#protection and style

[cloudyluun]

Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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

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

[morpherhelmetuk]

Morpher Helmet Where Safety, Style, and Freedom Converge for Cyclists

Experience the convergence of safety, style, and freedom with the Morpher Helmet, designed to revolutionize the cycling experience. Learn how its foldable design ensures maximum safety on the road while offering cyclists the freedom to express their style.

[gynii]

@hey-omi got me into aftg last semester and i made this for them as part of an art trade last month! so now yall get to see it :)

[egophiliac]

we were fucking ROBBED

[foreverbaby25]

[soldrawss]

Part 2 finally! Part 3 to come soonish,,,

You can find part 1 here!

[onionninjasstuff]

something something future leo dies early and mikey takes on the role of cj's main mentor. something something mikey-centric movie. idk what his arc would be abt BUT I HAVE AN ITCH THAT NEEDS TO BE SCRATCHED

[bellwethers]

Yue

[cmmnny]

[1d1195]

Protection - Extra V

Read Protection here | ~4.7k words

Warnings: angsty--Harry's very protective. But very sweet.

Summary: He kissed the top of her head. “I trust you.”

She smiled and rested her head against his chest as they walked. “It’ll make me feel better if you do,” she assured him. It wouldn’t—well, it would. But she knew it would make him feel better and that was the best medicine she could buy for her anxious boyfriend.

“You got it, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head.

“What’s her favorite kind of flower?” Niall asked.

Harry dropped his head back on the sofa and exhaled deeply. He turned to his best friend and shook his head. What a ridiculous question Harry thought. Of course he was going to have her favorite flowers there. It was an integral part of their relationship. But Harry got her flowers all the time. Every week a vase on his kitchen counter was arranged by her to brighten the room. Flowers weren’t special, not really. They were a reminder that he adored her of course, but this was a special moment, and her regular flower order wasn’t going to cut it.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know,” Niall shrugged and scowled at him. He sipped his beer. She insisted that Harry leave her alone for guy-time. He hated it. Not that he didn’t enjoy his time with Niall, but he enjoyed having her around. It eased his mind of worry even if she was kind enough to wear his favorite scrunchie. “Why was that such a bad thing to ask?”

“M’not going t’propose with jus’ her favorite flowers,” he grumbled sipping his own beer and watched the TV for a few minutes. Niall smirked and shook his head. “What?”

“I’m glad you found her,” he shrugged one shoulder. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” he rolled his eyes. But he would thank Niall endlessly for finding the pretty girl, for recommending him to DSS. If it wasn’t for Niall, there would be no love for Harry. Now that he had it, he never wanted to let it go.

Niall sipped his drink again and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on his coffee table. “What’s she doing today?” He asked.

“She’s holding a few review sessions on campus,” he mumbled. The fall semester was coming to an end, and she was spending more time with office hours and making sure that her students felt comfortable with the material. Meanwhile, Harry was in the office, Niall a few rooms away, while he was filing paperwork mindlessly. He helped with training and the like but truthfully Harry missed his days of sitting on her couch and watching her study. He missed running errands with her and following her on her jogs in the park.

But really, he just missed her. Which was ridiculous. She pointed it out too and Harry couldn’t even deny it.

“And you haven’t been watching her location like a hawk?” Niall knew all about the little hair scrunchie. He was the only one that knew the extent of her failsafe and Harry’s forethought to track her when he almost lost her for good.

Harry glared at his lap. “M’not crazy, Niall. M’worried.”

“It can be both,” he shrugged again.

“I don’t even know why she thinks I want t’hang out with you,” he grumbled sipping his drink.

“Because your girlfriend soon-to-be fiancée is an excellent judge of character,” he smiled.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. He loved being her boyfriend, but he was extremely excited for an upgrade. He told his mum his plans, FaceTimed Gemma while selecting the ring. It was locked in his desk drawer at work because he didn’t want her to find it while putting laundry away. He knew she wouldn’t step foot in the DSS building for the rest of her life if she could help it.

All that was left to do was figure out how to ask her the most important question in the world. She didn’t really have friends to ask what her ideal scenario would be. He knew she wouldn’t want a big public to-do, but nothing seemed fitting for her. She needed a big to-do. She was his angel. His everything.

He didn’t want it to be a holiday. She deserved a special day all to herself, not overshadowed by a day no one else would remember. There wouldn’t be any family there because...well... and that was fine. Harry thought she would like a quiet private moment, but it didn’t seem like enough for how much he adored her. He wanted to scream it from the top of a building so everyone knew how special she was; his brilliant, beautiful girl.

