#protective!harry styles

[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

[eveningepiphany]

go with it | H.S oneshot

my masterlist!

summary: your ex boyfriend— someone you never want to talk to again— is searching for you at a party. trying to do anything to deter him or get away, you spot harry, and a plan comes to fruition.

warnings: cheating ex, surprise kiss, sexual tension, partial mentions of sexual stuff, love/hate relationship, protective! h, fluff, cuddling and lots of kissing

a/n: I’m sorry but this gif actually has me in a chokehold. his jawline, his chewing, his FROWN. literally melting 🫠

———

There was never a day you thought you’d be b-lining to Harry of all people.

Especially not with the intention of once getting there, that you would be slamming your lips against his.

However, you already know you’d rather face a pit of blood-thirsty snakes then be forced into a conversation with your asshole of an ex boyfriend.

Who you know is currently seeking you out, because when you’d caught glimpse of him scouring the groups of people inside the kitchen, after coming back from the bathroom— your stomach dropped, and someone tapped your shoulder.

“He’s your ex, right?” The girl had said this with a light scrunch of her nose as she looked over to him. Her face riddled with a sense of disgust you couldn’t relate to more If you tried.

You had nodded, to which she replied, “Well, he’s asking everyone if you’re here and where you are. Going by his personality I’m assuming you’re gonna want to avoid that.”

You’d never wanted to hug someone more then her in that moment.

At the information she’d so kindly shared with you, your first priority was getting out of the house.

The front door wasn’t an option since he is near the only hallway that leads it it. So out through the back patio, where a smaller group of people were mingling by the fire, was easily your best option.

You knew this was where he’d be likely looking next, so you ran out the door. Unsure if you are about to just find a way to jump the fence and make your escape or…

Either way, you knew if he managed to talk to you, you’d be getting an unwanted earful of advances.

He’d beg with his nasally voice for you to give him a chance, and then go on about the same bitter ending you’d both faced. To his own fault, of course.

He was talking to multiple other girls over the damn state while you were together. And once you found out, it confirmed your outlook on his person.

He of course was charming and nice at first. But it was almost in a sleazy way when you think back to it. He’d yelled at you when you bought up his adulterous habits, and you never looked back after that.

Once you were outside, you were considering your options, but you spotted a person on the other side of the decking.

The second your eyes locked on Harry, it was a done deal.

If you were to seem like you were in another relationship, he would be much more likely to back off. Much more likely to never contact or try to find you again.

He was petrified of other men. Always felt so inferior around them. So this would be perfect, if you could just make it work.

All your past with him fell from the forefront of your mind as you practically ran in his direction. Maybe you had argued countless times over college projects and he could be a bit of an ass, but you still knew you could trust him.

He was leaned against the wooden beam of the patio, skin casted with a warm glow from the fire a few feet away, down on the grass.

He had a signature frown. One that creased between his brows and pouted his pink lips. Creating his almost intimidating persona. Protective in a perfect way.

“Harry.” You state frantically, moving at a pace you’re not used to, shoes hitting the wooden decking hastily.

His scowl deepened as he heard his name, being pulled from his intense train of thought.

“What—” He looks honestly pissed off, but when his gaze snaps to you, it softens a tiny bit. Still annoyed, but just a sliver less.

Also confused at your frantic and rapidly approaching frame, which is now suddenly breaching the usual metre-wide distance you both would maintain on any other day.

“Y/N? What are you—“

You plant your hands on the side of his face, and the look of surprise in his eyes is evident.

His cheeks are warm and smooth under your palms, “I need you to just go with this okay? Can you do that for me?”

He is struggling to make sense of the situation, let alone get a sentence out without being interrupted.

“What do you—“

“I— I’ll explain later just—“ you take a final glance over your shoulder, and see your ex inside still, but seemingly headed for the sliding door to come outside.

This drives the final surge of adrenaline you need to tug his face to yours, melding your lips together. His are puckered in tense shock, and a noise of surprise sounds from the back of his throat.

His hands jump to your hips, gripping them like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer, or push you away.

Your mouth moves against his, and he reciprocates with a sense of hesitation.

His own brain is in absolute overdrive. The interaction far to short to go from being people who merely tolerate one another to people who are currently kissing.

And somewhere inside of him he acknowledges the feeling of how warm your lips are pressed to his.

He senses your urgency now though, hands tensing around his jaw at the sound of the access door getting slid open.

Parting his lips, he impulsively drags his tongue over your bottom lip. You sigh a sound of almost gratefulness at his action.

Harry turns his body swiftly, pressing your back into the railing, his lips moving harder against yours.

“Y/N! Are you bloody out here?” A grating voice sounds, and he quickly picks up the pieces of the story he was missing.

The voice also pulls him out of the half trance he’d gotten himself in. Your mouth so warm, he genuinely forgot his own name for a second.

One of your hands slide down to the neck of his black shirt, securing it in an anxious grip.

The pace quickly picks up, him plastering himself to you as close as physically possible. Clashing mouths as he shadows your body with his.

“Oi, mate!” He ignores the yell, and is met with the footsteps of this guy coming closer.

“Have you seen—“

Harry pulls from your mouth, turning his head to look at the dickhead who you’re clearly attempting to get away from. And who just hypothetically interrupted someone’s makeout session— which is just fucking rude anyway.

“Do I look like I have?” Harry scowls, an angry tone over his voice.

The guy frowns, an ugly look casting upon his features, he steps closer, “No need to be a fucking di—“

He moved just close enough to see you, frowning, making sense that you were just essentially making out with someone, “Y/N I—“

“Can you fuck off? We’re in the middle of something here, that you’ve just so kindly interrupted. Read the room you twat.” His sentences come out harsh, and it’s clear he means it.

Your ex tries his luck a final time, “look I just want to talk with—“

And Harry interjects it again, “She’s not interested.”

You stay quiet, and at this he gets a disgusted look. It appalls you that he thinks you owe him anything.

There’s a stare down between the two men. But you can see in his face he’s intimidated. Also humiliated, that you’ve seemingly moved on with someone else, and that he’s clearly got no shot at winning you back.

“Fucking ass.” He hisses, and turns around, storming down the patio and back inside.

Harry turns back to you, shielding your frame with his. A sigh of relief passes through you.

You look a little shaken up, and he loosens the grip he has on you slightly. Both your lips still puffed and shining from the exchange you unexpectedly shared.

“Thank you…” you pant out, not sure if you’re out of breath from the situation or because of Harry.

The reality of what just happened comes pelting down on you both.

And it’s quiet a moment as you both clock over in your brains that you just practically made out. It takes a second for him to break the silence,

“So, stalker? Ex? Random guy who can’t take no for an answer?” He quizzes.

Feeling embarrassed, you purse your lips— but are able to to taste the remnants of his own mouth on yours. “Ex.”

“Ex?”

You nod.

“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think I could land anyone?” You scoff, trying desperately to bring back the usual snarky vibe between the two of you.

“No, not at all. Just that he was clearly batting above his level. He was a proper dickhead, and that’s rich when it’s compared to you.” You thank god he plays back into your banter.

But he pries further, “What exactly did he do to you?”

“Long story.” You attempt to brush it off, but he has none of it.

“Love, y’just came over here and slammed your bloody mouth over mine, and now you’re not going to tell me why?”

“But—“

“No,” he interrupts, still very close to you as he shakes his head, “No buts. Y’said you’d explain after.”

A sigh rattles out of you, feeling a little pathetic you’re telling Harry you got cheated on.

“He cheated on me. Like with multiple girls.”

To this, his face immediately drops.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

He fights the overwhelming urge to go hunt him down and lay a hand into the side of his fucking face. An absolute scumbag.

“What a pathetic excuse for a man.” He scoffs, “Lucky to have even got a pretty girl like you, and he blew it.”

You flush, another brief wave of quiet falling over the two of you. His compliments throwing you.

You quietly speak again, “I’m sorry about the… kiss. Didn’t really get as much consent as I’d have liked.”

