#ladyredstyles

Hi! I do know a few that I've liked, but unfortunately it's not a trope that gets written much in our fandom. Here are my recs for you though!

I'll Grow You a Garden Inside My Heart by neptune rising / @thelesserneptune

Jewellery has always looked good on Louis. As the skies were blue and the sugar sweet, Louis was the most beautiful person he had ever gotten to meet. Once upon another life, they had Salome, whose beauty could push a king to obey her and cut another man’s head off. In Harry’s life, he had Louis, who held both his severed head and heart on a golden platter. If she had been clothed only with the most lavish of clothes and jewellery, Louis hadn’t needed as much to get Harry under his clutch. Harry’s cheeks had been set aflame when his 16-year-old defiance had led him to getting a belly piercing; his heart had raced when a UNI crossdressing Halloween party had his cross necklace lying between Louis’ bralette-covered chest; his breath had shortened at Louis’ 21st birthday with his hands in the boy’s coronated hair and his eyes full of the biggest, most kissable smile on the planet.

And now, his heart clenched and his jaw locked as he stared at a ring he wouldn’t have picked sitting on the left hand of the boy he would choose, over and over and over again, yet didn’t choose him.

Or: Harry is hired to plan the wedding of his best friend he is so madly in love with it makes him sick. Literally.

My Lungs Don't Breathe (don't want any kind of life without you, dear) by red_panda28 / @red-panda-28

Suddenly a cough bubbled up in his lungs and he froze. Laying in his palm was a single flower petal, pastel pink, and velvet soft. The first thought that struck him was well, guess I am in love with Louis. Then another realisation hit. It also meant that Louis didn’t love him back.

OR

Harry falls victim to the Hanahaki Disease after meeting Louis, Louis has his own secret, and Zayn is a good friend

give me something (all of your love) by honey_beeing

Harry braces himself, shoulders drawn taut as he forces himself to cough. After a few tries and a last strong guffaw, he feels something finally dislodge. He looks down at what he spit out, feeling his eyes bug out of their sockets. 

A flower. A small, wet, red rose, stark against the black of his sink.