“Harry,” Niall’s voice was gentle. Calm and kind, not an ounce of joking. It was like when he chatted with him about her attitude while he was on duty when they first started out. Harry could feel the smile on his face as he thought about her. But he was a bit sad too; worried that she wouldn’t feel the love he felt for her the way he wanted. He worried she would miss her mum—although he supposed that was going to happen regardless. How was he supposed to make it perfect for her? “She loves you,” he reminded him. “She’ll love whatever you do, and I know she’s going to say yes. You probably don’t even have to ask her.”

His heart felt a little less sad as he said it. He knew he was right. So, he would forgo the planning for the time being and just remind himself that she loved him as much as he loved her.

Harry relaxed a bit when his phone vibrated with a message from Miss Wildflower

I miss you 💕 Hope you’re having a nice time. Session 1 is done and went well. Onto session 2. Pizza for dinner? Watch a movie? Love you so, so much

Maybe she even loved him a little more.

Niall and Harry cheered and watched the game in near silence. Chatting mostly about the players and work every so often. When the game ended, Niall turned on his gaming console and all but threw a controller at Harry.

They were midway through their second game of play when his phone rang. Harry answered it before the second ring had finished. “Hey kitten,” he said trying not to sound like a psychopath and anxiously awaiting his phone to ring with her at the end.

“Hi,” she sounded fine, sweet, even. “How’s your night?” She asked politely.

“Good, Derby won, so Niall’s happy.”

“Wonderful,” she giggled. “I’m glad. Are you guys busy at the moment?”

“No, why?”

“Just wanted to say hi,” she had a smile in her voice. “But I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“You could never interrupt,” he murmured quietly. She laughed quietly into the phone.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he responded and waited until she hung up before putting the phone down.

“You’re welcome,” Niall repeated with a smirk.

*

She had gone to the dining hall with her coworker to catch up on a few things before her next class started. There was a mental to do list awaiting her when she returned to her office and when she got back to Harry’s apartment. Except now it was their apartment. It made her heart skip a beat to be in love with someone so lovely. Someone who adored her and all her flaws (although Harry would say she didn’t have any—which was excessively sweet too.)

She was looking at her phone as she approached her office checking on her email and dropped her bag on the floor beside her desk as she opened her laptop. Right inside the her computer was a medium-sized brown envelope. She took a deep breath and opened it. Inside was a standard white envelope with a return address label that she didn’t want.

Immediately, she understood why it was in her laptop. The letter should have just come through the university mail. But all that really meant was that someone went into her office without her permission. Dropping her head back against her chair she blew out the breath she realized she was holding. She tugged at the scrunchie on her wrist and opened her phone to her recent calls once more.

“Niall would be a lot calmer,” she mumbled to herself.

But Harry would be wrecked if she didn’t call him. Didn’t tell him immediately that she was... nervous. It was nothing. He was going to be in jail for a very long time and he couldn’t hurt her. But the thought of someone leaving the letter was enough to make her on edge. Perhaps she should have just left and joined boys’ night. Didn’t Harry deserve a night to himself? Especially without worrying about her.

There was no calling Niall without Harry reaching DEFCON one.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. She knew they would both be here in a heartbeat and they wouldn’t mind at all, but it should have to come to this.

“Ugh,” she groaned and rubbed her temples. “Alright, come on,” she grumbled to herself and dialed his phone once more.

“Hi kitten,” he cooed immediately.

“Hi,” she smiled. His voice was so sweet, his adoration for her so apparent in his voice it made her feel woozy. It was unreal someone as wonderful as Harry loved her so completely. Unlike anything she felt in her life.

“Y’okay?” He asked calmly. It was impressive for him. He seemed pretty relaxed considering he was probably bouncing his knee rapidly in anticipation of the worst.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I am one hundred percent fine,” she said assuredly.

“So... jus’ wanted t’hear m’voice?” He continued. She could hear the suspicion in his voice. There was no hiding from him. No surprising him.

“Ah,” she laughed quietly. “Yes, definitely. But... also... are you guys busy now?”

“No,” he hedged. It was like he knew. She knew he knew that she was the tiniest bit in duress. If you could call it that. She inspected her cuticles while she listened to the silence stretch between them. While Harry worked through every worst-case scenario possible for the short moment he filled in the blank of her open-ended question. “Why?”

“I just... thought you might be able to swing by... if you guys can spare the time, of course.” maybe being casual would work.

“Why?” He snapped.

“Oh, come on, baby. Please don’t freak out, I’ll even stay on the phone the whole time. I’m pretty sure this thing tracks to the—”

“Don’t say it out loud!” He almost shouted over her voice. “Niall. Keys. Now.”

She sighed. “Harry,” she felt defeated and slumped low in her chair. “It’s not—”

“M’on m’way, kitten, don’t move,” he ordered. “Lock your office, please.”

“Do you want me to stay put or do you want me to lock the door?” Maybe a joke would help reaffirm that she was fine, and it wasn’t that serious.