You did feel guilty, you don’t usually go forcing your mouth onto unsuspecting men.

“No, it’s okay. You did it for a reason.” He shakes his head at your apology, and in all honesty, he enjoyed it.

Somehow it meant more than many of his others have. And he can’t quite pinpoint why.

“I… I carpooled here so, I think I’m gonna call an Uber and go home ‘cause…”

You had no interest in sticking around, incase your ex comes back— and you don’t want to spend the rest of your night glued to Harry’s side, because you doubt he’d want that.

“You’re not catching an Uber home.” He scoffs aloud, fishing his keys from his back pocket, “I’ve only had one drink, I’ll be fine to drive, so I’ll take you.”

“Harry, no. You’ve already done plenty for me tonight, I’ll be fine—“

He grabs at your hand, lacing them together and beginning to walk you down the patio.

“I’m driving you home.” He states, leading the you inside.

He clutched your hand tight, eyes forward and uncaring of the heads that had turned your way.

You on the other hand had burned up at the curious— and quickly jealous— eyes.

Harry was by no means a whore. There were plenty of rumours of him sleeping with certain girls. Mostly outlandish stories that eventually fizzled out to nothing.

He’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but it’d been a while since. And he’s maybe had one actual fling over the last couple months.

It just seemed he was harder to get. And many women tried their luck around the school. Yet to no avail.

You cast your sight down, walking behind him out the front door. Relishing in the quiet surroundings of the front lawn, free of prying glares.

He unlocked his car that was parked on the side of the road, and he opens the side door for you to get in. Chivalry mustn’t be dead.

Once you’re both in the car, you fight the urge to say again that he really doesn’t have to take you, because it’s clear there is no other option on his end.

So instead, you let out a tiny thank you, and he nods while starting the car.

However, your self restraint only branches so far— matter-of-fact, you weren’t even out of the street— before you blurt out, “Everyone was staring.”

He veers his gaze momentarily to you, then flicking it back to the road. Silence stretches a moment, and he recalls the heat of your lips pressed to yours with no real prompt.

And when he thinks of it, the image doesn’t leave his head. It unwillingly transpires, into something that bubbles into the pit of his stomach.

He had to blink it away, grounding himself when he hears your nervous swallow.

“I— what?” He’s confused at what you mean, while you kissed? When you walked out?

“When we walked out.” You reply, and he makes sense of what you’re talking about.

“People will always stare. They’re nosey.”

“I know.”

There’s another breath of silence, until he laughs, so suddenly that it almost makes you jump.

“Where am I going?” He asks, still chuckling as he realises he’s literally just driving aimlessly.

“Oh.” You sputter out a laugh as well, rattling off the side of town he needs to start driving to.

You wish you had more to say to him. That’s conversation usually flowed easily— filled with the sarcastic retorts it usually is. But now all that sat between you was a thick, hot slab of tension.

It wasn’t bad— not by any means— but it was easy to tell both of you were stuck in your own head. And you fear you’ve fashioned a permanent problem between the two of you.

Your voice only cut through the quiet once you were a few blocks away from your house.

He hummed acknowledgements to your each set of directions, and before you knew it, you were pointing out your house to him.

As his car pulled to a stop in the driveway, he didn’t hesitate to turn off the engine and get out.

Confused, you follow suit anyway, but wondered if he was about to walk you to your door.

And you weren’t wrong. Somehow, the guy who seems hardly like a gentleman, is waiting to walk the maybe 15 steps with you from his car to your front door.

You get your keys from your small bag, looking at him with an undeniably curious gaze as you meet his side.

He follows in sync by your side, hands in pockets. All the way up the patio steps, and he falls to a stop when you do, still next to you.

“Thank you for driving me home…” you smile, and can feel an unwilling red colouring spread over your cheeks.

“Was nothin’. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Were you seriously worried about me?” You frown, yet it’s undeniably endearing his concern for you.

A tiny scoff sounds from him, “Obviously?”

“That fuckin’ twat of an ex you have hardly seems like a good person. And who’s t’say he wouldn’t follow you home from that party and…” he stares off in thought, jaw clenching.

“Harry.” You state, stepping forward, wrapping a single hand around his wrist.

“Thank you.”

His distant gaze was snapped away at your touch. He’s never really considered himself an overly violent person, but your ex was easily about to change that.

And he hardly can pinpoint why. Or not yet.

The only thing he knows he wants to do again in sudden clarity, is kiss you. It almost shocks him, because he hasn’t felt an urge as strong as this in forever.

“Can— I need you to just go with this.” He mutters, being the one now very suddenly invading the gap between you both.

He’s mimicking what you said when you kissed him, yet you don’t realise “I’ll explain later.”

His hand cups the side of your jaw, and he leans to brush his lips against yours, a breath of relief fanning out his nose after finally feeling the contact.

You’re stood on your porch, and Harry is kissing you.

And somehow you’re all the sudden kissing him back.

Not because there’s someone you’re running from. Not because you have to. Because you want to.

He pulls you closer to him, allowing his teeth to graze your lower lip. Causing your hands to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You both play a back and forth game. Full of lips against tongue and tongue against teeth.

Until you’re both panting and running out of new places to map out with your hands.

“Care to explain?” You retort gently, stricken of breath.

He hums in the back of his throat, barley a rumble as he trails his mouth along your jaw, and down to the base of your neck.

“Is this enough of an answer?” He asks, sucking the skin between your two collarbones between his teeth.

Your knees almost give out at the sensation, and even the pressure behind his harsh mouth.

A near whimper comes from you, and he licks over the slightly bruised spot before he pulls back.

He cocks an eyebrow, expectant of your answer, despite having such a skilled mouth you’re pretty sure you forgot your own name for a second there.

“I— yes. That was… plenty.” You nod.

“Did it because I wanted to, and y’have an incredibly hot little mouth.” He provides anyway, a laugh coming from him as he pecks your cheek. All gentle, all loving.

You’re lacking for words completely, and can only lean your head against his broad chest. Unsure what exactly you’ve sparked between the two of you this evening, but simultaneously not caring of the future right now.

“I’m also probably not going to be able to stop thinking about it…” he whispers.

“Stay.” You blurt out, and then clarify a few seconds later, “The night.”

He chuckles at this, “Are you trying to get in bed with me now? Moving very quickly, sweetheart.”

You flush, “Not everything is about sex, you fucking addict.”

“So you were inviting me to stay the night so we could cuddle?”

“I was.” You affirm, despite not being opposed to his idea either.

Grabbing his hand, you lead him to your front door. Unlocking it and making quick work of sneaking him inside without the one of your three lovely housemates hearing.

All the others were luckily out at varying parties, and the only girl still home— Grace— sleeps like a log.

“You seem like a bit of a professional at sneaking people in.” He smirks, kicking his shoes off and leaving them in the corner of your room.

With only the lamp turned on, he’s lit with a warm glow, and he looks beautiful.

“Comes naturally when you live with housemates that are like your best friends. They wanna know everything.” You go to your cupboard, pulling out a jumper to change into.

He watches as you pull it over your head, yet managing to unclip your top and bra off underneath it.

“Impressive.” He nods at your easy change.

“I’m taking my pants off.” You state, “and not in a sexual way, perv.”

He lets out a defensive laugh, “I’m not a perv! You’re the one stripping off.”

You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs to change over to sweatpants. His gaze strays around your room and you smile at his respectfulness.

Once you’re changed, you sit on the edge of your bed.

You lock eyes, and he gives a sly smile, not waiting to tug his shirt over his head and unbutton his own jeans.

You cover your eyes, sarcastically scoffing, “yea well, I didn’t plan on getting fully naked, but you go right ahead.”

“No different if we went swimming, darling. Still have my underwear on.”

You don’t get to reply as his hands tap your knee, “Budge up.”

You uncover your eyes, being met with his toned chest and calvin klein briefs.

Obliging silently, as he gets under the covers with you. The two of you rearrange until you’re comfortable.

