🪩 Kiss All The Time 🪩

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[harrystylesarchives]

Fic Rec List

Hades Harry & Demon Harry

AU Pt. 1

AU Pt. 2

POC Reader, Plus Size Reader & Famous Reader

Series

Sub Harry, Breeding Kink & Anal

Older Harry & Inexperienced Reader

Weddings, Proposals & Honeymoons

Angst, Angst to Smut & Cheating

Fratboy Harry, Boxer Harry & CEO Harry

Dom/Daddy Harry & Subspace Reader

Dad (& To Be) Harry & Single Parent

Fluff & Smut

Friends To Lovers

Smut

Angst To Fluff

Fluff

[jarofstyles]

roommate/best friend!h ? Best friends but theyre really touchy and flirty and obviously have a soft spot for each other. Maybe grumpy x sunshine (harry being sunshine , like very clingy and touchy)

And despite harry having wanted it all along, to her it feels wrong but right, like he finally gets her how he's always dreamed and shes like "why does it feel so good h" and he's like "i know baby"

I love this so much let me do something with this >:) I rarely do black cat Y/N and golden retriever Harry but this was fun!!!

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Warnings- dry humping, hinge mention, Instagram 'stalking' lol

Never in a million years did Y/N think she would end up on the couch with her roommate on top of her, but apparently the universe had different plans they hadn’t wanted to let her know about.

Harry was cute. Yes, he was hot, but he was cute. Like a puppy who followed her around, tail wagging and just happy to be included whenever she allowed him to sit in her room and watch her do her makeup or watch Love Island with her. He was chatty and sweet, going out of his way to do things for her in a way that had first made her quite suspicious, but now that she knew him… she knew that was just how he was.

He liked to help her with her hair when she couldn’t reach the back for a style, or made her brownies with dark chocolate to help her during her cycle (which he tracked? Somehow?). Harry picked her up happily when her car died and she had to get to work, never once complaining about it or accepting any gas money (much to her dismay). In fact, he’d seemed overjoyed when she asked him for a ride and had volunteered himself to pick her up and drop her off until her car got fixed, which had been about a week.

Always offering her the aux, or his phone where he had a playlist made of songs he knew she liked, he made sure to have food ready for her or stop somewhere to get her food (again, on his dime), and it had felt really strange to be cared for so throughly by a friend but… she strangely liked it.

With anyone else? She’d likely feel smothered. Harry liked to be in her space, sort of like he’d crawl into her skin if she let him. While she was never much of a cuddler, he had asked and it was hard to say no after a day where she had felt dejected yet again.

It hadn’t started off that way, but with her hinge match canceling the date last minute only for her to see him out on Instagram (she stalked on her burner, okay? Sue her), she had settled in for a night of sulking on the couch.

In most circumstances, she’d tell people to leave her the fuck alone. Her phone was on DND, her laptop was open to add to her ‘dream life’ board, her tarot cards were ready to be consulted, and the last thing she wanted to do was be bothered, but seeing Harry’s concerned face when he walked in had made her irritation that was burning hot move towards more of a simmer.

He had bags of takeout with him and she could see in the grocery store bag that he had a pint of ice cream.

"I saw that your location hadn't moved and I knew you had a date tonight, so I figured you'd want some caloric comfort." He said as he set the bags down on the island of their kitchen, looking at her hair piled on top of her head and her oversized tee shirt that had a perturbed looking kitten sticking up a middle finger with text saying "FLUFF OFF" on it that he had gotten her when he'd gone to the mall a few months back.

It was her 'I'm in a bad mood so leave me alone' tee shirt, so he could connect the dots.

"I can go sit in my room if you want to be alone, but I knew something must have happened. Did he ask your body count like the last guy?"

Y/N bit back a laugh because Harry did remember basically everything she said. It was strangely endearing, even if she did wonder how his head had all the space for remembering the shit he had to do for his own life and how he had somehow managed to take care of her own without being asked.

"No. He cancelled and said he was sick, but... I saw that he wasn't." Avoiding eye contact, she knew he would likely see right through her.

"Ah. The fake Instagram showed something again?" He frowned, sighing as he put the ice cream into the freezer before grabbing some plates.

"I hate that you found that out."

"Well, I know who usually looks at my stories and I saw one with a cat profile photo. Then you happened to know where I was, so I put two and two together, honey." He laughed, not looking perturbed at all at the memory. He knew Y/N was usually staunchly anti-putting-herself-on-social-media, even if he had told her that her beauty and humor could make her the next big influencer, so he hadn't bugged her about it. "But there's no shame in a little internet stalking. I'd argue its safe to know more about these strangers you're going to meet in this day and age."

One of the loveliest things about Harry was the fact that he never really made her feel bad, awkward or uncomfortable about well... anything.

So when she had spilled about how badly she had wanted to meet up with this guy because it had been forever since she'd gotten laid, the last thing she'd expected was to end up with Harry's body on top of hers, her tiny shorts doing nothing to hide his bulge as he rocked against her and his mouth planting sloppy kisses over her neck.

"I'll help you with anything you need." He murmured, hand cradling the back of her head so tenderly that if she thought about it too hard, she'd tear up. Dry humping wasn't something she had done since she was in school, but somehow, right now, it felt better than sex.

She'd known he was hung just from his shameless ability to walk around in briefs or the times she'd caught him being lazy with the towel when walking back to his room after a shower, but feeling the tip of his cock in his filmsy gym shorts nudging against her clit? It was a whole new awakening.

"Fuck." She whined, higher than she wanted to but unable to help it. Her long nails clawed at his back through his shirt but it did little to deter him. If anything, his weight got heavier on top of her and his thrusts against her clothed cunt got more insistent as the black acrylics dragged down his shoulder blades. "Why... Why does it feel so good?"

Thee confusion made him laugh, sponging his lips right under her ear. "Cause we fit together perfectly, honey." His own voice was labored, deeper than she ever heard it, and when he dragged her thigh up to wrap over her hip, she heard the sweetest whimper that ever existed come from his mouth directly into her ear. "Y-Yeah, we fit really well, and... And you need me to take care of you. I want t'take care of you."

The insistence was paired with his slow drags of his cock against her getting a bit faster, fingers curling into her hair as he gently tilted her head back to give his mouth more surface to kiss on. "You're so pretty, smell so good. That guy.... Fuckin' stupid. I'll get you off whenever you want."

"Whenever?" She breathed, knowing damn well he would be likely to feel her pussy soak through his shorts any second now. She had forgone underwear after her pity shower but she was thankful about it now, getting to feel the heat of his cock right against her. The shorts did nothing to hide it.

"Uh-huh. Whenever you want, Honey. I'll... I'll make you cum and you don't have to do anything. I love making you feel good. All the time. Can just..." He exhaled sharply as her fingers dragged over his nape, shivering as the tips of her nails slipped under the neck of his top. "Eat you out, or I can do this, or- or I can make love to you. Anything. You're so pretty and sweet, so perfect. I love being close to you."

No one else would describe her as sweet, but she supposed to Harry, she was. Her own brand of sweet that was laced with spice and some sourness, but he lapped it up every time.

"Okay." She nodded, moaning in surprise when she felt teeth graze her throat.

"Just ask me. Promise you'll ask." The demand surprised her, no hint of uncertainty but almost a command. "Tell me whenever you need to feel good, Honey. I adore you. Wanna make you cum, feel good, anything you want."