“Not the time, love. Not funny.”

Perhaps not a joke, then.

Harry sighed deeply and she could hear their footsteps hurrying down Niall’s apartment building halls and heading to the parking lot, the main door opening with a squeak that needed to be oiled due to the humidity. They were probably no more than eleven minutes from her including parking and walking to her building and office. She knew that her sarcastic comment wasn’t kind to his frazzled mind, and she knew she shouldn’t have said it but she just wanted him to relax. Poor Harry was going to be subject to a heart attack if she wasn’t careful.

“Can I talk to Niall?” She asked quietly while she locked her office door and immediately went back to her chair to sit still until her knight in shining armor arrived.

“No,” he grumbled. “Niall y’better run every red light.”

“Harry, that’s dangerous and unnecessary—”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered. “Please,” he added as an after fact, but it was hard and she knew he was mad.

“Nothing! It’s really nothing. Honestly, I think I’m just being a little cautious which I thought you would appreciate—”

“I would appreciate it more if y’told me what was wrong,” she could practically see him shaking with anxiety in Niall’s front seat. She wished she was a better negotiator because chatting with Niall would have been a lot easier to calm him.

“It’s just... someone left me a letter in my office and it wouldn’t be a bad thing normally... except... it’s from my dad. So... that means someone...” she took a deep breath. “I think someone broke into my office,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She knew he was going to freak out. But that was what happened. There was no way of explaining it otherwise.

“Niall,” he snapped again.

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Harry, I’m fine.”

But it was much too late, and Harry was going to start hyperventilating at any moment. She sighed and looked at the ceiling inspecting the paint for any disturbances. She couldn’t see any blinking lights like she was being recorded. She assumed it was just the letter and nothing more. Nothing appeared to be taken, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Everything was fine.

“Honey,” he said suddenly. Her body warmed all over. The way it did every time he called her the sweet name. Ever since he called her honey in her kitchen while he tended to the gash on her hand. She figured he was plenty aware of the effect it had on her because he used it sparingly, only saying it when he wanted her to remain serious and not her funny self.

“I’m fine, Harry. I promise, baby. I didn’t want to call and—”

“Don’t ever not call me.”

“—worry you on purpose. I’m whole and fine,” she pleaded quietly. Her voice felt softer as she tried to convince him things were okay. “You’re going to stress for nothing, I promise.”

He breathed out a shaky breath. “I jus’ need t’hold you,” he admitted, his voice grumbly. Almost like he was embarrassed to say it in front of Niall. But she knew that wasn’t the case. She knew Harry didn’t care at all that Niall knew how much he loved her.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces because it was the sweetest, most adorable thing he could have said. “I’m here waiting,” she smiled into the phone and counted down the moments until he would be rushing in. She tried to breathe a little louder, made more noises, tapped the keys on her laptop, scrunched a piece of paper to toss into the recycle bin across the room. All little pieces of evidence that she was fine, and everything was okay and hopefully Harry would recognize that.

Not long after, she heard the car door slam and Harry’s quiet breathing increased ever so slightly, indicating that he was running from the parking lot. “Do you want me to unlock—”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed standing up as she heard two sets of footsteps down the hall outside her door. The lock slid open using the key that she gave Harry with administration permission. There was a whole thing about it, but given he still worked at DSS at the time, they didn’t really question it. He was vetted and whatnot for protecting her.

Lord knew Harry loved to protect her.

With the door out of the way, he dropped his phone the moment he crossed the threshold. He didn’t stop moving even though she was sure the screen cracked, and his case fell off. Even once she was in his arms, he was still kind of moving, nearly pressing her into the windowsill behind her desk. He buried his face into the crook of her neck where he breathed in her hair and squeezed her tighter.

“Hi princess,” Niall smiled gently closing the door behind him as if this was a normal moment.

She grinned, rubbing Harry’s back only pausing briefly to wave from Harry’s embrace. “Hi, Niall. Did you guys have fun?” She asked.

He nodded with an eye roll at Harry. Niall made his way closer to the pair of them. “Loads.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said apologietically.

“Not at all, you could—”

“It’s not interrupting,” Harry grumbled.

She gave him another squeeze. “He was saying that, baby. Just relax, please,” she hummed softly.

“This the letter?” Niall asked, picking it up off her desk.

She nodded.

“A lot of people have the key to your office, no?” He asked breaking the seal of the envelope.

She nodded against Harry who seemed to be calming down ever so slightly—if the rise and fall of his shoulders was any indication. “But... I don’t think they would leave a letter, you know?”

“I’ll get the video from the security cameras,” he assured her. “See who came by.”

“I’m sorry, it’s your day off,” she frowned.

Harry scoffed. “That does—”

But Niall interrupted him before he could finish. “Oh, for you Princess? I love working overtime,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about that at all,” he grinned as he scanned the paper in front of him.