Your head perched on his side as you cuddle into him, arm over his abdomen. His own arm curled underneath you.

“This is… an awfully weird situation we’ve ended up in.” You laugh. Because you’re cuddling in your bed right now, and if you told yourself even yesterday that would be happening, there no way in hell you would have taken it seriously.

“Guess it is.” He shrugs, turned his head to look down at yours.

“Still hate your guts.” You whisper.

“Mm, i don’t think I ever even hated you.” He muses.

You laugh, “Is that so?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “you’re too pretty. And even though you’re annoying, and can’t admit when you get a project question wrong, i think I have a little bit of a soft spot for you.”

“Gross.” You say, but he can hear in your tone— and the way it nearly shakes— that you actually are a little worked up over his minor confession.

“Cmon, you can’t even admit you like me a tiny bit?”

You shake your head, blushing profusely as you try to hide it.

He tugs you further up, so he can look at you properly, “You’re blushing though. Like you always seem to do when I get a bit sappy. Which is my most recent observation of you.”

He doesn’t let you respond as he presses another kiss to your lips again. And you smile into it unwillingly.

He pulls away mid-kiss, letting you whine a little at the abrupt ending to it.

“Admit it, and we can keep kissing.” He says, and it draws an eye-roll from you.

But he somehow knows it will work, because you quickly crack under his ultimatum, “Fine! Yes. I like you— just a little bit.”

To your response he laughs, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll take it, I suppose.”

He presses another kiss against you, and you press back again.

It becomes another makeout session, but despite being the third one of the night, it’s the first time hands can skate against mostly bare skin.

Which his own palms find their way under your jumper, and one cups gently at your breast, flicking over your nipple while his tongue dips into your mouth.

That’s as far as it goes for tonight though.

He kneads the flesh there softly, until you’re panting into his mouth with a heat budding between your legs.

Somehow there’s an unspoken not tonight agreement.

And you know that despite how needy you feel for him, it’s definitely for the best. And you’re still shocked you made it this far with him.

You roll into him further, chest rising and falling quickly as you sigh out to him, “I lied.”

“When?” He sounds completely unconcerned, despite your risky sentence starter.

“Before, when I said I only liked you a little bit.”

He chuckles at your response, “How was that a lie, hm?”

“I like you more than a little bit.”

“You’re sweet, darling.” He strokes his thumb against your ribcage, “so do I.”

To this you smiled. Eyes growing heavy at his rhythmic touches and soothing voice.

And his gentle words are the last that you hear before you fall asleep against his chest.

Both filled with a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.

———

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

*sniffling* he's so fucking precious 🥺

[1d1195]

Protection

She hates her security detail and everything it stands for. So if she’s going to be miserable she’s going to take everyone responsible for her safety down with her.

But then she meets the newest agent in charge of her protection: Harry. Harry has one job and that’s to protect her; it should be easy enough. How much trouble can a 24-year old student get up to?

Fan art by @tiredinwinter inspired by Part IV 🥹💕

Miss Wildflower and Harry’s ideal home

@harrysonlylover sent me this quote from Miss Wildflower

Head Above Water by Avril Lavigne (esp during Extra I)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Extra I

Extra II

Extra III

Extra IV

[harrywavycurly]

Idk if it’s possible or makes sense but could you do a Harry fake wife thing? Really liked the Eddie one💕

Hiiii lovey!!! I’m so happy you liked the Eddie one, of course I can do one with Harry! I don’t know why but this is just what popped into my head for how you’d even meet him for this scenario to take place so I hope you enjoy!!💖

You let out a sigh as your hands grip the sides of the sink in the downstairs bathroom of your friend Amy’s house that was currently filled with people who you haven’t seen or talked to in years, including an ex of yours that left you teary eyed and broken hearted the last time you saw him. You stand up straight and try to gather your thoughts as you look in the mirror and check to make sure you don’t look too disheveled.

“It’s going to be fine.” You mumble as you reach into your back pocket for your chapstick. “Maybe he left already…yeah he totally left already he doesn’t like parties especially house parties.” You just nod to yourself as you attempt to calm yourself down as you quickly apply some chapstick before putting it back in your pocket. “He’s not even that hot anymore and remember he couldn’t ever get you-”

“Uh as much as I love a good pep talk I do think you should save some of this for maybe when you’re not in a toilet with a random stranger?” You jump at the sound of a deep voice coming from behind you as one of your hands goes to your chest as you feel your heartbeat begin to quicken and your cheeks get hot.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry.” You blurt out as you quickly turn around so you’re facing the person you didn’t know you were currently sharing a bathroom with. “Uh why are you sitting in the tub?” You ask with a raised eyebrow as you take a closer look at the man and when you see an all too familiar mermaid tattoo on his forearm you run a hand over your face because of course out of all the people at this party you’d find yourself in a bathroom with Harry Styles.

“Much like the uhm man that you don’t think is attractive anymore I don’t care much for house parties and this is my favorite bathroom in the house.” Harry explains as he stands up and steps over the edge of the tub so he can reach his hand out to you. “I’m Harry by the way so we don’t have to be total strangers anymore.” You just give him a small smile as you shake his hand and introduce yourself.

“So hiding in the bathtub is your plan then?” You ask as Harry takes a seat on the edge of the tub as you lean against the sink.

“Obviously it’s not my most well thought out plan considering you were able to just burst in.” You roll your eyes as a playful smirk forms on Harry’s face.

“Burst in? I knocked twice and you didn’t say anything and the door was unlocked.” You explain with slight annoyance dripping from your voice as you motion towards the door with one of your hands making Harry chuckle to himself because even though he doesn’t know anything about you besides your name, for some reason he likes how your face looks when you’re annoyed with him.

“Like I said,” His voice is playful as he leans over and rests his elbows on his knees as he looks over at you. “Not my most well thought out plan.” He adds making you just nod your head in agreement because hiding in a bathroom at a house party, especially in the tub isn’t a wise choice considering he could’ve just hid in a bedroom or outside on the patio.

“Well since I’m here already do you mind if I borrow your hiding spot for a moment or two?” You ask as you take a small step towards the tub and motion to the empty spot next to him. He looks over at the spot and then turns and looks up at you and nods as he moves over to give you a bit more room to sit down.

“Who are you hiding from? The unattractive guy that hates house parties?” You just nod as you sit down with a sigh.

“He’s an ex and I know he’s probably wondering around out there somewhere and the thought of running into him just kinda makes me-”

“I get it.” You turn your head and look at Harry who is giving you a reassuring smile. “No one likes running into an ex.” He adds as he twirls one his rings around that he has on his index finger.

“Especially when nothing has changed on my end and I’m sure he’s gone off and done all these cool and amazing things and I haven’t even moved out of my shitty studio apartment he dumped me in.” You explain as you look over towards the bathroom door in an attempt for Harry not to see the embarrassment that’s written all over your face at your little confession.

“What if he didn’t know all that?” He asks as he stands up and takes a few steps so he’s now leaning against the sink and looking directly at you. “What if all he knows is you’re happily married?” You look around the bathroom as if someone else is going to magically appear as you raise an eyebrow at him as you stand up.

“Uh and who is it I’m going to be happily married to?” You ask as Harry looks down at his hands and begins to slide off his giant gold ring that’s in the shape of the letter S.

“Me.” You feel your eyes go wide as he reaches his hand out towards you. “He doesn’t need to know the details he just needs to believe we are together.” Harry ignores the expression of shock on your face as he grabs your left hand and slides his ring onto your ring finger.

“But you’re Harry Styles.” He just laughs as you state the obvious but you feel like it’s an important thing to say because he can’t be serious right now about wanting to go out there and act like a married couple.

“And for tonight you’re Mrs. Styles.” You just look down at the ring on your left hand and then back up at Harry who is giving you a grin that shows off his dimples.