"I'll ask, H. I'll ask." She promised, dragging her leg up higher and letting out a wobbly whine that she'd be embrassed about later when she got the angle she needed desperately.

"There?" He panted, pulling from her throat to look at her. Dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, he was so intent on her face that it almost shocked her. "That's where you need my cock, Honey?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm gonna cum if you keep..." Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. "If you keep doing that."

The smile was almost blinding as she could see the determination build in his face, dropping his forehead to hers as his breath puffed against her lips. "Then I'll keep doin' it, right here. Just like this. Gonna make you cum, and then... I'll clean it up with my tongue, if you want. Just need you happy, Honeybee. Any way I can do it."

[unabashegirl]

off the record — one

Pregnant after a one-night stand with Harry Styles, Y/N assumes they have gone their separate ways until a high-stakes photoshoot forces them back together.

Author's note: After receiving a few asks requesting that I upload the first chapter of each short series on Tumblr for free, I realised that most of you simply wanted to get a feel for the stories before deciding what you were signing up for on Patreon, which makes so, so much sense!

I went ahead and made a poll on Patreon because I wanted my subscribers to have a say and make sure everything felt fair. They were completely fine with it as long as only the first chapter was posted and the rest of the story remained exclusive to Patreon.

So, here it is! This is the first chapter of Off the Record, and I personally love this one so much. I hope you enjoy it! 🤍

word count - 10,7k

warnings/tags: First time, unprotected sex, alcohol use, pregnancy discovery.

The blue light from the dual monitors was the only thing illuminating the living room. Y/N leaned back in her ergonomic chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She had been staring at the same editorial spread for Wonderland magazine for six hours, obsessing over the color grading on a model’s cheekbone.

It was good work. Gritty, raw, exactly the kind of aesthetic that was getting her name dropped in rooms she wasn't even in yet.

The silence was shattered by the sound of the front door unlocking, followed immediately by it slamming shut.

Y/N didn't even turn around. She just hovered her mouse over the Save button. "Don't tell me. You didn't wear the coat."

"I am not going," a voice wailed from the hallway.

Marnie stomped into the living room, throwing her expensive clutch onto Y/N’s sofa before collapsing next to it face-first. She was dressed in a stunning, shimmering silver dress that cost more than Y/N’s first camera, but her vibe was pure tragedy.

Y/N finally swiveled her chair around. "Marnie, it’s the British Fashion Awards after-party. You’ve been talking about this since June. You have to go. It’s literally your job."

Marnie lifted her head; her mascara was dangerously close to smudging. "I can't. I can't do it, Y/N. Greg is going to be there."

"Greg?" Y/N frowned. "I thought Greg was in finance. Why is Greg at a fashion party?"

"Because his firm sponsors the vodka brand that’s sponsoring the bar!" Marnie cried, sitting up and gesturing wildly. "And he’s not just going to be there. He’s going to be there with his 'work friends,' which means I have to walk in there alone, three days after he dumped me via text, while the vultures from my PR team watch me crumble."

Y/N sighed, looking back at her screen. She really wanted to finish this edit. But looking at Marnie, usually so put together, now vibrating with anxiety, she knew her night of solitude was over.

"The vultures?" Y/N asked.

"Sarah and the other junior publicists," Marnie said darkly. "They smell blood. If I show up alone and sad, they’ll eat me alive. I need armor. I need a buffer." She looked at Y/N with wide, pleading eyes. "I need you."

Y/N laughed dryly. "Me? Marnie, I’m editing. And I haven’t washed my hair in two days. I am not red carpet material right now."

"I don't need red carpet material!" Marnie stood up, marching over to Y/N’s desk. She grabbed the back of Y/N’s chair. "I need 'cool, rising-star photographer who is too busy for this shit but is here anyway.' I need your energy. Please. If you come with me, I look connected and unbothered. If I go alone, I look like the ex-girlfriend who couldn't get a date."

Y/N looked at her best friend. She thought about the time Marnie had spent three hours helping her carry lighting equipment up four flights of stairs for her first paid shoot.

"Fine," Y/N groaned, saving the file and shutting down the computer. "But we are not staying late. And I am absolutely choosing my own outfit."

Marnie let out a squeal, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck. "I love you. You should wear the golden dress. It’s very 'off-duty model.' Just hurry!"

Y/N stood up and headed toward her bedroom. "I’m giving you two hours, Marnie. If I don't see a free drink in my hand by 10 PM, I’m coming back here to sleep."

"Deal!"

The venue was exactly what Y/N expected, a sensory overload of velvet, crystal, and ego.

The moment they stepped out of the taxi, the humidity of the London rain clinging to their skin, they were hit by the wall of sound. Inside, the bass vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the ice in the glasses of the waiters weaving through the crowd.

Y/N brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, feeling the cold air hit the exposed skin of her back. The dress Marnie had bullied her into was incredible, she had to admit. A shimmering, champagne-gold mini dress that caught every stray beam of light. It had long, flared sleeves that swished dramatically when she moved, but the back was completely open, held together only by a delicate tie at the nape of her neck.

"Okay," Marnie breathed, gripping Y/N’s arm. Her grip was tight, her nails digging in slightly. "Target acquired. Sarah is at the bar with the Creative Director from Gucci. I need to go say hello before she spins the narrative that I’m at home crying into a tub of ice cream."

Y/N squeezed her hand. "Go. Be charming. I’ll get a drink and try not to look like I’d rather be editing."

"You look amazing," Marnie said, her eyes scanning the room. "Thank you. Seriously."

With a deep breath, Marnie smoothed her hair and disappeared into the crush of bodies, instantly transforming from the frantic friend in the apartment to the polished PR maven she was paid to be.

Y/N stood alone for a moment, letting the wave of the party wash over her. She navigated toward the bar, but the queue was three deep. The air was hot, smelling of expensive perfume and stale champagne.

I need a drink. Immediately.

Just as she was about to give up, a waiter breezed past with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Y/N didn't hesitate. She reached out and snatched a glass, downing half of the expensive fizz in one unladylike gulp. The bubbles burned pleasantly in her throat, taking the edge off her anxiety.

She grabbed a second glass from the retreating tray before the waiter could protest and turned toward the back of the room.

She spotted a heavy velvet drape near the back of the room, slightly ajar. Slipping through the crowd, the sequins of her dress brushing against tailored suits, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the terrace.

The silence was instant and blissful.

The terrace was stone, wet from the rain, overlooking the slick streets of Mayfair below. It was empty. Or so she thought.

"Smart move," a voice said from the shadows.

Y/N jumped slightly, her hand going to her chest.

Leaning against the stone balustrade in the corner was a man. He was wearing a flared suit that looked like 70s wallpaper in the best possible way, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to show a hint of tattoos. He was holding a heavy crystal tumbler, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light.

Harry Styles.

Y/N blinked. She didn't gasp. She didn't pull out her phone. Her photographer’s brain just instantly registered the composition: the way the streetlamp backlit his curls, the contrast of his sharp suit against the rough stone.

"Jesus," she let out a breath, stepping further onto the terrace. The wind whipped at the long sleeves of her dress. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Harry said, though he was grinning. His voice was slow, raspy. He didn't move from his spot. "Usually people come out here to smoke or to cry. You don't look like you're doing either." His eyes dropping to the full glass of champagne in her hand, and then to the empty one she had evidently just finished and was still clutching. "Thirsty?”