“Anything good?”

“He’s apologizing.” She didn’t say anything. Harry pulled away and kept hold of her hand while he moved toward Niall to read over his shoulder. “Do you want to read it?” Niall asked.

“No,” she shook her head.

Harry scanned the letter as well. “He said he wants you t’respond.”

“I’m sure,” she looked toward the window. Sighing, she realized she would have to come clean about one little truth she had neglected to tell Niall and Harry. “I guess... it kind of makes sense the letter is here. I haven’t answered any of his other ones. He usually sends them to the post office,” she explained.

“He does?” Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised. This was news to him, that was obvious.

“I don’t read them,” she shrugged. “I’m not really worried about the letter to be honest. I care more that someone came into my office without permission.”

Niall sighed. “Well, you know him better than I, Princess. He seems pretty remorseful—nothing suspicious.”

“He’s probably remorseful because he’s stuck in jail,” she grumbled. “Probably thinks my response of forgiveness, which he will never get, will make his chances better for a reduced sentence,” she released Harry’s hand and began packing up her items to head home. Harry would likely drive her car back to their place and he would get his car from Niall’s some other time.

It was silent for a moment and when she looked up she realized Harry and Niall were staring at one another. Eyes locked with a silent conversation. Harry turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips set in a frown. “One more month, kitten, please.”

She huffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“One week,” he bargained.

“No.”

“Harry, it’s just—” Niall started.

“Please, kitten, I’m begging.”

She shook her head defiantly. “No, he’s not winning, Harry. He’s in jail because he tried to kill me. He’s not going to control any more of my life, alright? I’m sorry you’re scared. I get it, I do. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through. I would have lost my mind,” she cupped his cheek.

Harry swallowed the emotion in his throat as his mind immediately started thinking about how lifeless she looked; how cold she felt, how her skin turned pale and her lips blue. He turned his face away from her because he could feel his eyes stinging with tears. He swallowed hard, the bob visible in his throat as she rubbed her thumb on his cheek. “But... I cannot let him win. He’s not going to scare me. He can’t kill me from in there.”

Niall was patient. Re-reading while Harry had his meltdown. All while she tried to comfort him. Maybe they would have her followed by an agent or two for a little while. She could see them doing that. She would know—they weren’t very subtle about it and had noticed the other few times they had.

“One day?” He pleaded. “Jus’ one day with a bodyguard t’make sure—”

“Harry, I will make you sleep on the couch,” she warned.

She knew he thought it would be worth it. He turned to Niall for help. “She’s not on our service anymore, Harry. I don’t mind, she’s one of my best friends and I love keeping her safe, but I can’t force an agent on her.”

“I also have free will?” She reminded him. “May I remind you that I do not like security. It’s not necessary. Especially now that he’s in jail. I know you’re both just going to have me followed again until you’re content and I—”

“I told you she knew,” Niall sighed and looked Harry with a shake of his head.

“—don’t want it nor do I—”

“Not now, honey,” he brought her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze even though she was ranting with bitterness. Gently, he tugged her toward him so she was closer to his side. He knew calling her honey would make her soften a bit. He wasn’t fully sure why, so he used the little nickname sparingly. For important moments when he wanted her to know he meant business.

It also helped ease the blow of Harry’s minor freak out because it sort of paused everything they were thinking. She took a deep breath. “Can we go home?” She asked.

“I’ll take this,” Niall smiled. “I’ll come pick you up for work Harry so you can get your car back tomorrow,” he offered. He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Night Princess, stay safe,” he winked and headed out the door.

She handed Harry her keys and let him wrap his arm around her waist (not that she didn’t enjoy it). “You can have Niall pick you up here tomorrow. You can come and sweep my office and classroom if it will make you feel better,” she offered kindly.

He kissed the top of her head. “I trust you.”

She smiled and rested her head against his chest as they walked. “It’ll make me feel better if you do,” she assured him. It wouldn’t—well, it would. But she knew it would make him feel better and that was the best medicine she could buy for her anxious boyfriend.

“You got it, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head.

*

She knew why she was visiting, but it seemed a little weird that Harry wanted to join her. There were a lot of things he didn’t like to let her do on her own, but this was definitely one he preferred to steer clear of most of the time.

Or so she thought.

“You hate coming here,” she said suspiciously as they exited the car.

He shrugged. “I know... I do... but... I come here t’talk t’your mom.”

She stopped walking, her hand went to her heart. “You what?”