“Fuck it.” Harry chuckles as you run a hand through your hair and readjust your top before taking a step towards the door. “Don’t touch my ass and I don’t like to be called babe.” Harry just nods as you give him some basics while he takes a step so he can grab the doorknob and open the bathroom door for you.

“Feel free to touch any part of me you like.” You playfully roll your eyes as you step out of the bathroom with Harry behind you and you suddenly realize how scandalous this looks to anyone who is watching. “Don’t worry my darling no one saw us.” You feel Harry’s breath on your neck as he leans down and whispers in your ear as if he could hear the thoughts that were going through your mind as he quickly grabs one of your hands and interlocks his fingers with yours so he can lead you towards the living room.

“Do you know anyone at this party?” You ask once he has successfully escorted you to the living room so you’re standing in front of an armchair that barely looks big enough for one person let alone the two of you.

“I know three people here.” He answers as he sits down in the chair and before you can say anything you feel his arms wrap around your middle carefully pulling you onto his lap. “And one of them just so happens to be my wife.” You roll your eyes as you attempt to get comfortable making Harry chuckle as he loosens his hold around you making it easier for you to get yourself situated in his lap.

“Who are the other-”

“I knew that was you.” Harry feels your body go tense as a man comes from the kitchen and stands in front of you and Harry. “Harry? What are you doing here?” He asks as he looks over your shoulder at Harry making your heart drop to your stomach because of course he doesn’t notice you when Harry Styles is sitting right behind you.

“Do I know you mate?” Harry asks with a questioning tone that makes the man standing in front of the two of you let out an awkward laugh as you look over to your left and out the window as you feel one of Harry’s hands grip your hip giving it a light squeeze letting you know Harry is well aware of who this man is.

“Oh sorry I’m just-”

“A fan?” You bite back a laugh as Harry raises an eyebrow at your ex who is now rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with the hand that’s not holding a beer. “Usually I don’t mind meeting fans but I’m actually with my wife so you understand that I need some privacy right?” You smile as you feel Harry lean down and place a kiss to the top of your head before you turn and look at your ex who looks like he just saw a ghost. It took him all of ten seconds to register it was you sitting in Harry lap and his eyes dart from you over to Harry and then land back on you.

“You’re his wife? How did-”

“It’s a long story.” Is all you say as you look away from your ex and up at Harry who is already looking at you with a smile on his face.

“It’s funny this party is actually a lot like the one we met at isn’t it baby?” You laugh and turn your body a little so you can playfully swat at Harry’s chest allowing your ex to get a decent view of your ring finger.

“I just figured if you married someone like Harry Styles I’d at least read about it? How have you kept this a secret?” You feel panic begin to creep in at his question but before you can fully start to freak out Harry is gently giving your hips a squeeze letting you know he wants to stand up so you quickly stand letting him get up so you can take his spot sitting in the chair.

You can’t help but feel a bit relieved when Harry takes a sort of protective stance as he makes sure to stand in front of you so that he’s blocking your ex’s view of you. Because in this moment Harry has made the decision that he doesn’t quite like the man standing in front of him so he doesn’t really mind that he’s about to hurt his feelings.

“You can look at me not at her if that’s quite alright? I have a thing about strange men staring at my wife.” You don’t miss the harshness of Harry’s tone as he moves a bit so he’s now fully standing in front of your ex who’s mouth opens as if he wants to say something but then closes as his eyes finally meet Harry’s.

“Sorry I uh actually know her so it’s just shocking to find out she somehow secretly married-”

“It wasn’t a secret mate.” Harry cuts him off as he crosses his arms over his chest and sends your ex a hard glare. “We just told the people who actually mean something to us and sorry to be blunt but you say you know her yet I don’t even know your name.” You put a hand over your mouth to hide the little smirk that has formed on your face as Harry puts your ex in his place.

“Oh uh it’s-”

“It’s not really important but to answer your other question about how you didn’t even read about it.” Harry looks over his shoulder so he can give you a quick glance to make sure you’re okay before he looks back over at your ex who is bright red from embarrassment making you smile to yourself. “Well I am Harry Styles so I have my ways of keeping things private.” He adds with a smug smile as he looks over at you and shoots you a playful wink.

“Yeah that uhm makes sense.” Your ex’s voice slightly cracks as he speaks making him have to clear his throat, you take this moment to stand up causing Harry to step to the side to give you some space as he drops his arms from his chest so he can drape one over your shoulders and pull you into his side.

“Can we go outside for a bit H?” You ask as you look up at Harry making him just nod his head and move his arm from your shoulder so he can place his hand on your lower back.

“Of course love.” You smile at his choice of pet name as he gently applies some pressure to your lower back so you’ll start walking towards the back patio door. “If you see Jeff walking around give him your address and I’ll send you an autograph if you’d like?” You giggle to yourself as Harry raises his free hand up and waves to your ex as the two of you walk out of the living room. “Enjoy your night mate!” Harry tries to shout over his shoulder but it comes out more of a laugh as he opens the back door for you and you’re secretly sad you can’t see the look on your ex’s face because you’re sure it’s a mixture of absolute embarrassment and a little tiny bit of regret at the idea of letting you get away.

“Is it bad that I loved every minute of that?” You ask as Harry just laughs as you turn around and place your hands on his shoulders. “You were amazing.” You add making him smile.

“I mean I am an actor.” He says with a shrug making you playfully roll your eyes as you suddenly become very aware just how close you’re standing to him as his hand that was on your lower back has moved so now it’s loosely gripping your hip. “I’m going to have to call Jeff in the morning and fill him in just in case anyone else got an earful of that little story.” You feel a sense of anxiousness start to overtake you as you realize the situation you have put Harry in and it’s as if he can feel it because as you begin removing your hands from his shoulders he is quick to place his over yours keeping them there.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is shaky as you look away from Harry. “This is going to be such a mess for you and-”

“It was my idea remember?” He states as he bends down a bit so he can look you in the eye. “It’s going to be fine I’ve had rumors going around that I’ve died before and besides what if I did just meet my future wife in the toilets at one of Jeff’s annoying friend’s house parties? That’s a story for the grandkids don’t you think?” He gives you a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows making you chuckle as you rest your forehead on his chest and let out a long sigh as his hands go to your back and begin running them up and down in a soothing motion.

“You think Amy is annoying?” You tease as you look up at Harry who rolls his eyes as your arms are now loosely wrapped around his neck.

“Yes.” You laugh at how quickly he answers the question as he looks down at you and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips briefly before they make their way back up to your eyes and you know what he’s silently asking you so you just nod as an answer. You close your eyes as his hands come up and cup your face just a few seconds before his lips meet yours in a sweet kiss.

“You sure you want to tell the grandkids about this?” You joke as Harry pulls away making him laugh as he rests his forehead against yours as his hands fall from your face and back to your hips.

“We can leave a few things out.” He answers with a smile before he places a quick peck to your cheek before standing up straight. “Not to be too forward but seeing as you are technically my wife for the evening would you like to maybe get out of here and get some dinner? I know a great place down the street.” You smile as he brushes some of your hair out of your face. “So what do you say Mrs. Styles?” He asks after you take a few moments to act as if you need to think about your answer.

“Lead the way Mr. Styles.” He smiles as you drop your arms from around his neck as he drops one of his hands from your hips so he can interlock his fingers with yours. “Oh and I’m totally telling Amy you think she’s annoying.” Harry laughs as he leads you down the steps of the porch and out the back gate and in the direction of his car.

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Paparazzi

request: can you write one where Harry and y/n get swarmed by paparazzi really abruptly and one of them hurts her either accidentally or on purpose and Harry flips? Tysm!

A/N: I love this idea! Thanks so much. I found this gif and omg it’s of a fan who got hit by paparazzi and Harry stuck up for them immediately!! Such a kind soul and pretty convenient for this story… lol! Enjoy(:

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

“C’mon. It’s getting busy let’s just go home.” Harry’s voice was soft as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, lifting up the two small takeaway boxes that were filled with your left over food. It was always a risk being out in public especially for Harry because it would only take one person to spread the news then it would be nightmarish. He secured his arm further around you leaving a few money notes on the table as a tip for the waitress before he walked out with you keeping his arm around you, boxes of food held underneath his arm as you both walked in the direction of where Harry had parked.

