering support, created space for you to breathe again. He reminded you of the things you loved—the music you used to listen to, the books you hadn’t touched in months, the way your laughter used to fill the room.

It wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks. But with Harry by your side, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay.

One afternoon, as you sat together on the couch, you looked at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his green eyes soft.

“For loving me. For staying.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

————————

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[babyflorencee]

More Than Friends

Nerdrry x Cheerleader!Reader

Harry adjusted his glasses nervously as the football game carried on around him, the noise of the crowd buzzing in his ears. He wasn’t really paying attention to the scoreboard; his focus was fixed entirely on the sidelines where Y/n stood, pom-poms in hand, the brightest smile on her face as she cheered with the rest of the squad. She always looked happy during games, but tonight she looked radiant. The floodlights illuminated her like something out of a heavenly dream, and Harry found himself unable to look away.

He knew it wasn’t smart—falling for his best friend. Y/n was popular, the kind of girl everyone wanted to be around. And Harry? He was the nerdy kid who got shoved into lockers a little too often and spent more time in the library than he did talking to people. Still, somehow, Y/n had decided he was worth her time. They’d been inseparable for years, and every single day he reminded himself how lucky he was to have her as a friend. Just a friend.

But lately, being just her friend wasn’t enough anymore.

Harry sighed, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself as he forced his eyes away from Y/n. He didn’t stand a chance. Why would she ever look at him that way when she could have anyone else—like, say, the football player currently strolling over to her with a cocky grin plastered across his face?

Harry froze, his stomach twisting as he watched the interaction. The guy leaned in close, saying something that made Y/n laugh—a genuine, full laugh that Harry usually got to hear when they hung out. And now, here she was, sharing it with someone else.

The football player said something else, pointing toward the bleachers, and Y/n's eyes scanned the crowd. For a moment, they landed on Harry, and she smiled brightly, waving at him like she always did.

Harry waved back weakly before quickly looking down at his sneakers.

He felt sick.

***

Y/n found Harry sitting alone after the game, a half-empty bottle of soda in his hand as he stared at the ground. She sat down on the bench beside him with her usual enthusiasm, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“Hey, what’s up? You look like someone just shoved you into a locker.”

Harry managed a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Y/n squinted at him skeptically. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve been acting weird all night. Did something happen?”

Harry shook his head, unwilling to meet her eyes. “Nope. Everything’s great.”

Y/n huffed, crossing her arms. “Okay, spill it. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry mumbled, fiddling with the label on his soda.

“Is this about that football player?” Y/n asked suddenly.

Harry flinched, and Y/n's eyebrows shot up. “It is, isn’t it? Harry, seriously, what is going on?”

“It’s nothing, Y/n/n,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t drop it,” she shot back, her tone a mix of confusion and frustration. “You’re my best friend, H. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me. That’s kind of what I’m here for, you know?”

Harry looked up at her, and the concern in her eyes almost undid him. She was so kind to him, so effortlessly warm, and he didn’t deserve it—not when he’d been jealous all night like some moody, selfish kid. He ran a hand through his messy curls, finally meeting her gaze.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said with a weak smile. “I promise.”

“Harry,” she said softly, her voice laced with patience, “just tell me. Please?”

He hesitated, feeling his pulse quicken. She was so close, watching him with such kindness, and he felt like he might break apart under her gaze. He looked back down, his fingers fidgeting with the cap of his soda bottle. “I just… I don’t like seeing you with guys like that,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It… it makes me feel weird.”

Y/n blinked, her expression softening. “Weird how?”

Harry let out a shaky breath, his cheeks burning. “Because… I care about you. I mean, I really care about you. And seeing some guy like him flirting with you just… I don’t know. It makes me feel small.”

Y/n stared at him, her face unreadable. “H… are you saying you like me?”

Harry swallowed hard, every instinct telling him to backpedal, to laugh it off, to change the subject—but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Yeah. I do. But it’s not a big deal, okay? I get it—you don’t feel the same way. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Why would you think that?” Y/n asked, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, Y/n/n. Just look at you. You’re gorgeous, and funny, and confident, and… I’m just... well me. I’m a mess. I’m awkward, I’m not very good-looking, and I… I know you’re just trying to let me down easy. And I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Harry,” Y/n said sharply, “stop it.”

