i. snap.

in which the reader is harry’s tour photographer and harry is maybe just very friendly.

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just wanted to take a moment to shed some light on some of my favorite stories I read in the year 2020! all of the people below are incredibly talented and deserve more recognition than I could ever give so please take the time to check out whatever stories of theirs I haven’t had the pleasure of reading yet! these are in no particular order just tried to organize by author! a huge thank you to all of you wonderful souls for creating such lovely and creative dream worlds to help me through 2020. I look forward to getting to read more from you all in the new year!

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thank you!!!!

i. art.

in which harry is impossible to describe.

…

Harry was almost always an early riser.

Always up with the sun to work out, or get into the studio early, to make her breakfast, to make phone calls.

Sometimes, she’d wake up just a short while after him and wander downstairs to find him at the coffee table, golden light shining through the steam rising from his hot coffee, his knees curled up to his chest in a chair facing one of their great glass windows, pen between his teeth, battered leather notebook leaning against his thighs, curls sticking up in all the wrong places. She could watch him like that for days, pressed up against the wall silently as so not to disturb him. An artist at work. A boy with an idea so good, he had to get out of bed just to put it on paper, to record his flowing lyrics and mesmerizing rhymes by the light of the only just rising sun, his face still puffy with sleep, features still peaceful and soft, pen scribbling over the empty space in front of him, fingers tapping out a still unheard beat on his leg.

But sometimes, there were very rare days. Days where he let himself relax, no alarm, no phone calls, no writing. Days where he let himself forget the schedules and throw off his natural (albeit alien) circadian rhythm to let himself stay in the warmth of their shared space. She loved waking up in the weight of his embrace, or with her cheek pressed to his heart, and knowing they had more time to drift together, to let the calls go to voicemail and force the guitars collect even just a thin layer of dust.

And there were rarer days still. Days where she found her eyes drifting open and his still laid shut, squares of gold falling on his cheeks through the open spots in the blinds, lighting up the shades of caramel and cocoa that littered the loose curls on his head, laying down gently over his forehead as he nuzzled into the pillow he had his arms tucked around.

It was always so hard to resist the urge to reach out and trace all the curves of his face, to run her fingertips over those cheekbones, that nose, that cupid’s bow, that jawline.

He was her boyfriend— she knew him, inside and out, knew his weaknesses and strengths, his flaws, however numbered they may be. But sometimes, watching him take slow breaths, berry red lips just slightly parted, spread out on his belly, it felt impossible to believe he was anything but art. Carved by Michelangelo himself, belonging in the Louvre alongside David and Venus. An angel, maybe, sculpted by some higher being, brought to her accidentally, since there’s no way she could ever deserve someone like this.

But then he’d stir with a little sigh and the little crease between his brows would appear and his eyelids would flutter and she’d be reminded of just what a person he was— one with the biggest heart she’d ever seen, the more love and kindness running through his veins than anyone she knew.

(An angel, then. Nothing manmade could ever be quite so beautiful, inside and out.)

(Yes, he was human, the most human human, but sometimes, she was still convinced he might bleed ichor.)

This morning was no different. Their legs tangled together underneath the heavy down comforter, her eyes tracing over the curves and lines of his face. She wanted to kiss him, to press her lips over every exposed inch of skin she could find, to just crawl on top of him and wrap her limbs around him and envelope him. She would be the glass to his Mona Lisa, the protection for the priceless work of art he was.

She really didn’t know how much time passed— a couple minutes? A couple hours? It didn’t matter, not really— neither of them had plans other than this, to lounge and enjoy each other’s company. She really could stay like this forever, just watching him breathe, but it never lasted too long.

His eyes slowly opened, long eyelashes fluttering, sleepy green eyes landing upon her face, the corner of his pink lips lifting into a nearly invisible smile.

(He always did that, smiled at her when he woke up, like she was the only thing he wanted to see. Like she could ever deserve to be something he admired.)

He sleepily pushed himself up onto his arms and shifted over to her side of the bed before flopping down onto her shoulder, pressing light kisses (the word being used lightly— he was hardly skimming his lips over her skin, lazily just slightly pursing them with no aim at all) to the skin beneath. “Mornin’, gorgeous.”

(It was such a conflict whenever he did this, the hardly-awake, mumbled compliments. There weren’t words to express how much she loved him, how much she adored his adoration, and yet the very implication that she could be considered anything beyond average next to a creature like him was laughable.) 

She ran her fingers through his messy hair, smiling at the contented sigh that left his mouth. “Morning.”

His arms came up to wrap around her as best he could with the bed in the way. “You starin’ again?”

It was mumbled into the skin of her neck, but she still heard just fine, rolling her eyes. “It sounds creepy when you put it that way. You’re just very nice to look at.”

(And he was. Oh, he was. Carved from the finest marble, sculpted by what must have been the best hands money could buy.)

He moved to hold himself up on his arms, looking her at her with a smirk painted across his face. “Enjoying the view?”

You weren’t supposed to touch art, but she wasn’t a big fan of following rules— she reached up to put her hands on his cheeks, pulling him down to press their lips together.

(A reminder that he was in fact real, the warmth of his lips on hers. There was something so organic in the way he loved, something that no piece of canvas or limestone could ever achieve.)

Their contact was broken, but it was very easy for him to find himself with his legs over her hips, arms still holding himself up over her. “Were you?”

Her fingers traced over the muscles in his tattooed arm as she looked up at him. “Was I what?”

“Enjoying the view.”

(Enjoying it? She was absolutely savoring it, committing it to memory, the image of him relaxed and peaceful in the still of the quiet morning. He wasn’t a piece of art, no, but he was something better— still priceless and beautiful, but with a beating heart and air in his lungs and warm skin that she could touch and a smile just for her. He was a person and he loved her, and that was worth more than anything to be found in any museum.)

“You could say that.”

an actual work of art. i don’t have words to describe adequately how much i love this but suffice to say that it’s very, very, very much. 

sobbing. thank you <33

HARRY STYLES RECS

boyfriend!harry

your camera roll dating harry @bfharry

faye in quarentine @harryforvogue

wild flower lightning storm @twilightstilinski

dad!harry

i want your belly @harryysstyless

sneaking food @stylesvolume94

40 weeks @harryforvogue

grocery shopping @lovemepleaase

canyon moon @twilightstilinski

adore you @twilightstilinski

golden @twilightstilinski

lights up @twilightstilinski

husband!harry

watermelon sugar @twilightstilinski

dom!harry

this relationship of ours @harryforvogue

harry!smut

kisses in the rain @harrywritingsbyme

safeword @stylesvolume94

masterpiece @harryforvogue

sugar kisses @harryforvogue

thank you so much!!!!!

Blurbs Fic Rec

look i finally organized my fic rec tag so you all can go through it easier! this isn’t arranged in any particular order, imade it as random as possible! lmk if any links aren’t working and make sure you go and give all these writers some love bc theyre all insanely talented and deserve the world and i adore them all to pieces!! also if you prefer to scroll click here :)

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thank you!!

i. twenty-five.

this is soooo short, but if i hadn’t posted something, i never would have forgiven myself. 

happy birthday to my ray of sunshine, my pumpkin pie, my muse. i can’t wait to see how you make twenty-five even more radiant than twenty-four. love you, hazza. happy birthday. <3

read the rest of my writing here.

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Sometimes you just gotta masturbate your anxiety away

— Review by i-D

Harry Styles Appears In “Burning Questions” Segment

he’s so hot

Jan 2nd, 2020

Harry with a fan in Anguilla, 02/01 (via gucciforharry)