As you continued walking Harry started looking around and you knew what that meant: paparazzi. He often had the knack for spotting cameras taking pictures of him and once again his “sixth sense” didn’t fail him. “Harry are they following us?” You asked anxiously his green eyes locking with yours “just keep walking.” His arm slid down to your waist as he began making you walk at his speed, attempting to lose the photographers— they weren’t even photographers. More like money hungry assholes who just loved to ruin every moment to get a simple picture of celebs. It was stupid. You leaned into harry further feeling your nerves wrap around you shaky breaths leaving your mouth.

“Mr styles!!”

“Harry over here!”

“How does it feel being in a relationship with the Harry styles?”

“Hold still!!”

Mixtures of yells came from all around you suddenly, loud running which sounded like a herd of elephants only made your heart race in your chest “keep your head down.” Harry spoke quietly and you did as he said, keeping your head down him doing the same as he kept a tight grip on you guiding you through the crowd of rowdy paps. Your eyes couldn’t comprehend the amount of flashes blurring your vision the brightness blinding you almost as the paparazzi continued to yell at you both, purposely getting in Harry’s way to get a shot of his face. God were you glad you were wearing jeans. You had heard horror stories of paparazzis taking pictures up celebs partners dresses or skirts which was beyond fucked. “Have you got anymore upcoming films?” One paparazzi spoke to Harry, god they were not giving up were they. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Harry muttered harshly through gritted teeth, yet his lips remained in a thin line making him look calm despite wanting to punch their faces.

“Y/n does Harry satisfy you in—“ “hey, man shut the fuck up.” Harry demanded glaring into the paparazzis eyes, the man right in front of you as all the other greedy men took loads of pictures of Harry’s face Harry quickly pulled you round to his other side getting you further away from the vile man before he grabbed your hand intertwining his fingers with yours, repositioning the food into his other hand as he pulled you gently through the crowd. Snaps of the cameras were heard as the lenses focused on Harry’s face, his eyes, your terrified expression some of the photos blurry and unusable but some good the paparazzi’s clearly proud of their work yet they didn’t stop.

“We’re so hungry Harry! We’ve been working all night whilst you fondue with your girlfriend!” Fondue? Was this pap serious? For fucks sake. You rolled your eyes before Harry abruptly stopped shoving the food into the paps arms “there. Take the food and leave us be.” He demanded the one pap immediately leaving clearly happy. God did you hope he didn’t try to sell “Harry styles’ food’ on eBay. Harry tugged you further away as the car soon came into view until all of that went to the back of Harry’s mind as suddenly one of the paparazzis behind you purposely pushed you hard— taking a picture of you as you plummeted to the ground, camera catching your ass the cruel man grinning— Harry’s grip on your hand making sure you didn’t hurt yourself as he quickly helped you stand up again before he looked back at the paparazzi “it’s so rude to do that” he spat out, glaring at the man Harry’s jaw remaining clenched “did you take a picture of that?” He soon asked taking a threatening step towards the man “harry…” you whispered yet your voice was drowned out by the sound of the cameras taking hundreds of pictures their desperation showing. “No.” He spoke smirking but Harry wasn’t impressed instead ripping the camera from the man’s neck before looking through the pictures which consisted of your ass more than anything Harry’s eyes dangerous as he looked at the photographer with cold eyes “how fucking dare you.” He spoke before shaking his head “you’re going to delete all these pictures right fucking now.” He demanded you reaching out to touch his arm “harry its okay I—“ “no way am I doing that. That’s all my work.” Harry clenched his jaw but tried to remain calm “fine. Thanks for the free camera.” He spoke coldly before shoving the man back and grabbing onto your hand again as he hurriedly pushed past the paparazzis ignoring their yells as he walked you to his car opening the door for you helping you get in before he shut the door,

“That’s my camera mr styles! You take it and I’ll sue you!” The man yelled Harry glancing at him knowing he shouldn’t do this but he didn’t care at this point “here— catch” he threw the camera at the man, the camera sliding through the man’s hand and crashing to the ground the lens smashing “oh no. That was your fault.” Harry spoke sarcastically before he got into his car shutting the door and locking the car before he reversed, the tyre of his car rolling over the camera— the paparazzi shouting, hitting the window “you’re so done!” He yelled at Harry and Harry paused rolling down the window “you have an issue. I’ll see you in court.” He spoke simply knowing the man wouldn’t even dare to take it to court as he would have a whole lot of list of allegations against him. Sexual assault. Assault. GBH. Everything. Harry then drove off abruptly his hands clenched around the steering wheel you breathing heavily as you stared down at your hands, hands trembling slightly. Harry didn’t say anything the whole drive but eventually his hand came down to rest against your thigh which he squeezed gently, thumb caressing over the material of your jeans attempting to comfort you.

“Are you okay?” He soon spoke only earning a nod from you, the car stopped at a red light before he reached over grabbing onto your chin gently as he forced you to look at him “are you okay?” You nodded sighing shakily “they’re just assholes.” You murmured softly and Harry chuckled “assholes one way to describe them… they’re greedy for money and attention. Something I won’t give them.” You sighed holding onto his hand tightly “I won’t let that happen again, y/n.” He spoke but he was promising that he wouldn’t let it happen again. No way. He then intertwined his fingers with yours bringing your hand up to his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand but he meant it. If the paparazzi tried to do anything again he wouldn’t just let them off with a warning— he’d break all their cameras even if he had to pay for new ones he didn’t care. Cameras could be replaced. You couldn’t…. And he knew that damn well. He couldn’t lose you, ever. He wouldn’t.

[hsonlyangelxo]

FML - I love this man more than ANYTHING. Like the hip bump?! PLEASE He's too cute for this World

[shortiepinocco]

The promise we couldn't keep,

the fate we couldn't have,

when we meet some day in the far future,

I won't let you go again.

[myonlyangel13]

30 minutes…

💋🖤🌹🍭🥃🚬

[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

[hunshine-styles]

he was holding hands with his friend as they approached the finish line so they could cross it together 😭😭😭

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

my lil bean you deserve the world 🤍

[1d1195]

Protection Extra IV

Read Protection here | ~1.8k words

From me: I really got to thinking about this idea from 🎶-ask. It is short, but hopefully it's enough. I've missed them loads. This is back within the first year of their official dating. I mentioned I would be jumping time frames a bit with these extras, so here it is.

Warnings: a little angsty. But fluffy overtones. Harry's just a protective guy. Also, the tiniest bit of smut but you have to squint and read between the lines. Mostly heavy making out and a little bit of touching.

Summary: Harry might not work for DSS anymore in the same way he used to. He doesn't guard her life because it's his job. He guards it because it's his life; her entire being is his and he would lose his mind (worse) if something happened to her.

She does not care to the same capacity as him. (But she does feel bad about it at least.)

“You said I could,” he frowned. The little scrunch between his eyebrows appeared when he concentrated. She loved it endlessly. Even if what he was asking was ridiculous. So as much as she loved that little furrow between his eyebrows, she was not going to cave. Instead, she smoothed her fingers on the bunch of skin and cupped his cheek with her hand. He turned into her hand and kissed her palm.

“Like as a joke, Harry,” she rolled her eyes she dropped her hand and returned to her previous position. She couldn’t see his face. But it didn’t matter. She already knew what faces he made any time she annoyed him anyway.

It was insane they were even having this conversation. Harry broached it so casually too. They were snuggled on the sofa, her body resting in his embrace. His knees bent around either side of her body and she laid across his torso. She fit so warmly against him it was hard to believe he was even asking her such a thing because the idea she would ever leave the circle of his arms was ridiculous.