Y/N looked down at the glasses, realizing she was double-fisting. She shrugged, setting the empty one on the balustrade and taking a large sip of the full one. "It’s that kind of night. I'm hiding. My best friend is currently fighting for her life in a PR war inside. I'm the designated moral support, but I'm currently on a union-mandated break."

Harry laughed, a genuine, bubbling sound. "PR war? Sounds dangerous."

"It's brutal," Y/N agreed, leaning her elbows on the wet stone. She looked at him sideways. "And you? Hiding from the adoring masses?"

"Hiding from a guy trying to pitch me a metaverse concert," Harry said, flicking ash over the side of the balcony. He turned his body toward her, his green eyes scanning her face, then drifting down to the open back of her dress before snapping back up. "I think I prefer the PR war."

"Trust me," Y/N smirked. "You don't."

There was a pause, but it wasn't awkward. It was heavy. The kind of silence where you can feel the other person’s gravity.

"I'm Harry," he said finally, extending a hand.

Y/N looked at his hand—rings on almost every finger—and then met his eyes. "I know." She took his hand. It was warm. "I'm Y/N."

Harry didn't let go of her hand immediately. He tilted his head, studying her with a lazy, amused expression. "Y/N. No last name? Like Madonna? Or Cher?”

"Like someone who wants to keep her anonymity intact," she countered, finally pulling her hand back to take a sip of her champagne. The bubbles were making her head spin in a pleasant, fuzzy way. "Besides, you're one to talk. pretty sure you’re just 'Harry' to about three billion people.”

"Touché." He took a long swallow of his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. "So, Y/N who is hiding from the PR war. What do you do when you aren't double-fisting champagne on balconies?”

"I'm a photographer," she said, leaning back against the stone railing. She gestured vaguely with her glass toward the party inside. "Fashion. Editorial. Usually, I'm the one behind the lens telling people like you to tilt their chin down because the lighting is tragic.”

Harry laughed, a low rumble in his chest. He stepped a little closer, encroaching on her personal space. "Is that what you're doing now? Analyzing my angles?"

Y/N looked him up and down. The suit was ridiculous, really—a geometric 70s print that should have looked hideous but somehow just looked... cool. "I'm trying to figure out if that suit is custom Gucci or if you peeled it off a wall in a grandmother's house in 1974."

Harry grinned, looking down at his lapels. "It's vintage. And for your information, grandmothers love me."

"I bet they do," she murmured, taking another large gulp of her drink. She was definitely feeling the alcohol now; the sharp edges of her anxiety about Marnie were blurring into a warm confidence. "You have a very 'bingo night' energy."

"Bingo night energy?" Harry feigned offense, but his eyes were dancing. "I'll have you know I am the life of the party. Just... not this party."

"Why?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious now. "Everyone in there is dying to talk to you."

"That's the problem," Harry said. He turned to lean his back against the railing next to her, so they were shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the rainy street. "Everyone wants to talk at me. Pitch me things. Take a selfie. It’s loud. And I’m starving."

"Well, there are canapés inside," Y/N pointed out.

"Tiny, sad toast," Harry dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Suddenly, the velvet curtain behind them whipped open. A burst of loud bass and laughter spilled onto the quiet balcony. A man in a shiny suit stuck his head out, his eyes widening when he saw Harry.

"Harry! Mate! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, we need to discuss the—"

Harry’s jaw tightened. He didn't look at the man. He looked at Y/N, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He finished his drink in one swallow and set the glass down on the stone ledge.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice low, just for her. "I'm going to go home, make a proper grilled cheese sandwich, and open a bottle of wine that actually tastes like grapes. You should come."

Y/N blinked, surprised. "To your house?"

"My place in Hampstead," Harry nodded, ignoring the man who was now stepping fully onto the balcony. "It's a bit of a drive, but the company is better. And I promise the lighting is excellent."

It wasn't a smooth pickup line anymore; it was a lifeline. He was offering an escape hatch.

Y/N looked at the man approaching them, then back at Harry’s open, hopeful face. The alcohol in her system made the decision feel easy, almost inevitable.

"I do love a grilled cheese," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Harry grinned, his dimple popping. "Run," he whispered.

He grabbed her hand, and before the man in the shiny suit could say another word, they were ducking past him, Harry leading her not back into the party, but toward the side stairs that led down to the alleyway exit.

The back of the blacked-out SUV was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just left. The rain drummed rhythmically against the roof.

They sat close, their thighs pressing together every time the car took a sharp turn. The adrenaline of their escape had faded into a comfortable, heavy silence.

"You weren't kidding about the drive," Y/N murmured, watching the London streets blur past—moving from the lights of Mayfair to the darker, leafier roads of North London.

"Worth it," Harry said. He was slouching in the leather seat, looking more relaxed than he had all night. He turned his head to look at her. "You okay? No regrets about deserting the PR war?"

"Marnie will understand," Y/N said, though she made a mental note to text her. "She usually supports my bad decisions."

"Is this a bad decision?" Harry asked softly.

Y/N met his gaze. In the flashing streetlights, his eyes were dark and intense. "Ask me after the grilled cheese."

Harry laughed, and the car finally slowed, pulling through a set of high gates and crunching over gravel.

The house was beautiful—a white stucco Georgian home that looked cozy rather than imposing. Inside, it wasn't the sterile showroom Y/N expected. It was cluttered and warm. There were piles of books on the floor, guitars leaning against walls, and a mismatched collection of colorful furniture.

"Shoes off," Harry instructed, kicking off his boots by the door.

“I'll go foraging for cheese. Make yourself at home."

He disappeared into the kitchen, humming something off-key.

Y/N stood in the hallway for a moment, the silence of the house settling around her. She unbuckled her heels, sighing with relief as her feet hit the plush rug. She quickly fished her phone out of her clutch.

To: MarnieI escaped. Sorry!! Left early. Will explain everything tomorrow. Don't die. Love u x

She hit send, guilt-swallowing slightly, but not enough to leave. She dropped the phone back into her bag just as Harry reappeared.

He had ditched his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt further, sleeves rolled up. He was balancing a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a plate of rather burnt-looking grilled cheese sandwiches.

"The dining table is covered in fan mail I haven't opened since 2019," he announced, nodding toward the living room rug. "Floor?"

"Floor is good," Y/N agreed.

They settled on the thick Persian rug in front of the fireplace. Y/N sat cross-legged, the gold dress shimmering in the low light, while Harry stretched his long legs out, pouring the wine with a heavy hand.

"To escaping," he toasted, handing her a glass.

"To burnt cheese," she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They ate the sandwiches, which were actually delicious, and drank the wine. Fast.

An hour later, the bottle was dangerously low, and the air in the room had shifted from awkward to that specific, hazy comfort you only get at 2 AM with a stranger.

Y/N was laughing so hard she had to lean back on her hands, her head tilting toward the ceiling. "No, you did not. You are lying."

"I swear!" Harry protested, his face flushed, eyes bright and glassy. He was lying on his side now, propped up on one elbow, tracing the pattern of the rug with a ring-clad finger. "I fell off the stage. Fully off. And I just... kept singing. I thought if I didn't acknowledge it, no one would notice."