But he couldn’t stop now; the words kept tumbling out like a dam had burst. “It’s fine. Really. You’re too nice to tell me the truth, and that’s okay. I’m not mad. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to pity me or something because I’m—”

Y/n grabbed his face and kissed him.

Harry froze completely, his thoughts screeching to a halt. When she pulled back, she fixed him with a firm stare, her face flushed. "Harry, stop it."

“You… you kissed me,” Harry stammered, his voice cracking. “Why… why did you—”

“Because I like you, you oblivious dork,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes with a fond smile. “And I don’t want to hear you say one more word about me pitying you, or you not being good-looking, or whatever nonsense you’ve convinced yourself of. Because I think that you’re really, really cute.”

Harry gawked at her, completely at a loss. “You… think I’m cute?”

Y/n laughed softly, nudging him playfully. “Yes, H. I think you’re cute. I’ve always thought you were cute.”

Harry's face turned bright red, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Y/n teased, grinning at his dumbfounded expression.

Then it hit him—really hit him. Y/n liked him.  Y/n liked him back. His face split into the biggest, most ecstatic smile she’d ever seen, like the sheer force of his joy might launch him into the stratosphere. “Oh my God,” he breathed, laughing giddily as he ran both hands through his hair. “You… you like me? You actually like me?!”

Y/n giggled, watching him in amusement as he practically bounced on the bench. “Yes, Harry! I just said that!”

“I can’t believe this,” Harry said, shaking his head with wide eyes. “This is—this is insane. I mean—you—you’re you! And I’m—oh my God, this is the best day of my life!”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “You’re such a dork.”

Harry let out a joyous, breathless laugh, turning to look at her with hearts in his eyes. “Yeah. But now I’m your dork.”

Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling as her laughter softened into something warmer. “Yeah, you are.”

[onedirection4eversstuff]

Nobody's home

.

[zouisforya]

[christyxoxo]

Cuties!🫶💗

[louisplumpyass]

HE STOOD ON THE GODDAMN BARRICADE AND THIS FUCKING ANGLE I AM SO FUCKING FERAL RN

[yourimagines]

What he likes about you fluff

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Triggers: Fluff

A = Admiration, what he absolutely adore about you: That you love his family, you love his mom and his mom loves you. Your also very gentle and quiet just like him

B = Body, what is his favorite part of your body: He loves your legs, they way you wrapped them around him when you cuddle him, he loves to lay his hands on them, just touching your warm skin.

C = Cuddling, how he likes to cuddle: He likes to be the big spoon but he loves it when you just cuddle him when he's sitting on the sofa or on his chair behind his computer.

D = Dates, what his ideal date with you would look like: Staying at home, playing video games together.

E = Emotions, how he express his emotions around you: He doesn't, he mostly keep them to himself, sometimes they slip up and you just hold him, telling him it okay.

F = Family, does he want one? If he does, when: Yes, he loves to start a family with you, he loves to have children with you and getting a dog or cat.

G = Gifts, how he feels about gift giving? What is his habit when it comes to this: He gives spoils you silently, you come home and there are flowers in a vase or some new shoes you love.

H = Holding Hands, when/how he likes to hold hands: He hold your hands when he's anxious, squeezing your hands a little bit, checking that your still here with him.

I = Injury, how he would act if you got hurt: He will get anxious, pacing around and calling his mom for support. He hates it tho.

J = Jokes, does he likes to joke around with or prank you and how: He likes to joke around, he likes to play around when you guys are playing some video games, distracting you.

K = Kisses, how he likes to kiss you: Soft but deeply on your lips. He also places a lot of kisses on the top of your head an hands.

L = Love, how he shows you he loves you: He remembers the small things you like or do, he sees everything and makes sure your always okay. He also makes sure his mom will cook some food for you because he knows you love her food.

M = Memory, favorite memory together: Having a game night for the first time together. The laughs and the fun that night was the best you guys ever had. Playing around and just being yourself with him.

N = Nightmare, what is his worst fear: Leaving him, losing you, you being hurt, hating him. just everything, he hates his anxiety.

O = Oddity, what is one quirk he haves: He's secretly a nerd in video games, he has a steam deck and he always carries it with him.

P = Pet Names, what he likes to call you: Darling and babe.

Q = Quality Time, how he likes to spend time with you: At home, playing video games or just go our for a walk close by.

R = Rhythm, what song reminds you of him: Tortoise by Frankie Stew and Harvey Gunn. When you hear this song, your mind wanders off to him. You need him and he needs you, you miss him when your not with him and life is not the same without him.