Harry shrugged again. “Y’said this is where y’come to talk t’your mom... before everything that happened. That... y’feel close to her here,” he reminded her giving her hand a squeeze as they continued forward. Harry tried hard to forget the time he was last here with her. When he held her cradled in his arms. Her skin cold and blue, the raw red marks on her wrists from the zip ties, and the bandage on her leg falling apart from the seawater. “So, I thought I should come here to talk t’her too. Dr. Petra suggested it. Supposed t’help me cope... but also so I can be closer t’your mum,” he explained.

Her throat felt tight with the need to cry. How she always felt when she thought about her mom. But now it was exacerbated by how thoughtful it was that Harry cared enough to talk to her mom even when they couldn’t physically speak to her. “Why...?” She swallowed, shook her head to rid herself of the tears threatening to fill her eyes. “Why... do you talk to my mom?”

“Lots of reasons, kitten. Mostly though, m’trying t’see if she’s got any ideas on how t’make y’less cranky.”

She smacked him and pouted. “I’m not cranky.”

“I know, it’s working.”

She glared at him. “So, you just come out here to where I almost died to talk to my dead mother and tell her how much of a pain in the ass I am?”

“No, s’obviously not what I talk ‘bout, honey,” he rolled his eyes and smirked to himself. That little word made her heart soften just like always. Harry stopped walking and grabbed her hip to turn toward him. “I tell her how much I adore you and how special you are t’me,” he used his other hand to cup her cheek. He bent to kiss her briefly, making her lips tingle with warmth and love for the perfect, sweet man. “I tell her that she would be so proud of you and everything you do. I tell her that m’going t’make sure I make her proud too. That if she was alive, she would like me because I make your life a little better—a little easier because I love you more than anything.”

She was eerily silent. That did sound more reasonable than him making fun of her. She swallowed and took a deep breath trying to keep the tears at bay. “She would love you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he smiled and stepped out of the way and gestured for her to proceed forward. If she wasn’t so floored by his use of honey and his little declaration of telling her dead mother how much he loved her, she would have been a step ahead of him. She would have noticed that Harry never let her lead blindly.

But this was easily one of the worst places in existence for both of them.

There were hundreds of flowers lying on the ground in a circle. A bouquet pulled apart, so they were placed purposefully around the area. A gorgeous array of colors—like a rainbow. Every kind of flower that ever hung in her apartment. Every flower that was part of a bouquet that Harry got her for the length of their relationship. Every flower she ever mentioned and how beautiful it was.

Wildflowers. There were hundreds of wildflowers. “Harry?” She asked. “What—”

“Miss Wildflower,” he said from behind her. She turned, her eyes dropping instantly to meet his gaze. He was kneeling on one knee, his hands holding a small box in front of his chest. A gorgeous diamond glittering in the box. “You’re unbelievably beautiful, beyond intelligent, so stubborn, and my favorite person in the world. I love you more every day. Every minute. It was an honor to protect you, and I plan t’do it every day for the rest of our lives,” he promised. “I hate this place,” he told her. “But you, you Miss Wildflower, you make flowers grow in the worst and darkest of places. You brighten every moment of my life, and I want to spend forever being in love with you and trying to brighten your life half as much as you brighten mine.”

She smiled at him, tears filling her eyes as she nodded at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn’t ask yet.”

“So ask,” she sniffled. “Yes.”

“I had more. I wanted t’ask here, so your mum could—”

“Yes.”

“Niall’s over there taking pictures I think, kitten. I haven’t even—”

“Please ask, before I explode,” she begged, bouncing on her feet a bit as she watched him.

He chuckled, not breaking his gaze. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered and covered her mouth with her hand. Harry stood and wrapped his arms around her, letting the ring box close at the same time. He held her,  lifting her gently off the ground. “You can let someone follow me for one week.”

He laughed. “Yeah? S’that m’engagement present?”

She nodded. “I love you, so, so much Harry.”

“I love you,” he kissed her sweetly. “Do y’think your mum would approve?”

“Yes,” she nodded and tucked her face into his shoulder. “Probably would convince you not to fall for someone grumpy like me.”

Harry cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb along her lip. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and smiled happily while Niall snapped pictures from between the trees nearby. “Honey, no one could ever keep me away from you.”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

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Protection taglist: @youcouldstartacult @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @luxiorchive @ameerakane20 @be-with-me-so-happily

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[cloudyluun]

Private Show

Summary: Harry surprises you with VIP tickets to Sabrina Carpenter’s concert, making sure you have the time of your life, dancing, singing, and twirling you around like the perfect concert boyfriend. But when a fan starts filming, he blocks you from view, sending the broodiest glare at the camera to protect your moment together.

A/N: So, you know that viral video of Harry mean-mugging the camera at Sabrina Carpenter’s concert? Yeah. My brain immediately went “what if he was just protecting his girl?” And then this happened. Enjoy dancing, twirling, and protective boyfriend Harry in his full glory. 💖

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: 

Mild crowd anxiety (Harry blocks you from attention)

Fans screaming his name

Protective, broody Harry

Harry twirling you like a rom-com protagonist

Sabrina Carpenter slaying as usual

Pure concert fluff with the tiniest bit of angst

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The night starts with screaming.