"Harry," Y/N giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. "Everyone noticed. There are probably memes."

"There are so many memes," he groaned, hiding his face in his hand for a second before peeking back at her. "God, it's nice to just... talk shit. Usually, people want to talk about the 'creative process' or my hair routine."

"What is your hair routine?" Y/N teased, reaching out to poke his knee.

"Neglect and humidity," he grinned. He sat up a little straighter, reaching for the bottle to split the last dregs between them. "What about you? What's the worst thing that’s happened on a shoot?"

Y/N took the refilled glass. She felt loose, warm, and happy. "I once told a very famous supermodel to 'stop looking like a dead fish.' I thought I was whispering to my assistant. I was not whispering."

Harry barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. "Did she storm off?"

"No, she actually posed better. Fear is a great motivator."

They fell into a comfortable silence then. The laughter died down, leaving a heavy, charged quiet in its wake. The room was dim, the only light coming from a few lamps and the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

Y/N took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. He was looking at her. Really looking at her. Not at the dress, but at her face.

It was the wine, she told herself firmly. Definitely the wine.

That was the only reason she was noticing the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders as he leaned back. It was the mix of champagne and expensive red that was making his eyes look so unnervingly green, like moss underwater. If she were sober, he would just be a celebrity with a bad haircut and too many rings. Right now, in this lighting, he looked like a Renaissance painting she wanted to touch.

Harry set his glass down on the floor. He shifted, moving a few inches closer on the rug.

His knee bumped hers.

It was a casual, accidental touch, but Y/N felt it like an electric shock. She didn't pull away.

"You're cool, Y/N," he said softly, the playfulness in his voice replaced by something sincere and a little slurred. "I'm really glad you were on that balcony."

"Me too," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She set her glass down on the floor, suddenly feeling very aware of how close they were sitting.

Harry reached out, his hand hesitating for a second in the air before his fingers brushed the bare skin of her forearm.

Y/N stopped breathing.

His skin was warm, his rings cool against her arm. He traced a line from her wrist up to her elbow, his touch feather-light.

It’s just the alcohol, her mind insisted frantically. The shivering is just the alcohol. The heat in your stomach is just the alcohol.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers.

Y/N nodded. She couldn't find her voice.

He moved slowly. His hand trailed up her arm to her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline. He leaned in, and Y/N instinctively leaned forward to meet him.

The kiss was slow. Soft. He tasted like red wine and grilled cheese and vanilla. Y/N hummed into the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as his other hand came up to cup her face, deepening the contact.

She moved her hands to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in her fists. They fell back against the rug, limbs tangling, the empty wine bottle forgotten on the floor beside them.

Harry hovered over her, his weight supported on his forearms so he wouldn't crush her. His hair fell forward, tickling her cheek, creating a private curtain around them. He kissed her jaw, then trailed his lips down the column of her neck, making Y/N gasp.

His hands moved to her shoulders, his fingers finding the straps of the gold dress. He nudged the fabric aside, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the bare curve of her shoulder.

"Harry," Y/N breathed, her voice shaking slightly. The reality of who he was and where they were pierced through the wine-haze for a second. She reached up, her hand resting on the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his curls to stop him for a moment.

He paused immediately, lifting his head to look at her, his eyes dark and dilated. "Yeah?"

"Do you do this a lot?" she whispered, searching his face. "Just... pluck girls from parties and feed them burnt cheese?"

Harry let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against her chest. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down to press a kiss to her collarbone, his rings cool against her heated skin as he traced the line of the dress.

"When I was younger? Maybe," he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with honesty. He lifted his head again, looking her dead in the eye. "But not now. Not for a long time."

Y/N searched his face for a lie, for a rehearsed line, but she only found a raw, boyish openness.

"Good," she whispered.

"Good," Harry echoed.

He reached behind her neck, finding the delicate string that held the back of the dress together. With a deft tug, the knot came loose. The dress slackened, the sequins rustling as they slid down her arms.

Harry’s gaze followed the movement, reverent and hungry. He helped her ease the shimmering fabric down, the dress pooling around her hips.

The air in the room was warm, but Y/N felt the sudden exposure, a coolness hitting her skin that had nothing to do with the temperature. She instinctively brought her arms up to cover herself slightly, her cheeks burning hot.

Harry stopped her. He gently took her wrists, pulling her hands away so he could look at her properly. His eyes roamed over her, the curve of her waist, the slope of her breasts, and the deep, rosy flush that was spreading across her chest and up to her neck.

"God," he exhaled, the sound rough. "Look at you."

"It's the wine," Y/N stammered, feeling the heat in her face intensify under his scrutiny. "I turn red when I drink."

"Liar," Harry murmured, a crooked, knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in, brushing his nose against her burning cheek. "You're blushing. I'm making you blush."

"You're very full of yourself, Styles," she whispered, though she leaned into his touch.

"I'm just observant," he countered. He sat back on his heels, his hands moving to the buttons of his own shirt. He undid them with maddening slowness, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She had seen photos of him shirtless, obviously—who hadn't?—but seeing him right there, inches away, was different. The ink of his tattoos stood out against his skin in the firelight. The swallows on his chest seemed to flutter as he breathed. He wasn't perfect and polished like a statue; he was real, warm, and solid.

"You're beautiful," she admitted quietly.

Harry caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. He didn't deflect or joke this time. He just held her gaze, his pupils blown wide, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"You are... absolutely trouble."

He didn't wait for a response. He kissed her hard, a claiming, bruising kiss that swallowed her gasp. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh there, anchoring her to the rug.

Y/N arched into him, the friction of his pants against her bare thighs sending a jolt of raw need straight to her core. She felt the heavy, hard ridge of him pressing against her stomach, a promise of what was coming. It made her ache, a sudden, wet heat pooling between her legs.

"Harry," she whimpered, her hands scrabbling at the waistband of his trousers. "Please. The clothes. Too many clothes.”

Harry groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes blown black. He sat back on his heels, his breathing ragged. He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one frantic movement, kicking them away.

When he moved back over her, the feeling of skin-on-skin was electric.

Y/N reached down between them. She wanted to touch him, to feel the weight of him in her palm. Her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him once, firm and slow.

Harry made a strangled noise, his hips bucking instinctively into her touch, but a second later, his hand clamped over hers, stopping her movement.

"Don't," he choked out, his voice wrecked.

Y/N looked up, confused. "why?"

"I can't," he admitted, his chest heaving as he pulled her hand away, interlacing their fingers and pinning her hand to the rug beside her head. "If you touch me like that... I won't last. I won't be able to hold it.

He looked at her with a desperate, starving intensity, his forehead glistening with sweat.

"I want you too much," he whispered, the confession raw. "I need to be inside you. Just let me have you.”

He settled between her legs, using his knees to nudge her thighs wider apart. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist instantly, her heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him flush against her. The contact was searing—the heat of his chest against her breasts, the roughness of the rug against her back, and the hard, tip of him teasing her entrance.

Harry braced himself on one arm, his other hand reaching down to guide himself. He paused for a heartbeat, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling in sharp, synchronized pants.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural rasp.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

"Don't close them," he breathed, his eyes searching hers with a desperate intensity. "I want to watch you take it.”