S = Secrets, how open is he with you: He tries to be open with you but sometimes his anxiety is in his way, he wants a good communication but needs some help sometimes as he cover up his emotions a lot.

T = Time, how long did it take you to get together: It took awhile, he thought you didn't liked him till a friend of him told him otherwise, he asked you out by text message and asked you later if you wanted to be his.

U = Upset, how does he acts when you’re upset: He thinks it's because of him, he freaks out and gets upset as well, when he knows it not him he stays quiet, thinking how he can fix it.

V = Vaunt, what is he proud of, Does he likes to show you off: He's proud that you like his family, that you like to game with him and that you support him

W = Warrior, how would he feel about you fighting? Would he fight for you: He wouldn't like it but would support you, he would defend you

X = X-Ray, how well can he read you: He knows when sometime up, he knows everything as he sees everything.

Y = Yes, how would he propose to you: Some where private but anywhere what you like and say yes to him

Z = Zen, what makes him feel calm: Knowing you there, holding your hands, listing to music and playing video games. he also calms down when he's alone.

[pinkboaclub]

Bikini

Summary: Harry’s frat hosts a pool party, Harry can’t keep his eyes off you and your skimpy bikini.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: slight exhibition, frat boy Harry, smut smut smut. sorry it’s so short, i just wanted to get something out !!!

In the sweltering heat of a mid-July afternoon, the sun blazed down on the pool party Harry's frat house was hosting. The smell of chlorine hung in the air as you and the other girls mingled with each other, while the boys played pool volleyball with each other.

You had on a skimpy white triangle bikini, one that left very little to the imagination. The fabric clung to your curves as if it had been painted on. Harry was supposed to be playing, but his gaze kept drifting over to you, his eyes lingering on the way the water droplets slithered down your body every time you emerged from the pool.

"Harry! Stop staring at Y/N's ass and pay attention to the game," one of Harry's friends called out, smacking him playfully on the shoulder.

This caught your attention looking over to the group of boys who were now all laughing. Harry glanced over to you, giving you a cheeky smile before snapping himself out of his gaze. "Can you blame me?" The rest of the boys didn't reply, not wanting to get themselves in trouble.

You felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of Harry's eyes on you, and decided to give him something more to look at. As he finished his game and got out of the pool to grab a beer, you adjusted to be fully on your side while talking to you friends, flashing the rest of your ass towards him.

Harry's eyes grew dark with desire as he watched you. He was wearing a pair of black short swim trunks, which did little to hide the outline of his erection. .

"You want a beer?" Harry asked, his voice thick with lust as he held out a cold bottle. You took it and took a long sip, your eyes never leaving his. The coolness of the drink was a stark contrast to the heat rising between you.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice low and seductive. Harry leaned in closer, his eyes on your lips. You could feel the electricity crackling in the air. "But I had something else in mind for us to do," you said, taking his hand and leading him away from the crowded pool area.

You didn't check to see if any of your friends were watching you, you had set your sights on going up to Harry's room, and no one was going to stop you.

As soon as you reached the door to Harry's room, he pulled you inside and slammed it shut behind you. Without a moment to waste, his mouth was on yours, kissing you fiercely as if he hadn't seen you in a lifetime. His hands roamed over your wet skin, gripping the strings of your bikini top. You moaned into his mouth, feeling your body respond to his touch.

"You look so fucking hot," Harry mumbled through kisses, his eyes devouring every inch of you. You felt his hands tug at the strings, the anticipation building as the fabric gave way.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered back, your voice breathy with excitement. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled the bikini top off completely. Your breasts bounced free, the cold air conditioning making your nipples peak. Harry took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently, making you arch your back with pleasure.

Your hands found their way to the waistband of his swim trunks, and you began to tug them down. Harry's erection sprang free, and you took it in your hand, stroking it gently as he continued to kiss and nibble your neck. He stepped back to admire you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, and his cock twitched in your hand.

"You're so fucking perfect," he said, before pushing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you. His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hands explored your body. You could feel him grinding against you, his hardness pressing into your stomach.

You decided you needed to take control. You pushed him forward, and climbed on the ground, resting on your knees. Harry adjusted himself to sit on the corner of the bed.