Not Harry’s, obviously—yours.

Because your boyfriend, the actual love of your life, just casually pulled two VIP passes out of his pocket like it’s no big deal.

“You’re joking.” Your eyes are so wide they might actually fall out of your skull.

Harry just smirks, swinging the lanyards in front of your face. “Do I look like I’m joking, love?”

“HARRY.” You grab his wrist, shaking him violently. “YOU GOT ME SABRINA CARPENTER TICKETS?!”

“Thought I’d surprise you,” he says, looking all smug and pleased with himself.

You launch yourself at him.

“I love you. I love you so much.” You press at least twenty rapid-fire kisses to his face, making him laugh as he tries (and fails) to dodge you.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “You love me enough to forgive the fact that I’ll be working with her soon?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You’re what?!”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “We’ve got something in the works. Thought I’d get ahead of it and make sure my girl didn’t, y’know, leave me for her when it drops.”

Your scream could shatter glass.

And that’s how you end up in a private VIP booth, tucked away from the main crowd, watching Sabrina Carpenter take the stage with your ridiculously perfect boyfriend beside you.

Harry made sure you had the best view—not too close to the screaming fans who’d recognize him in seconds, but not too far that you couldn’t soak in every second of the performance.

From the very first note, you’re in heaven.

Harry is watching you more than the stage, his lips twitching in amusement as you scream along to every word, jump up and down, and nearly burst into flames from sheer excitement.

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” he teases, nudging your side.

“Shut up, I’m having a religious experience,” you say, barely able to breathe as you clutch his arm.

And then—because he’s the best boyfriend in existence—Harry joins in.

At first, he’s just swaying to the beat, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your hip. But then Vicious starts playing, and suddenly, he’s fully dancing with you.

Spinning you around. Dipping you dramatically. Letting you sing the lyrics directly into his face.

At one point, he twirls you and pulls you back against his chest, grinning against your ear. “Knew I made the right choice bringing you here.”

Your heart melts.

For once, no one is bothering him. No one is shoving a phone in his face, no one is screaming his name. It’s just you and him and the music.

Everything is perfect.

Until he notices the camera.

You don’t see it at first—too busy losing your mind over Sabrina hitting a ridiculous note—but you feel when Harry’s body tenses. His arm tightens around your waist, his stance shifts, and suddenly, he’s blocking you from view.

“Harry?” you mumble, looking up at him.

His jaw is tight, his eyes locked onto something in the crowd. You follow his gaze and—there.

A fan, holding their phone way too high, the camera clearly zoomed in on your booth.

And worse?

Other fans have noticed him.

You hear it—the whispers, the murmurs, the first few shouts of his name.

You wilt.

You love Harry. You love being with him. But sometimes, the attention is suffocating.

Harry knows this.

Which is why, instead of acknowledging the cameras, he does something so very Harry.

He glares.

Not just any glare—the glare. The one that shuts down the paparazzi. The one that makes fans go feral on Twitter.

The one that dares someone to keep filming.

His body shifts slightly, fully shielding you from view. His arm locks around you like a protective cage, his eyes locked onto the camera like a silent warning.

You bite your lip. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he murmurs.

And just like that, the phone lowers.

Harry doesn’t relax until the attention moves on, the crowd shifting back to the stage. Then—only then—does he turn back to you.

“You okay, love?” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I just… I hate when they do that. This is supposed to be our moment.”

Harry hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Your heart clenches.

And suddenly, nothing else matters.

The music swells, Sabrina launches into Nonsense, and Harry—your ridiculous, perfect, protective boyfriend—grins at you.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hands and starts twirling you again.

“Harry—”

“C’mon, love,” he teases, pulling you flush against him. “We’ve got a show to enjoy.”

And so you do.

Maybe the world will analyze the videos of Harry Styles looking all broody at a Sabrina Carpenter concert. Maybe fans will freak out over his intense glare.

But they won’t know the real reason behind it.

They won’t know he did it for you.

And that’s all that matters.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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

[ghostieblr]

Peter's Vows

When Derek is born, there is an earthquake. Beacon Hills is many things, but it is not a place of earthquakes. This is an anomaly, this sudden shaking of the land, and Peter watches Talia go through the pain of birthing a cub, and he makes note of how her cries resonate with the moving earth. As the baby is brought to the world of the living, the earth shakes more; giddy, Peter thinks of the land. Giddy at this baby's birth. That's what it is.

The town reels with the destruction, however minimal it seems to be. It is the strangeness of the earthquake that has the people in a panic, and it takes two days of Mayor Yukimura calling for council meetings and community barbecues that they begin to somehwat calm down.