It wasn't a gentle slide. It was a slow, stretching invasion. Y/N threw her head back, but kept her eyes locked on his, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as he filled her, inch by thick inch. He was big, stretching her in a way that felt bordering on pain before bleeding into exquisite, overwhelming pleasure.

Harry hissed through his teeth, his jaw tight as he buried himself to the hilt. He held perfectly still for a moment, letting her adjust to his size, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"You feel..." he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before snapping them open again to look at her. "Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good."

"Move," she begged, her hips snapping up to meet him. "Harry, move."

He withdrew slowly, almost completely, before snapping his hips forward, driving back in with a force that knocked the breath out of her.

The rhythm started slow, a heavy, grinding friction that targeted every nerve ending she had. But as the pleasure coiled tighter in her belly, the pace shattered. Harry abandoned the slow exploration. He began to pound into her, his movements sharp and possessive.

The only sounds in the room were the wet slap of skin against skin, the rustle of the discarded sequins, and their harsh, broken breathing.

Y/N was lost in the sensationthe burn of the rug on her back, the sweat slicking their bodies, and the relentless pressure of him hitting that sweet, aching spot deep inside her over and over again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent moon marks on his skin.

"Harry," she gasped, the pleasure building to a breaking point, tightening like a rubber band about to snap.

"I know," he panted against her ear, his hand slipping between their bodies to find her clit. "Let go, sweetheart. Just let go.”

The added friction was too much. Y/N shattered.

She cried out, her body bowing off the floor. She clamped down on him, the spasms of her orgasm milking him.

Harry groaned, a deep, animalistic sound. He drove into her hard, once, twice, three times, fast and erratic, before he stiffened. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there as he spilled into her, his body jerking with each pulse of his release.

They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and heavy, sweaty breaths, the silence of the room slowly rushing back in to replace the chaos.

The light filtering through the linen curtains was gray, flat, and unforgiving.

Y/N woke with a gasp, her heart hammering before her eyes even fully opened. Her head was throbbing—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the cheap champagne and the expensive red wine.

For a terrifying second, she didn't know where she was. The sheets were white and smelled of cedar. Then she felt the weight—a heavy arm draped across her waist, and the steady, deep sound of breathing against her bare shoulder.

She froze.

The memories of the night crashed into her like a wave. The balcony. The "escape." The burnt grilled cheese. The rug.

Harry Styles.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she turned her head on the pillow.

He was fast asleep on his stomach, face buried halfway into the pillow, his curls a chaotic halo around his head. He looked peaceful. Younger, somehow, without the guarded expression he’d worn at the party. The sheet was pooled around his waist, exposing the tattoos on his back that she had traced only hours ago.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the hangover.

What have I done?

She checked her phone on the nightstand. 6:17 AM.

If she stayed, she had to talk to him. They would have to order coffee. He might be nice. He might be awkward. It would become a "thing." It would become a story.

She couldn't do it. She was a professional photographer, not a groupie who lingered for breakfast. She had an edit to finish. She had a life that didn't involve navigating the morning routine of a global superstar.

Y/N carefully, millimeter by millimeter, lifted his arm. It was heavy. Harry grunted softly, shifting his leg, and Y/N stopped breathing, her eyes widening in terror.

He settled again, letting out a soft sigh, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

She slid out of bed, shivering as the cool morning air hit her skin. The room was messy—clothes scattered in a trail from the doorway.

She found her gold dress in a heap near the foot of the bed. She pulled it on, wincing at the loud rustle of the sequins in the silent room. It felt sticky and inappropriate for a Tuesday morning.

She found one heel near the door. The other was halfway under the armchair. She grabbed them both, clutching them to her chest like stolen goods.

She paused at the bedroom door, her hand on the brass handle. She looked back at him one last time. The gray light was hitting his sleeping face, highlighting the slope of his nose and the fan of his eyelashes.

A part of her—the reckless part that liked burnt cheese and bad jokes—wanted to crawl back in.

"Bye, Harry," she mouthed silently.

She slipped out, the latch clicking shut with a finality that made her chest ache. She didn't look for a note. She didn't leave her number.

She tiptoed down the stairs, past the kitchen where the empty wine bottle still sat on the floor, and let herself out the heavy front door.

The morning air outside was biting and cold. Y/N walked quickly down the gravel driveway, barefoot on the wet stones until she reached the gate, carrying her shoes.

The smell of the darkroom chemicals usually grounded her. Today, it made her want to retch.

Y/N sat on the rolling stool in her studio, her head between her knees, taking deep, steadying breaths. The room was spinning slightly. It had been spinning since Tuesday.

Just the flu, she told herself for the fiftieth time that morning. A really long, really persistent stomach flu.

She sat up, grabbing her water bottle and taking a tentative sip. Her calendar on the wall glared at her. She was booked solid for the next month, a campaign for a denim brand, an editorial for Dazed, and a portrait session with a rising indie band. She didn't have time for the flu.

The studio door chimed, and a second later, Marnie breezed in, bringing with her a gust of cold London air and the overwhelming, pungent scent of roasted coffee.

"Morning, sunshine!" Marnie chirped, holding up a cardboard tray. "I come bearing gifts. Extra shot, oat milk, just how you like it."

Y/N’s stomach did a violent somersault. She forced a smile, waving a hand vaguely. "Hey. Thanks. Just... set it on the desk. I'll drink it in a bit."

Marnie paused, her sharp PR eyes narrowing immediately. She set the coffee down and walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Okay, what is going on? You haven't answered my texts since Monday, you look like you haven't slept in a week, and you just turned down fresh caffeine. Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?"

"I'm fine," Y/N lied, turning back to her monitor to hide the fact that she was sweating. "Just busy. The Wonderland edits were a nightmare."

"Uh-huh," Marnie said, not buying it. She picked up a stress ball from the desk, tossing it in the air. "You've been weird for weeks. Specifically, since the Fashion Awards."

Y/N froze, her finger hovering over the mouse. "I haven't been weird."

"You ghosted me at the biggest party of the year," Marnie pointed out, though her tone was more curious than angry. "One minute you were getting a drink, the next you were gone. And then you sent me that cryptic text at 2 AM saying you 'escaped.'"

Marnie leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So. Who was he?"

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. She could still feel the phantom weight of Harry’s arm around her waist, the smell of cedar in his sheets.

"Who was who?" Y/N asked, keeping her eyes glued to the screen.

"The guy!" Marnie groaned, exasperated. "Come on. You didn't leave a free-bar event to go home and knit. You left with someone. I saw you talking to that model, the one with the cheekbones? Was it him?"

"No," Y/N said quickly. "It wasn't a model."

"Then who?" Marnie pressed. "Was he famous? Old? Rich? A criminal?"

"He was... nobody," Y/N said, fighting to keep her voice even. "Just a guy I met on the balcony. A lighting technician. We just... went for a drink."

"A lighting technician?" Marnie looked skeptical. "And was the lighting technician good enough to make you disappear for three weeks?"

"It wasn't a big deal, Marnie," Y/N snapped, a little sharper than she intended. The nausea rolled over her again, sudden and violent. She squeezed her eyes shut. "It was a one-time thing. It’s over. I just want to focus on work."

Marnie softened instantly. She reached out, touching Y/N’s forehead. "Okay, okay. Sorry. You really do look pale, though. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I think I ate some bad sushi," Y/N lied, pulling away gently. "I just need to sit here for a minute."