“Okay,” he sighed. It was obvious he was frustrated by the decision. Her head was close enough to his mouth that he could kiss the top of her hair, so he did. He ran one hand up and down her arm sitting in the quiet while he held her safely in his arms. It was his favorite part of the day, holding her close to him where he knew nothing bad was going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

Obviously, she took his silence as plotting to convince her. Which he could never. He knew that. He knew he would have an easier time convincing a fish to walk than telling her what to do. “I literally have my phone on me all the time and now you know about my shoe trick.”

He sighed. “But y’didn't have y'phone,” he reminded her. “No shoes either.”

There was that; she would allow him that much. “Well, there's no more threat, so I don't need—”

"Kitten," he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He was exasperated. “I don’t want t’talk ‘bout this anymore,” he mumbled.

She frowned feeling bad she upset him. But he was thinking way too far over the top. “No one is even going to remember me anymore,” she whispered quietly. “He’s in jail for a really long time,” she reminded him. He didn’t answer her. “Harry,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

“I already said I don’t want t’talk ‘bout it anymore.”

Her frown deepened and she sighed; feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world because she wouldn’t put a tracking device in her arm. “I have the scrunchie, too; for when you’re away,” she reminded him. He nodded, still silent. “Harry,” she sat up on her knees, so she could look at him. He was so pretty, all soft skin and angular. He was so handsome it made her swoon on a regular basis, and he was all hers. But she had to stand her ground.

His eyes looked sad, tired. Too sad. “M’not trying t’be controlling.”

“Of course not, Harry. I know—”

“Honey,” he interrupted.

Her heart skipped a beat because for whatever reason, when he called her honey, it made her lose all rational thought. It seemed like the conversation was far more serious than when he called her kitten, love, or even Miss Wildflower. She felt like she was nothing more than a container of the very sweet goop he called her. “I talked ‘bout this with m’therapist and we... I know m’being... crazy,” he frowned. He cupped the side of her face as he spoke so softly. Like all of this was a secret. “But... I was insanely lucky,” he reminded her. “Y’were brilliant,” he complimented. “I told you ‘bout a fail safe in passing and y’had been planning all along. I was completely blindsided by y’departure. Every step you had planned was perfect. But if y’didn’t have an AirTag, I wouldn’t have found you,” he admitted. She didn’t speak because his compliment was too nice. She didn’t think about it all that much. Mainly because she didn’t like thinking about betraying Harry the way she did. It was nearly a year ago and he was still worried. It probably killed him to admit that out loud. Because it was his job at the time, and he wouldn’t have been able to find her. But it wasn’t just his job. He loved her so completely.

If something happened to her, she really believed Harry wouldn’t survive the guilt. He barely forgave himself for her injured leg and she wasn’t convinced he fully forgave himself for that either.

She turned toward his palm in the same way he had and kissed his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You don’t need t’apologize, kitten. Y’didn’t do anything wrong.”

She took a deep breath. She had her own therapist and they had also discussed a lot about her hyper-independence. Even with someone like Harry to rely on because she could, and he wouldn’t ever judge her. “I’m not...” she swallowed. “I had people follow me around for years, Harry,” she reminded him.

“I know—”

She pressed a finger to his lips gently. “I couldn’t do what I wanted ninety percent of my life, Harry,” she reminded him. “Do you know what it’s like to want to go to the mall to get new jeans because yours ripped and someone tells you that you can’t? Or that you want to go to a new frozen yogurt place with friends, but you’re not allowed to? If I forgot a vegetable for dinner, I couldn’t run to the store and back without it being a production,” he didn’t know what any of that felt like; not really. He only knew it from the end of production. The part of it all she didn’t like. So, he stayed quiet. “If you texted me every five minutes for the rest of our lives, asking where I was, I would tell you every. Single. Time,” she assured him locking her gaze with his. He felt it in his stomach, the way she looked at him. She meant every word she spoke. “If you put a tracking device in me it’ll... it’ll just feel like the rest of my life. Unable to make decisions on my own. Unable to live freely,” she told him. “You have my location through my phone. I am more than willing to have that scrunchie on my wrist and in my hair when you’re not within a couple hours of me,” she promised thinking about the weekend he spent with his mom. She wondered how long he stared at the little blipping dot that told him she was safe and in her house for most of the time he was gone. “Those AirTags saved my life because you told me I needed a failsafe, Harry. You saved me.”

His gaze dropped from hers and they were quiet. Harry didn’t like the compliment. He felt like he didn’t do a good job because she nearly drowned and had a scar on her thigh that made him want to smack his head on the wall for letting those things happen to her. Silently, she settled back into his arms, her ear resting so she had the perfect sound of his heart thudding against her.

“Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too,” his head dropped back against the arm of the sofa and he squeezed her. He thought of all those days she studied on the ground and how they were always this close to snuggling this way. “M’sorry m’so nervous,” he mumbled. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he pressed his nose just behind her ear, like he was tracing the outline of her hair behind it.

“I think if I had a tracking device, you wouldn’t enjoy your life. Wouldn’t take your eyes off it.”

He thought of visiting his mother back in March and how the anxiety built and fell over and over as he looked at the little blip telling him where her scrunchie was. She was right. He would have it on every screen he owned if he knew her exact location. “You’re right.”

“Oh, that had to have hurt,” she giggled and kissed his throat.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a genius, kitten. M’happy t’say you’re right.” It was embarrassing how those words turned her on. A shiver rippled through her. No one loved her as much as Harry. No one trusted her instinct, her intelligence, or judgement as much as he did. But it was more than that. Because Harry knew people didn’t believe her for years. People misjudged her abilities because of her father and circumstance. They didn’t believe in her. So it was like he had complimented how pretty she looked (which she did) when he said she was right. It wasn’t an ego thing. “Did y’like that, honey?” He hummed his lips nipping at her earlobe as he spoke.

Harry knew exactly how much she liked that.

“Off,” she ordered shoving his shirt up his torso. It didn’t matter than she had seen him without a shirt hundreds of times since the day they warmed up in his car after the icy dip in the water when he saved her life a second time in one week. She liked to feel the hard ripples of his stomach and he had promised she could look as much as she wanted once she was warm.

Well now she was warm. “Yes, ma’am,” he pulled it off the rest of the way and pulled her in to kiss her as deeply as he could before he pushed her back to the opposite end of the couch and settled between her legs. “Say it,” he whispered, not quite begging. But he wanted to hear it. Because it made him feel better. It made him worry less about all the thoughts they had discussed in the last hour. He carefully shifted her leg as if he was worried it was the very same day she nearly bled out. He slipped his hand between their bodies feeling her through her leggings.

She moaned softly while he kissed the length of her throat and brushed his lips against the swell of her chest as she tried to maintain enough air to speak before she was lost in Harry and all his perfection.

She had no problem saying it. Because it was true. Truer than most anything she believed in her life. Harry was hers and he was going to protect her in any way he could even if she wasn't willing to put a tracking device in her body. “I’m all yours,” she promised breathlessly.

--

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

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777

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

@cherryshouse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @cherrystyle @kaiohnsa @snwells

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 for more of my writing.

[gumballavocadoharry]

Rest is best; Brother Harry:

*Warning...lots of fluff!*

You woke up to the worst pounding hammer drumming headache imaginable. Your eyes, lips and nose were crusty, you didn't have any sense of smell or taste, your nose was like a faucet; dripping every second with every drop pinging and diluting into a damp spot on your comforter. Your throat was dry and scratchy, like you had swallowed a bunch of nails and your coughs sounded like your neighbor's barking dog that would alert the neighborhood every other Wednesday if his late dinner.

You could barely move; forcing yourself out of the bed and stampering into the bathroom for pills. Any pill. One to take the tumor of a headache away. You sat on the rim of the bathtub, scanning through the directions of the one dollar cold and flu syrup you had just bought. You started to regret how cheap it was, because it made you question if it would even work. But, you just moved into a new flat. Your first apartment.... something that currented excitement through, much to the dismay of your family. Especially your brother, Harry.