The baby is named Derek on the first day itself, born underneath the Nemeton, his pale blue eyes reflecting the moonlight in silver hues. Talia sobs with relief, Nathan beside her, stroking her hair. Laura is back at the pack house, safely tucked in the bed, the rest of the pack members keeping watch. Talia had wanted to bring her with them, fearing the worst of the anomaly, but their mom had convinced her to not do it. The birth of the Alpha's cub is a big deal, but it is also private: only the Mate, Emissary and Left Hand are allowed to be present, for comfort, safety, and protection, respectively.

It has been tradition since ages, and Talia is the last person to break it.

Derek is a calm baby. Sleeps through the night, doesn't cry for attention. Only does it for feeding, his survival instinct as strong as his lungs. Peter adores him, even if he may never admit it to anyone.

He is also curious about the boy. Why an earthquake? It cannot be a coincidence. Truly, he wonders how some people can be so dumb. Calling it a coincidence is insulting to the Powers That Be, which must have called upon such a natural reaction of the land for a reason. Derek is a special boy, and Peter vows to find out how.

Besides his incredibly compassionate heart, that is.

It is in his eyes, which have slowly turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the kindness of him. Derek's trust is not so easily earned, but once it is, it is extremely difficult to dislodge it.

Derek is a boy destined to become a kind man, one that will be an Alpha with mercy in his heart but cunning in his mind. Peter sees the makings of it right from the beginning, the way the boy will procure solutions to his own problems as well as those he deems important to him. Laura is the first born and thus has the claim to being the next Hale Alpha, however Peter knows, somehow, perhaps instinctually, that Derek will be the Alpha.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place when their emissary falls pregnant. She's an amazing woman, Claudia. Peter likes her wit and humor, and he enjoys the perspective of her husband, the deputy, and if luck is on his side, soon-to-be Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Peter is happy for the couple.

He is, also, astonished to see an almost five-year-old Derek climb onto Claudia's lap one morning, his small fists rubbing against his eyes, and his nose scrunching determinedly to find a scent.

Peter remembers the conversation well.

"Derek, honey? What are you trying to find?"

"Mine," is what Derek growls in reply to Claudia, and shoves his nose against her barely-showing belly.

Peter's laughing figure is shot out of the end of the couch and onto the floor by Claudia's impeccable throw of one of the decorative pillows from said couch.

Thereafter, it was peculiar but not unseemly to find Derek following beside Claudia, his whole little being focused on the life forming inside her. And when the night came, Peter wasn't at all surprised to witness the thunderstorm.

Claudia had plans of giving birth in the hospital, but due to miscalculated steps, or simply because of reasons not privy to them, the best possible option left for her seemed to be below the Nemeton.

John had lost his damn mind at the prospect. "It's raining! Heavily!"

"Talia gave birth in an earthquake," Claudia says through gritted teeth, "And the baby doesn't care, nor do I, John. It is—"

Her words are cut off by another scream, and she is right, of course. It is time.

Talia, John, and Peter are the only ones who should go with her, but Derek, the little sneaky wolf that he seems to have become, follows them. It isn't until halfway through that John, the human, realizes his presence first.

They move forward with the determined little boy, who is all sopping wet in his wolf onesie, and really, this is no laughing matter. Except it is.

Claudia is brought below the Nemeton, and the tree, big and branching and beautiful, hums in their presence. The canopy of it sheds them some, but not completely.

And so, under hard rain and sharp thunderstorms, Mieczysław Stilinski is born, his little body almost white under the moonlight, and his eyes, when they open, a shock of topaz, like a glinting jewel; a fallen angel, Peter thinks.

Derek carefully wraps the baby in the blanket Talia removes from the packed bag, her movements locked onto her son's and the baby's, while John tends to his wife.

Peter watches. He notes the way the baby is calmest in Derek's arms, the way Derek is mesmerized.

This is more than just being True Mates.

True Mates itself are the rarest of occurrences, but something tells him this is more than that. The earthquake, and this sudden rain, in April of all things, simply cannot be coincidence. There must be a reason, one that Peter must uncover.

In the coming years, he dedicates his time to the quest, and finds that, oh, this is something unique indeed.

Unique to the point of legend.

Of course, he gathers facts before telling anyone. Derek's control goes onto the list, as does his ability to switch between his shift as easy as breathing. Having such control at the age of seven is almost impossible, but he has it without the growing ego that would have inflated anyone else's with the amount of praise he gets.

Stiles, as Derek had nicknamed Mieczysław almost immediately post his arrival in the world, is no human. His mother's line has some pretty strong magical abilities, but the kind of power that this boy exudes surpasses imagination. Nobody notices at first, not even Peter, until Stiles is a couple of months past his third birthday. It truly isn't until Derek, almost nine, comes down from his room one day into the kitchen, says, "Which packet, Stiles?" that they realize it.