"Well, avoid the sushi," Marnie said, grabbing her bag. "I have to run to a lunch meeting, but seriously—drink the coffee. It’ll wake you up."

"Will do," Y/N managed to say.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Marnie, Y/N grabbed the trash can from under her desk and dry-heaved.

Nothing came up. Just the empty, hollow feeling that had settled in her gut.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at the calendar again. specifically, at the dates. She counted backward. Then she counted again.

Her period was ten days late.

"No," she whispered to the empty studio. "Absolutely not."

The bass from the playback speakers was thumping so hard it felt like it was rearranging Y/N’s internal organs.

"Chin down, chin down—yeah, there. Hold that."

Y/N crouched low, adjusting the aperture on her lens. She was shooting a four-piece indie band from Leeds who were currently the darlings of NME, and they had the attitude to match. The lead singer was draped over a vintage leather armchair, smoking a clove cigarette that smelled like burning sugar and rot.

Three weeks ago, Y/N would have found the smell annoying. Today, it was a biological weapon.

"Can we kill the smoke?" Y/N called out, her voice sounding thin to her own ears. She straightened up, feeling the room tilt dangerously to the left. "The haze is getting too thick. It’s softening the focus."

"It's the vibe, though, isn't it?" the drummer argued, twirling a stick. "We want it gritty."

"I can add grit in post," Y/N snapped, harder than she meant to. She saw her assistant, Leo, shoot her a worried look from the monitor station. "Just... kill the cigarette. Please."

The singer rolled his eyes but stubbed it out.

Y/N brought the camera back to her eye, trying to find her rhythm. Usually, when she was shooting, the world disappeared. It was just light, shadow, and composition. She was known for her speed, her ability to get the shot before the subject even knew they were ready.

But today, her focus was fracturing.

Every time she looked through the viewfinder, she didn't see the band. She saw the flash of gold sequins on a wet pavement. She saw green eyes looking at her over the rim of a crystal tumbler. She heard a raspy voice whispering, You are absolutely trouble.

Stop it, she commanded herself, changing her angle. He’s a pop star. You’re a photographer. It was a Tuesday. It’s over.

She had spent twenty-one days trying to scrub the memory of Harry Styles from her brain. She had deleted the draft text to Marnie explaining everything at least a dozen times. She had avoided listening to the radio.

"Y/N? You good?"

Leo was at her elbow, holding a bottle of water. "You're sweating. Like, a lot."

Y/N lowered the camera. The studio lights—huge, hot tungsten beasts—felt like they were pressing down on her skull. The smell of the hairspray from the stylist’s station mixed with the stale smoke and the metallic tang of the equipment.

Saliva flooded her mouth. The warning sign.

"I need five," Y/N gasped, shoving the heavy camera into Leo’s hands.

"But we have the label execs coming in ten—"

"I said five!"

She didn't run, because running would make her throw up, but she walked very, very fast toward the back exit. She pushed through the heavy fire doors and stumbled out into the alleyway.

The air was cold and smelled of wet concrete and exhaust, but compared to the studio, it was heaven.

Y/N leaned against the brick wall, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing deep gulps of air into her lungs. She pressed her cold palms against her burning cheeks.

It’s just the flu. It’s stress. It’s the sushi.

But deep down, in the quiet, terrifying part of her brain, she knew. She had known since she realized she hadn't bought tampons this month.

Her hand went to her stomach. It was flat, firm, unchanged. But something felt... different.

She thought about the condom. Had they used one? Yes. Wait. The second time? The memory was blurry, softened by the wine and the firelight and the desperate, laughing, consuming heat of the moment. She remembered his hands. She remembered the way he said her name. She remembered the feeling of skin on skin.

She didn't remember a wrapper the second time.

"Oh, god," she whispered to the alleyway dumpsters.

She pushed off the wall. She couldn't go back in there. She couldn't look at the indie band and talk about aperture settings.

She pulled her phone out. She cancelled the afternoon session. She blamed food poisoning. It was professional suicide to cancel last minute, but the alternative was fainting on top of a drum kit.

She typed Pharmacy near me into maps.

There was a Boots ten minutes away.

Y/N pulled her coat tighter around herself, lowered her head, and started walking. She wasn't Y/N the rising fashion photographer anymore. She was just a girl walking through Hackney, terrified of a plastic stick.

The fluorescent lighting of the pharmacy was violent. That was the only word for it. It buzzed overhead, casting a sickly, sterile pallor over everything.

Y/N pulled her scarf up over her nose, keeping her head down. She wasn't famous—not like him—but her face had been in a few "Behind the Lens" features in industry magazines recently, and paranoia was a powerful thing. She felt like she had a neon sign blinking above her head: IRRESPONSIBLE.

She bypassed the makeup aisle, usually her favorite place to swatch new textures. She ignored the sale on vitamins. She walked straight to the aisle labeled FAMILY PLANNING.

The euphemism made her want to laugh hysterically. There was no planning here. This was the opposite of a plan. This was a chaotic, uncontrolled collision of events.

She stood in front of the shelves, overwhelmed by the choices. Pink boxes. Blue boxes. Boxes with smiling couples holding hands (which felt like a personal attack). Boxes that promised results in one minute. Boxes that claimed 99% accuracy.

She didn't look at the prices. She grabbed the most expensive looking one—a digital Clearblue that came in a twin pack. Double confirmation.

She snatched it off the shelf, her hand shaking so badly she almost knocked over a row of ovulation kits.

To make it look less suspicious—a logic that made sense only to her panicked brain—she grabbed a bottle of shampoo, a packet of mint gum, and a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps.

See? she thought wildly. Just a normal shopping trip. Just getting snacks and hair products. Nothing life-changing happening here.

The cashier was a bored teenager who didn't even look up from her phone as she scanned the items.

Beep. Shampoo. Beep. Crisps. Beep. Pregnancy test.

The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet store. Y/N flinched. The girl didn't blink. She shoved it all into a plastic bag.

"Receipt?"

"No," Y/N croaked. "Thanks."

Her apartment was quiet. Usually, Y/N loved the silence of her space. It was her sanctuary away from the loud music and shouting of the studios. Today, the silence felt heavy. Oppressive.

She locked the door and didn't even take off her coat or boots. She walked straight to the bathroom, dumping the plastic bag onto the pristine white counter.

The blue box stared at her.

She ripped it open, her fingers fumbling with the cardboard. Instructions. Pee on the stick for 5 seconds. Lay flat. Wait 3 minutes.

Three minutes. The length of a pop song.

Y/N did what she had to do. It was unglamorous and clinical. She set the cap back on the stick and placed it on the edge of the sink.

Then, she sat on the closed toilet lid, pulled her phone out, and set the timer.

2:59... 2:58...

She put the phone face down. She couldn't watch the numbers count down.

She stared at the bathmat instead. It was fluffy and white. She needed to wash it.

If it’s negative, she bargained with the universe, clasping her hands together until her knuckles turned white. If it’s negative, I will never drink red wine again. I will be more professional. I will go to church. I don't even believe in God, but I will go.

She thought about her career. She was just getting the big bookings. Vogue had emailed her agent yesterday about a potential cover shoot in Milan next month. Milan.

You couldn't shoot a Vogue cover with morning sickness. You couldn't haul lighting rigs if you were pregnant.

It’s just stress, she told herself. My cycle is late because I’m stressed about work. That’s all.

