CONVERTED SNEAK PEEK (RUGBY!HARRY) COMING SOON! (NSFR)

“P’ppet?” It barely penetrates the thick fog of Y/N’s slumber—takes a pregnant moment for her ears to signal her brain—and then another moment for her brain to process the moniker and its mumbling speaker. They’d fallen asleep in an intimate enough of an embrace, Harry soothed when his best friend draped the weight of her body over his own in one final hug before bed. But he hadn’t let her go; hadn’t let her escape to her own side of the bed (because there was no way she was sleeping in her own hotel room after such a day) and she’d been content about it—only silently. 

How else could she feel when the mass of Harry’s biceps curled around her body like they might crush her brittle bones? Could, but never would. Safe in the arms of a very capable man, his vessel broad and solid underneath the smaller outline of her own. He feels like a boat in this position, wrapping up around her and keeping her safe from the oncoming slew of harsh waves amidst the treacherous sea.

And he’s warm. So warm. A human heater, some may tease—Y/N does tease, on frequent occasion—to extract a predictable mossy eye roll. His roiling heat paired with the compression of his hold had lulled her mind to sleep almost selfishly quickly, and if she’d been any more awake she might have fought it, might have brushed the pad of her thumb across the top of Harry’s brow until she was sure he’d drifted off. Would’ve accompanied him until he’d left the sadness of his day behind. But she just couldn’t help it, and it seemed as though Harry had only encouraged the evening of her breaths and the steady thump of her heart atop his chest. If her eyes had been open then she would’ve been able to observe the calm quirk of his lips as he gazed upon the back of her head and her face nestled into the crease of his neck.

She would have been able to see the ease in which Harry’s own eyelids fluttered shut as soon as he felt content that she was asleep. And she might have felt it necessary to call him weird to quell the nervous energy thrumming inside her body. To dispel any unwise thoughts she might conjure in the fuzzy whirl of received devotion.

pleasing

y/n is harry's best friend and she'd never received a valentine's present like this one before.

wordcount: 9.5k+

—————

Just as she finished patting in her skincare for the night, (Y/N)'s phone vibrated for where she had it plugged in, in her bedroom. There was only one person that would be calling her this late at night. 

Dismissing the products she had scattered on her bathroom counter, she rushed back into her room. Upon the screen was a blurry, distorted picture of her best friend with his hair on top of his head in different spikes, thanks for a heaping of sticky hair gel and free time during a snowstorm. His name was plastered across the top, the peapod emoji right next to it. She didn't hesitate before she answered the call. 

"Harry?" she sang after pressing her phone to her ear.

"Hey, are you busy?" 

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

this for real fucking works

🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼

jealously, jealousy

a one shot from the Something Old universe (its 4k sooo can't quite call it a blurb can I)

lots of these glimpses from their relationship are lovely and bright and i wanted to explore the ugly.

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2013

You were frozen on your stairs, the speech you had just spent an hour rehearsing flying out of your brain as you stared down at him. The two of them, you should say, as they chatted with your parents. There he was, the love of your bloody life, wrapped around the world’s most famous pop star. And here she was, in your living room. In your hometown. With your Harry. 

No - not your Harry. Clearly not your Harry if the way they were leaning into each other was any indication. He brought her home for the holidays. How could you be so stupid?! To think that he’d ever want to be with –

“You gonna keep standing there or you gonna say hi?”

fast car by tracy chapman isnt even a song thats God

good things fall apart

as always, any feedback or comments would be greatly appreciated, along with a reblog to share it. i would love to hear your thoughts on this one <3

word count: 1.9k (!!) | masterlist 

warnings: slight angst, sad break up :(

“You have reached the voicemail box of-”

The sound of your phone hitting the ground echoed through the bathroom. Damaging it was the last thing on your mind. You were too frustrated but petty enough to not care, because you knew he wouldn’t be answering anytime soon.

After the fifth try, you gave up. You were past the point of giving him the benefit of the doubt. As busy and important as your boyfriend was, his promises of always being there for you, physically and emotionally, had seemed to fall through. This wasn’t the first time.

You didn’t care what he was doing. It had been hours since you had heard from him. There wasn’t a show tonight, so reaching Harry usually wasn’t a problem until it was. You needed him, he wasn’t there, that was it. 

Keep reading

recently saw a tiktoker talk about an ongoing case and say (direct quote) “we are literally watching a true crime documentary unfold before our very eyes” and that really sums up a lot of the criticisms I have about the way people talk about and consume true crime content. people are already twisting real peoples deaths into its potential future entertainment value for them before the family even has time to grieve

not to sound like a commie or anything but I hate how it costs money to be alive

southpaw

friends to lovers is my new favorite trope to write — i felt so giddy building up their story so i hope you enjoy it <3

as always, please reblog/leave feedback !!!

word count: 6k

warnings: language, stupid baseball stuff, descriptions of injury, brief nsfw content, YEARNING

- moodboard -

• • •

Orlando, 1991

They call him Southpaw.

Individuals who don’t follow nineteenth century baseball terms know him as the left-handed pitcher that wins every single game for the Orlando SunRays at Tinker Field located downtown.

When he’s not found in the ballpark wearing his usual blue and white uniform, a brown or denim cap sits atop his head paired with inked skin that seems to have a new design added to the collection each time he’s spotted by an onlooker.

Harry Styles. The praised name belongs to the six foot tall, curly-headed boy that is swiftly on his way to stardom. Built with strong arms that can throw curveball and slider pitches with lightning speed, he’s an undeniable force to reckoned with on the field.

The twenty-five year old is essentially the backbone of his team, the best in the Southern League, and the player that makes all the others green with envy. He impressively balances the substantial titles all while remaining charismatic and altruistic to every person he comes across.

Keep reading

reblog this w your weirdest fear!!! mine’s balloons

writers be like i can only illustrate homosexuality through hate crimes

Defund the police and abolish prisons.

a little life / blue lily, lily blue

People really need to realise that “media can affect real life” doesn’t mean “this character does bad things so people will read that and start doing bad things” and actually means “ideas in fiction especially stereotypes about minority groups can affect how the reader views those groups, an authors implicit prejudices can be passed on to readers”

Harry in Italy - June 14

I saw everyone on twitter tearing Emma Watson apart for saying she’s self - partnered instead of single and decided to watch her interview for British Vogue to know what the hell was she trying to say with that. I was very surprised to find a 30 minute video in which amongst other things she talks about the following:

Every media outlet decided to focus in an out of context quote from the three minutes she talked about her dating life when the actual interview had a lot of depth and way more important things were discussed. I’m sad and angry but not surprised.