"Honey, he isn't a wolf. He cannot hear you," Nathan tells him, but Derek just shrugs.

"He is for today."

Peter hears the, "Blue one! Blue one! Blue is sooo pretty, Derek!" from Stiles, who is definitely sitting in Derek's room, upstairs.

Derek grabs the blue packet and goes upstairs, and Peter follows, followed by Talia and Nathan, who beckon Claudia as well.

Stiles sitting on the floor, a myriad of toys around him, while the packets of chips sit beside him, torn open, evidently by Derek's claws, who himself is playing with Stiles.

And they're both being fed flying chips.

The three wolves turn to Claudia as one. Her shaking head and awed face is enough to clue them in, and really, Peter thinks, this is fucking incredible.

Powers don't manifest as early as this in magic wielders. They're more of the puberty package, tied to emotions at the beginning rather than will.

This is... defying it.

Peter loves to see when the next piece of the puzzle will fall.

And it does oh so enticingly.

Years later, when Derek is fourteen and Stiles is almost nine, comes the first trial. The Alpha Summit & The Argent Treaty.

Peter doesn't believe Gerard's words to do no harm, so he sets up precautions in place. It pays off, because during the summit, he almost ends up blinding Deaucalion — something that could have turned super bad if left unchecked.

Gerard's attack is met with swift retaliation, but somehow, only his goons end up dead. Gerard himself remains free, and through sheer will, maybe, the old man manages to kidnap Laura.

By the time the adults sniff out their cub, they're too late.

Not in the sense of Laura being hurt, but in the terms of missing the action, somewhat.

When they enter the warehouse, they are faced with Gerard being held down by a black wolf, fangs around his neck, the eyes of the creature a deep, ruby red. Deeper than Talia's. At first, they all assume it to be one of the visiting Alphas, but then they realize Stiles' presence, too, and it clicks.

Stiles frees Laura from the painful looking electric rod, and comes back to Derek, coaxes him back to his human form as Peter and Nathan take care of the psychopath.

Laura lets Talia mother her, and then says, "We'll have two Alphas."

Talia looks at the now human Derek, and eyes shining with pride, she nods. "Come here, both of you," she beckons, and the boys run, Stiles' chattering a comforting sound for all of them.

A few weeks later, Derek admits to everyone he has a new friend, and talks about her often. Paige this, Paige that. Laura teases him, restrained in her words, trying not to upset Derek's control. Even Cora pulls back. Stiles, though, is almost worse.

He riles Derek to the point of him using his Alpha voice to shut up, and the whole Pack silences itself, even Talia. Stiles, though — an exception to all things sane — doesn't back down. The voice doesn't work on him, and Derek isn't phased by it. However, the smell of guilt filters through their home, and Stiles' sigh is followed by comforting words. There is no apologizing though.

Soon, they'll learn from Derek himself that he hates that everyone is walking on eggshells. That is why he kept bringing up Paige, so that someone would tease him, uncle Peter, Laura, Cora. Or that Stiles would rile him up.

"Why would he, though? He should be happy for you. I am." Cora's words are met with a laugh from Derek, and a groan of embarrassement from Stiles.

"He's weirdly possessive — don't push me, you know you are."

"Alright," Stiles sighs, "I am."

"And Paige is a great friend, but I don't nearly think about her as much as I might have let you all believe."

And that is when Peter sees it. The blink-and-you-will-miss-it purple flash of Stiles' eyes. Peter doesn't put thought into why now; he simply focuses on completing the puzzle.

And he does. True Alpha and Purple Eyes? That's easy.

That's legend.

Set in stone as the first Alpha and the first Emissary as well as Spark, who, arguably, also set in stone the sword of Excalibur.

That part of the legend has questionable sources, though. Sure, Merlin Emrys is, as per theories, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, and Arthur Pendragon the greatest ruler, the once and future king, but it doesn't have as much merit.

What Peter is sure about is that somehow, the Powers That Be decided that this is the pack to send these two to.

He watches Stiles argue about the best type of pasta with Derek, and thinks, suddenly, that perhaps this is their happy ending. What legends end happy? None. So this must be their time to be happy.

Peter vows another quest, then. To always protect Derek and Stiles.

[oblivionsdream]

Thinking about once again how jesters would sometimes be used for warfare:

Jester is getting sent out with some of the troops and Augustine worried for his welfare insists that he should also wear armor for his protection. However Jester argues that without his motley he wouldn’t even be recognized as a jester. So Augustine fixes this by painstakingly painting some armor with designs similar to the motleys he wears.

[starscream-is-my-wife]

I cant choose who I want to be in this situation

[foreverbaby25]