1:30.

She stood up and paced the tiny bathroom. Two steps to the door, two steps to the shower.

She thought about Harry.

She hadn't let herself think about him properly in weeks. She had pushed the image of him—laughing on the floor, his hair messy, his eyes soft—into a box in the back of her mind labeled DO NOT OPEN.

If this test was positive, that box was going to be ripped open. He wouldn't just be a memory or a mistake. He would be... permanent.

The thought made her dizzy. He was Harry Styles. He was currently on a world tour. He lived on planes. He belonged to the world. He didn't belong in a bathroom in East London staring at a plastic stick.

0:15.

Y/N stopped pacing. She gripped the edge of the sink, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

0:05... 0:04...

Her phone alarm went off. The standard, cheerful "Radar" ringtone. It sounded hideous.

She swiped the alarm off.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked pale, her eyes wide and terrified. Just look, she told her reflection. Just look and get it over with.

She looked down at the stick.

The digital screen had stopped flashing the little hourglass symbol. The words were black, crisp, and undeniable against the gray background.

Pregnant 2-3 Weeks

The world didn't stop. The floor didn't open up and swallow her.

Instead, a ringing sound started in her ears. A high-pitched, deafening whine.

Y/N picked up the stick. She stared at it. She turned it over, as if the back might say "Just Kidding." It didn't.

"No," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "No, no, no."

She sank down onto the bathmat, her legs giving out. She curled her knees to her chest, still clutching the stick in one hand.

Two to three weeks.

The math was perfect. It was cruel, precise, and perfect.

Three weeks ago, she had been drinking wine on a rug in Hampstead. Three weeks ago, she had let a stranger with green eyes take off her dress.

She was pregnant. And the father was the most famous pop star on the planet.

Y/N put her head between her knees and, for the first time in ten years, she started to cry. Not polite, silent crying. Ugly, gasping sobs that echoed off the tiled walls.

The next seventy-two hours were a gray, suffocating blur.

Y/N didn't go to the studio. She told her agent she had a severe migraine and forwarded all urgent emails to her assistant.

She spent the days sitting on her living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, staring at the wall.

She had gone through every emotion possible. First came the denial. Maybe the test was wrong. (She took three more. They were all positive). Then came the panic. She looked at her bank account. She looked at her calendar. She looked at the lease on her apartment which strictly forbade children. Then came the logic. She opened a browser tab for a clinic in Central London. She stared at the "Book Appointment" button for four hours. Her mouse hovered over it. It was the sensible thing to do. She was twenty-four. She was just starting her career. She was single. The father was a ghost who belonged to the world, not to her.

But every time she tried to click, her hand physically stopped. A heavy, sickening weight settled in her chest. She wasn't religious. She wasn't traditional. But she knew, with a terrifying clarity, that she couldn't do it. She didn't have the stomach for it. She didn't have the heart for it.

By Friday evening, the silence in the apartment was deafening. She couldn't carry the weight alone anymore.

She picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled as she typed.

To: Marnie I need you. Please come over. Don't ask questions just come.

Marnie arrived in record time—fourteen minutes.

She didn't knock; she used her emergency key. She burst into the apartment carrying a bottle of wine, a bag of chocolate, and a look of sheer terror.

"I'm here," Marnie announced, dropping her bag by the door. She scanned the room, taking in the drawn curtains, the pile of tissues, and Y/N curled up on the sofa wrapped in a duvet like a burrito of misery.

Marnie rushed over, dropping to her knees beside the sofa. "Okay. You're alive. That's good. Is it family? Did you get fired? Did the studio burn down?"

Y/N shook her head slowly. She looked at her best friend—Marnie, who had held her hair back when she threw up in university, who had helped her paint this apartment, who loved her fiercely.

Y/N sat up, the duvet falling away. She reached onto the coffee table and picked up the plastic stick she had been staring at for three days.

She didn't say a word. She just handed it to Marnie.

Marnie frowned, confused. She took the stick, looked at it, and then froze. The color drained out of her face. She looked at the little screen, then up at Y/N, then back at the screen.

"Oh," Marnie breathed. It was a soft, punched-out sound. "Oh my god."

"Yeah," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking.

Marnie set the test down on the table gently, as if it were a bomb. She moved instantly, climbing onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around Y/N.

That was the breaking point. Y/N buried her face in Marnie’s shoulder and sobbed. It was the release of three days of holding it together. She cried until her chest ached, until her throat was raw. Marnie just held her, rubbing her back, rocking her slightly.

"I've got you," Marnie kept whispering. "I've got you. It's okay."

When the tears finally subsided into hiccups, Y/N pulled back, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"I can't get rid of it," Y/N blurted out. It was the first time she had said it out loud. "I tried to book an appointment. I sat there for hours. But I can't do it, Marnie. I’m scared to death. I don't know how I'm going to do this with my job, or money, or... anything. But I can't not have it."

Marnie looked at her, searching her eyes. She reached out, tucking a strand of messy hair behind Y/N’s ear. "Okay. Then you're keeping it. And we figure it out. You’re not doing it alone. You have me. You have your parents. You have a career."

Marnie took a deep breath, her PR brain clearly trying to organize the chaos. She squeezed Y/N’s hands.

"But Y/N," Marnie said gently, her voice dropping. "We need to talk about the math. You’re... what? Three weeks along?"

Y/N nodded, biting her lip.

"That means..." Marnie did the calculation in her head, and her eyes widened. "That means it happened the night of the Fashion Awards."

Y/N looked away, staring at the pattern on the rug. Her heart started to hammer again.

"The mysterious lighting guy," Marnie said slowly. "The one you disappeared with."

"Yeah," Y/N lied. It tasted like ash in her mouth.

Marnie squeezed her hands tighter. "Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Y/N felt a fresh wave of panic. Tell him? Tell Harry Styles? Call his management? DM him on Instagram? Hey, remember the burnt cheese? I'm having your baby. He would think she was crazy. Or worse, he would think she trapped him. He had said on the rug, You are absolutely trouble. He had no idea.

"I... I can't," Y/N stammered. "It was a one-night stand, Marnie. I don't even have his number. He’s... he’s not from here. He was just in town for the job. He’s gone."

It wasn't technically a lie. He was gone. He was on tour in America.

Marnie looked furious on her behalf. "Well, screw him then. If he’s just some random guy who vanished, you don't need him. We raise this baby on 'Girl Power' and expensive coffee." She pulled Y/N into another hug. "But if you ever do find 'Lighting Guy,' I am going to punch him in the throat."

Y/N closed her eyes, resting her chin on Marnie’s shoulder. Guilt clawed at her stomach.

"okay," she whispered.

"Acceptance" was a strong word. Y/N preferred the term "Strategic Denial."

She knew she was pregnant. Her body certainly wouldn't let her forget it. The smell of coffee was still the enemy, her boobs hurt if she looked at them wrong, and she was currently surviving on a diet of ginger tea and dry oatcakes.

But as long as she didn't look pregnant, she could pretend her life was still hers.

She was currently sitting on the floor of her studio, sorting through contact sheets from the denim campaign. She was wearing oversized dungarees—a "fashion choice," she told her assistant, Leo, but really it was because the waistband of her jeans was starting to feel like a torture device.

The phone on her desk rang. Not her cell—the landline. The business line.