You could swear he saw you more as a baby than your mother, Anne; constantly reminding you of eating healthy every time you would shove down almost a whole pizza at dinner from fasting all day, or making you bundle up in the somber cool fall of London. It annoyed you, but you never knew just how much you would appreciate it once you left. Harry was your own smother mother, never letting you out of his sight or allowing anyone or anything to hurt you.

The conversation still picked at you, when you were loading the last of your boxes into the back of your Honda. "Yn, it's dangerous out there. What if someone robs you? What if you get stuck or lost? What if-"

"Harry, I'll be fine," You reassured him, "You're just worrying too much.... again."

That puppy dog look in his eyes; sad, confused and worried. Very worried. He shot a glance to Anne. "Mom!" He whined, "Harry, yn has it all under control." You shot a smile to Harry, after fully loading all the boxes into the car. "Goodbye Harry, I'll miss you." Harry pulled you in for a tight hug and kissed your face all over. "Please be careful sissy." He whispered in your ear. You nodded, kissed him goodbye, got in your car and drove to your new apartment.

A sudden stab shot through your head, like a rod was piercing your brain. You looked at the medicine in your hand, poured the pink syrup solution into the little cup and took a look a large sip and swallowing it without allowing one drop to bite through on your taste buds. You fumbled yourself back into bed and dimed your lights. Working was not an option and your chores were completely off the table. You knew there were only a few people you could call, and your first choice was Gemma or Anne.

Neither one picked up.

You remembered the last time you’d had even a mild sniffle. Harry had descended upon your tiny flat like a knight in shining armour, armed with enough medication to stock a small pharmacy and the unwavering belief that you were on your deathbed. He’d banned you from moving from the sofa, insisted on spoon-feeding you chicken soup (which, admittedly, was delicious, but still!), and had even taken to checking your temperature every hour, on the hour. It had been… a lot. And right now, facing a truly awful cold, that was precisely what you were desperately trying to avoid.

A sigh escaped your lips, thick with congestion. You stared at your phone screen, scrolling through your contacts. There was really only one option left. The option you had been desperately trying to avoid all day. His name stared back at you – Harry.

You hesitated. Could you really do this? Subject yourself to ‘Operation: Harry’s Cold Care’? The alternative, however, was to continue feeling like you were slowly being consumed by a particularly nasty virus monster, alone and utterly wretched. With another groan, you pressed his name.

The phone rang twice before he answered, his voice instantly warm and bright, even through the phone static. “Hey, love! What’s up?”

“Hey, Haz,” you croaked, wincing at how weak and pathetic you sounded.

“You alright? You sound a bit… rough.” Even over the phone, Harry could pick up on the slightest change in your voice. It was both endearing and slightly unnerving.

“Yeah, um, not really,” you admitted, deciding to rip off the bandage quickly. “I think I’ve got a really bad cold.”

Silence. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his intelligent, worry-prone brain. Then, his voice, laced with concern, “Oh, no, love. Are you okay? What are your symptoms? Have you taken anything?”

Here we go, you thought internally, bracing yourself. “Yeah, it’s just… everything, really. Sore throat, headache, stuffy nose, chills. I’ve taken some paracetamol.” You decided to omit the part where you felt like you might spontaneously combust into a coughing fit at any moment.

“Right, right, okay. Don’t move. Just stay right there. I’m coming over.”

“Harry, no, it’s okay, honestly. I can manage,” you protested weakly, even as a tiny part of you, the part that was feeling utterly miserable and alone, breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nonsense,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You need looking after. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” And before you could argue further, he’d hung up.

Twenty minutes stretched into what felt like five, and then, just as you were starting to doze off on the sofa, you heard a frantic knocking at your door. You dragged yourself up to open it, feeling every muscle in your body protest.

Harry stood there, a whirlwind of dark brown hair and green eyes, his face etched with concern. He was carrying a large bag, which you suspected contained enough supplies to last you through a small plague. Before you could even say hello, he’d swept past you, his gaze taking in your pale face and slumped posture.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, his voice soft with sympathy. “You look awful.” It wasn’t exactly the most flattering assessment, but coming from Harry, it was imbued with pure affection.

He gently steered you back to the sofa, fussing with the blanket around you, making sure you were comfortable. Then he started unpacking his bag, pulling out an array of items that made you raise a slightly amused, albeit congested, eyebrow. There was a digital thermometer, a box of tissues (extra soft, naturally), a jar of honey, lemons, ginger, a vapour rub, a hot water bottle, and even a small humidifier that you hadn’t even known he owned.

“Right, first things first,” he announced, his tone now firmly in ‘big brother nurse’ mode. “Temperature.” He brandished the thermometer like a weapon against your illness. You obediently opened your mouth, and he took your temperature with practiced efficiency. “Slight fever,” he declared, reading the digital display. “Nothing too drastic, but we need to keep an eye on it.”

He then proceeded to make you comfortable, fluffing pillows, dimming the lights, and generally creating an atmosphere of soothing quietness. He bustled around your kitchen, and soon the comforting aroma of ginger and lemon filled the air. He reappeared with a steaming mug of tea, carefully handing it to you.

“Sip this slowly,” he instructed, perching on the edge of the coffee table, watching you intently. “It’s got honey, lemon, and ginger. It’ll soothe your throat.”

You took a tentative sip. It was hot and slightly spicy, and yes, it did feel incredibly soothing on your raw throat. “Thanks, Harry,” you mumbled, genuinely touched by his care.

“Don’t mention it, love. What are big brothers for?” he said with a warm smile.

And then began the full force of ‘Operation: Harry’s Cold Care’. He fussed over you for the entire afternoon, making sure you were constantly hydrated, offering you spoonfuls of honey at regular intervals, and even giving you a gentle head massage with the vapour rub, which, surprisingly, did help to clear your sinuses a little. He told you stories, read aloud from a silly novel he’d been enjoying, and generally kept you company, his presence a warm and comforting bubble in your misery.

It was, admittedly, a little overwhelming at times. He insisted on fluffing your pillows every half hour, and at one point, you found yourself stifling a giggle as he meticulously adjusted your blanket for the tenth time in an hour. But beneath the slightly over-the-top doting, there was a genuine tenderness, a deep and unwavering affection that warmed you from the inside out, even more than the hot lemon and honey.

As the evening wore on, and the paracetamol started to kick in, you felt yourself slowly drifting towards sleep. Harry was still there, sitting quietly beside you, working on his laptop but glancing over at you every few minutes to make sure you were okay. The gentle hum of the humidifier filled the room, a soothing white noise against the background of the city outside.

You opened your eyes slightly, and saw him look up, his green eyes meeting yours. “Feeling any better, love?” he asked softly.

You managed a small smile. “A little, yeah. Thanks to you.”

He smiled back, a warm, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “That’s all that matters.” He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

“Just rest now. I’ll stay for a bit longer, just in case.”

[harry-styles-obsessed]

We’ll be alright

Requested: yes.

Synopsis: reader is struggling to get out of an abusive relationship, what happens when the two find themselves at a Harry styles concert and are surprisingly interrupted by someone concerned for y/n’s safety.

Trigger warnings: neglect, abuse, bruising, toxic relationships, abusive boyfriend. Please don’t read if you’re sensitive to such topics, take care of yourselves lovelies.