You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest, and took his cock in your mouth. Harry's hands flew to your head, threading through your hair. You sucked him deep, your eyes never leaving his, watching every reaction flicker across his face. His hips bucked upwards, trying to fuck your mouth, but you kept control, moving at your own pace.

His grip on your hair tightened as you took him all the way in, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. You could feel his body tensing up, and knew he was getting close. But you weren't ready to let him come yet.

You pulled back, licking your lips and smiling at him. "Good?" you teased, your voice sweet and innocent. Harry groaned, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"Fuck, yes," he breathed. "Don't stop."

You leaned back down, taking him in your mouth once again, but this time you went slower, savoring every inch of him. Your hand pumped at the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. Harry's hips began to rock, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He felt his abs tense overtime he caught a glimpse of your breast, his breath becoming ragged when they would brush against his leg. You felt a thrill of power, knowing that you had him right where you wanted him. You kept going, taking him deep and then pulling back.

Suddenly, Harry's grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you off his cock. "Get on your knees," he ordered, his voice gruff with desire. You obeyed, your heart racing. This was new for you, but the excitement was intoxicating.

He positioned you in front of him, your ass up in the air, and you felt his hand slap against your skin. The sting made you gasp, but it only made you wetter. He quickly slid down your bikini bottoms and threw them aside.

Then he was inside you, filling you up completely. You moaned, your body taking a moment to adjust to his size. Harry began to thrust, his movements deep and powerful. Each time he entered you, it felt like he was claiming you, like he owned every part of you.

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. Harry reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it in circles as he fucked you from behind.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his own pleasure evident in his voice. "You like it when I take control?"

You nodded, unable to speak, your loud moans and gasps the only response he needed. You could feel your orgasm building, like a storm.

"Is this what you want?" Harry asked, his voice dark and demanding. You nodded, unable to form words. "Everyone to know you came up here to get fucked like a whore?" You kept nodding, your views growing louder.

He leaned over you, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered, "Good girl."

Harry's strokes grew faster, his grip on your hair tightening as he drove into you. You knew he was close too, his breath coming in harsh pants.

You felt your body tighten around him, the waves of your orgasm crashing through you. "Gonna cum, H." You panted out, his cock continuously slamming into you.

"Fuck yeah, baby, scream it out. Let them know your getting fucked like a slut up here."

You screamed out, your orgasm erupting through your stomach as his cock kept thrusting inside of you. Harry groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, filling you with his hot cum. You collapsed onto the bed, your body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Harry pulled out of you, his chest heaving, and lay down beside you. You turned to look at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes glazed with satisfaction.

Harry had a smug smile playing on his lips. "You looked beautiful in that bikini, baby." he said, his arm draped over your waist.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with mischief. "I'll keep that in mind."

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502 @girlslovejahseh

[thebeatles-world]

Lights will guide you home

A Liam Payne tribute imagine 🫶🕊️❤️‍🩹

Y/N reacts to Liam Payne’s death on October 16, 2024:

It didn’t seem real. The headline flashing on your phone didn’t make sense, not now, not ever. Liam Payne dies at 31. You read it over and over, your hands shaking, trying to comprehend what was happening. You felt your chest tighten, like all the air in the room had suddenly been sucked out, leaving you gasping for breath.

“No… no, no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered to yourself, tears already welling in your eyes. Your mind raced with memories—those nights spent listening to his music, watching interviews where his laugh lit up the screen, scrolling through his social media just to catch a glimpse of his life. He’d been such a constant presence, someone who always felt within reach, yet so far away.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching your phone to your chest as sobs overtook you. You didn’t know Liam personally, but in so many ways, he had been there for you. During your hardest moments, his songs had been your escape, his voice your comfort. Now, he was gone, and the world felt a little darker, a little quieter.

The messages started pouring in—friends who knew how much you loved him, how much he meant to you. But no amount of words could fill the void his loss left in your heart.

As the hours passed, you found yourself scrolling through old photos and videos, watching his smile, hearing his voice, as if holding onto those moments could bring him back. But all it did was remind you of what the world had lost, what you had lost—a source of light, of joy, now dimmed forever.

“I miss you already,” you whispered through your tears, staring at a photo of him smiling brightly. “I wish you knew how much you meant to all of us.”

The night seemed endless, and you knew that the pain of losing him would take time to heal. But somehow, in the quiet of your room, with his music softly playing in the background, you felt a sliver of peace. He might be gone, but the memories, the music, and the love—those would never fade.