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

“Tom. Not now” you spoke exhaling. The sound of Harry’s voice rang out around the arena— voice loud and clear “yes now.” He spat out before firmly grabbing onto your wrist practically dragging you out, barging past people dancing and past security who really should’ve done something but they barely noticed. Harry’s voice got fainter and fainter— kiwi being blasted, one of your favourite songs, but that soon became the least of your worries your boyfriend of two years dragging you until eventually stopping in an alleyway many cars parked in the alleyway but you didn’t focus on that

“What was that?” Tom growled out and you stared at him confused “what was what?” “You dancing with those pricks! What are you now? A fucking slut? Is that who you’ve turned into? A slut looking for men to fuck huh?” His words were cruel and unnecessary your brows arching “how dare you!” You spoke angrily to him and he shoved you abruptly “how dare I? Y/n how dare you! You’re a slut and a wasteful bitch.” Your eyes searched his face knowing he meant every word but you wished he didn’t. What had changed him? Why had he changed? Why wasn’t he the same loving man you knew before? Kiwi was still playing, the screaming of fans continued echoing around but all you could hear was Tom’s aggressive words “you’re a joke and a slut! No wonder you won’t let me touch you anymore! Too fucking scared because you sleep with too many men!” And before you could even react he had you pinned against the wall, his breath fanning against your face making you squirm “you’re a waste of space y/n. A fucking waste of space. You hear me? You drag me to this stupid fucking concert to stare at yet another man you clearly want to fuck!” “Tom you’re being cra-“ “I am not being crazy y/n! Shut the fuck up!” His voice echoed down the alleyway, angry and abrupt— voice loud enough for members of the public to take notice but they didn’t dare to get involved. “Oh screw you!” You attempted to pull away only for him to abruptly slap you across the face “you’re going to regret that you little b—“

“hey!” A firm voice suddenly spoke toms head moving to look at the stranger who was emerging from the darkness “take a damn walk, man.” The shadowed man spat out Tom glaring right at him. “Or what, man.” He spoke sarcastically “this ain’t none of your business! You take a fucking walk! Let me handle my shit!” Suddenly Tom was gripping onto your hair, but that didn’t last long, the burning on your scalp disappearing— your attention flying to the man who had your boyfriends wrist gripped in his hand, bent slightly at the elbow glaring right at him “want me to call the police or do you want to take a walk?” His voice now that you focused on it was oddly familiar. Scarily familiar… your breath hitched slightly. You watched your boyfriend rip out of the man’s hold before storming off out of the alleyway. You remained tucked in the corner, back pressed tightly against the cold brick wall the darkness surrounding you scared you— but before you could’ve even question anything the familiar stranger could be heard shuffling before a bright torch flashed in your eyes making you squint, realising he had pulled his phone out and was creating light either to bring some form of comfort to you.. or to make sure you didn’t need medical attention. “Are you okay?”

You refused to look at him feeling all shaky and nervous. You knew who it was and to be quite honest you were embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.” Was all your could muster up before finally you looked at him and low and behold it was who you thought it was. Harry fucking styles. The man who had saved your life with his music at the age of 15 and here you were at the age of 20 being saved yet again but in a whole another way. “Don’t apologise.” Was all he said before he glanced around eyes taking a quick look at your outfit which practically screamed ‘love on tour’ and he sighed knowing it was a risk but it was more of a risk leaving you in the hands of a monster,

“Come with me.” He spoke and you were hesitant at first but with his hand on the small of your back he guided you into the backstage area of the arena. You didn’t speak frankly upset and traumatised. Sure it had gotten bad at times but not that bad. Your hands trembled slightly by your side as you were lead into his dressing room “get comfortable. Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” He questioned but you only shook your head. “Well I’m not letting you go back with him.” Was all he said before he exited the room making you panic slightly worried he was going to get someone to take you elsewhere but much to your surprise he returned with a bottle of water, a blanket and a goodie bag which looked to have some sweets and snacks in it. “Here. Stay here as long as you want alright? Just try and.. relax.” You nodded gratefully a silence quickly wrapping around the two of you before you glanced at him “thank you.” Was all you said and he only shook his head, seeming at a loss for words as he sat down opposite you. “What’s your name?” You looked at him “y/n.” He smiled and reached his hand out “nice to meet you y/n. I’m Harry.” You hesitantly shook his hand before retracting your hand looking back down “I’m so sorry you should be celebrating and—“ “don’t apologise. I’m glad I could help.” He spoke and you felt your heart begin to race in your chest feeling his eyes evaluate you.

“You did more than help me.” You murmured honestly and he raised a brow “you saved my life, harry… honest.” He seemed slightly confused and due to your vulnerability and trust in him despite him being a stranger he was your idol. “I’ve been trying to get out of that relationship for two years.” The look on his face was a look of alarm “I think you’ve helped me see that he really is the issue.” Harry nodded clearly fighting the urges to say something about Tom. You and him soon spent a while chatting about everything and anything and eventually you felt like you could head back home now. You of course declined the offer of him driving you home and staying with you until you could file a report against Tom— he had done more than enough already. “Let me call you a taxi at least.” He spoke and you eventually agreed, he called a taxi and paid for all the funds before he walked with you outside his hand ghosting just against your lower back. “You promise not to go back to him?” He spoke and you glanced at him, nodding your head “promise.” You smiled slightly your eyes searching his before you focused on headlights growing closer and closer the ‘taxi’ sign glowing.

“This is my ride I guess…” you murmured before looking at him before quickly without even thinking hugging him tightly, him reciprocating the hug holding onto you securely hand rubbing up and down your back not letting you go until you loosened your grip on him, but you didn’t let go— which he soon noticed hugging you closer again proving exactly what the stories said… he didn’t let go until you let go. “Thank you for everything.” You spoke into his ear quietly before you pulled away not allowing him to ask anything. He opened the door for you before he grabbed your wrist stopping you momentarily “let me know when you get home” was the only thing he said and you nodded smiling slightly. You got into the taxi before the taxi pulled off the curb your stomach fluttering… your idol had saved your life… the drive was fairly quick— yet you were nervous that Tom would be there but he wasn’t. You exhaled thanking the driver before exiting the taxi and making your way towards your apartment sliding the key in and opening the door just as your phone vibrated in your pocket:

H: did you get home safely

A small smile tugged at your lips as you read the message over and over again. It was a simple message but it was so special. Proof that he cared for you.

Y/n: locking the front door now.

H: good. Glad you’re home.

His messages were instant proving that you were on his mind… it made you feel a certain way. You stared at the messages for a while— about fifteen minutes passing. You were grinning at the phone like an idiot yet you were still nervous the psycho would show up… you let out a shaky breath before typing out a quick message

Y/n: harry?

H: y/n

You smiled like an idiot again being able to hear his voice through the phone

Y/n: is that offer still open?

You watched the chat bubble move in the motion for a while— before it abruptly stopped. It made you anxious. Worried. Terrified even. Yet you didn’t spam him with messages you just patiently waited but eventually to your surprise you heard a knock at your front door and you cautiously walked towards it before unlocking the door and pulling it open seeing Harry a small smile playing at his lips as you stared at him in awe… your favourite celebrity literally offering to help you and not hesitating to help.. he was literally perfect.

“I’m flattered, love. But are you going to let me in?” You blushed deeply before moving away from the door letting him in before shutting the door again and locking it. “Why’d you change your mind?” He questioned as you walked with him towards your bedroom, and you paused glancing at him before you smiled “you protected me when no one else did.“ you spoke honestly before you sighed gently “you won’t leave will you?” You asked and he studied you carefully before smiling tattooed arm wrapping around your shoulders “not until you want me gone. No.” He spoke softly as you leaned into his embrace. “I don’t think I ever want you gone.” You murmured honestly a smile tugging on his lips his dimples appearing “the feelings mutual, sweetheart.” You didn’t know what that exactly meant but truly it was multilayered. He didn’t want to leave because he knew Tom could manipulate you again and do much worse and he had to make sure that didn’t happen to you again… he didn’t care what it took.

He was going to keep you afloat in these rough conditions until you learnt how to protect yourself… he was going to be your saviour until you didn’t need him anymore but let’s be honest… you’d always need him no matter what.

[wherearethelarriess]

imagines just sailing away (away, away)

ohpleaselarry

————————

Summary: 2021 is ending in an hour and seemingly out of nowhere, one Harry Styles discovers himself - or, rather, herself.

Inspired by: she - harry styles

{Aaaahhh I love this fic sm. Please read if you’re interested in domestic Larry, protective Louis, trans harry, and just a whole bunch of fluff}