Y/N scrambled up, brushing oatcake crumbs off her lap. She put on her "Professional Photographer" voice.

"Y/N Photography, Y/N speaking."

"Clear your schedule," a voice barked.

It was Simon, her agent. Simon didn't say hello. He only called when something was either a disaster or a goldmine.

"Hello to you too, Simon," Y/N said, leaning against the desk. "I can't clear my schedule. I have the indie band reshoots on Thursday and the—"

"Cancel them," Simon interrupted. "Push them. Refund them. I don't care. You are busy Thursday. And Friday. And probably the weekend for edits."

Y/N frowned. "Simon, I can't just drop clients. Unless the Queen is resurrecting herself for a portrait, I’m booked."

"Better," Simon said. She could practically hear him grinning through the phone. "British Vogue."

Y/N stopped breathing. The receiver slipped slightly in her sweaty palm. "Vogue? The main book?"

"The cover feature," Simon corrected, dropping the bomb. "They want you. Specifically you. The Creative Director loved the grit of your Wonderland spread. They want that 'raw, intimate' vibe for the next cover star."

Y/N’s heart did a somersault. This was it. The bucket list. The career-maker. The reason she had hauled gear up stairs and lived on instant noodles for five years.

"Okay," she breathed, grabbing a pen. "Okay. I'm in. Obviously. Who is it? An actress? A model?"

"It’s a musician," Simon said. "He’s in the middle of a world tour, but he’s flying back to London for a five-day break before the European leg. We have a very tight window. Thursday is the only day he can shoot."

A cold dread started to pool in Y/N’s stomach, sitting right next to the oatcakes.

Musician. World tour. Five-day break.

"Simon," Y/N asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Who is the musician?"

"Harry Styles."

The world didn't spin this time. It just stopped.

The studio went dead silent. The hum of the computer fan seemed deafening.

Harry.

She hadn't seen him in six weeks. She hadn't spoken to him since she snuck out of his house like a thief in the night. She was currently carrying a secret the size of a blueberry that was half-him.

"Y/N?" Simon’s voice crackled in her ear. "You there? I know, it’s huge. He’s arguably the biggest star on the planet right now. It’s going to put you on the map globally."

"I..." Y/N choked. She cleared her throat. "He’s... he’s back in London?"

"Lands Wednesday night. Shoots Thursday. Flies out Monday," Simon recited. "It’s a whirlwind. They want you because you're fast and you don't faff around. It’s at a private location in Hampstead. Low crew. Just you, him, styling, and the CD."

Hampstead.

She was going to have to go back to the house. The house with the rug. The house with the burnt cheese.

"Y/N, I need a yes right now," Simon pressed. "They have Mario Testino on speed dial if you blink."

Say no, her panic screamed. Run away. Move to Scotland.

But she couldn't. She had a baby coming. She needed the money. She needed the career stability this job would guarantee. If she shot the Vogue cover, she could take six months off after the baby was born and still have a career to come back to. If she said no, she might regret it forever.

And partly—the dangerous, stupid part of her—wanted to see him.

"Yes," Y/N heard herself say. "Yes, Simon. I'll do it."

"Good girl," Simon said. "Brief is coming to your email. Don't screw this up."

The line clicked dead.

Y/N slowly put the phone down. She stared at the wall.

Thursday.

She had four days to mentally prepare herself to walk into a room with the father of her child, take the best photos of her life, and pretend that she hadn't been counting the weeks since she left his bed.

"Oh god," she whispered, her hand instinctively going to her stomach. "This is going to be a disaster."

The gravel crunching under the tires of the production van sounded exactly the same as it had six weeks ago.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, clutching a travel mug of ginger tea like it was a holy relic. Her assistant, Leo, was driving, frowning at the sky through the windshield.

"I hope you brought the big HMI lights," Leo grumbled, parking next to a massive catering truck that was blocking half the driveway. "I just checked the windows on the way up. The natural light in there is shit today. It's completely flat. We’re going to have to fake the sun."

"Great," Y/N murmured, staring up at the white stucco house. "Just what I needed."

She felt like she was going to throw up.

It wasn't just the pregnancy nausea—though that was present, a low-level hum of misery in her stomach—it was the house. The last time she had been here, she had been barefoot, carrying her heels, sneaking out of that front door at dawn.

Now, the driveway was a circus. There were rails of clothes being wheeled in by frantic assistants. There were light scrims, C-stands, and a craft services table laden with pastries that made Y/N’s stomach turn.

"Let's do this," she whispered to herself. You are a professional. He is a subject. This is a job.

She climbed out of the van, pulling her oversized parka tighter around herself. She was wearing her "armor"—baggy cargo pants and a thick hoodie that hid everything, even though there was barely anything to hide yet.

Walking into the house was surreal.

The hallway where she had taken off her shoes was now lined with equipment cases. The living room...

Y/N paused in the doorway of the living room.

The Persian rug—the rug—was still there. But now, it was covered in extension cords and a stylist’s rack of silk shirts and velvet suits. The fireplace where they had drunk wine was currently serving as a charging station for camera batteries.

It felt like walking onto a crime scene that had been turned into a circus.

"Y/N! Darling!"

The Creative Director of Vogue, a terrifyingly chic woman named Alana, swept over. "The space is difficult, isn't it? We want to shoot him right here. By the window. We need it to look raw."

"We'll make it work," Y/N managed to say, setting her camera bag down. She avoided looking at the spot on the floor where she had traced his tattoos. "Leo, set up the reflector board on the left. If the light is shit, we'll force the contrast."

For the next hour, Y/N buried herself in the work. She checked her ISO. She changed lenses. She barked orders at Leo to fix the shadows. She drank her ginger tea. As long as she had the camera in her hand, she could pretend she was just Y/N the photographer, not Y/N the terrified, pregnant one-night-stand.

"He's coming down!" someone shouted from the hallway.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The chatter died down. The stylist stopped steaming a shirt. The air became charged, electric. The "Harry Styles Effect."

Y/N’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She gripped her camera tighter, her knuckles turning white. She stood behind her tripod, using it as a shield.

Just look at the lens, she told herself. Don't look at him. Look at the framing.

Footsteps on the floorboards. Heavy, booted footsteps.

"Morning, everyone," that voice rasped.

It went through Y/N like a physical blow. It was the same voice that had whispered You’re absolutely trouble against her skin.

She looked up. She couldn't help it.

Harry stood in the doorway. He looked tired, bone deep tired. His hair was a little longer, messy in a way that wasn't styled. He was wearing loose sweatpants and a white t-shirt, holding a mug of coffee.

He looked around the room, smiling politely at the team, nodding at Alana.

Then, he turned his head toward the camera setup.

His gaze swept over Leo, over the lights, and landed on Y/N.

He froze. The polite smile vanished from his face instantly. His green eyes went wide, flashing with a shock so raw it cracked his media-trained mask wide open.

He didn't move. He just stared at her across the crowded room, the coffee mug halted halfway to his mouth.

"Y/N?" he breathed, his voice loud enough to cut through the silence.

If you’d like to read the remaining nine chapters of Off the Record, consider joining my Patreon, where the full series is available exclusively. 🤍

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[raedisconova]

HARRY STYLES HEADCANONS -> VACATION WITH FRAT BOY HARRY

'who dis?': fratboy! harry styles x afab! reader (fictional)

summary: you, harry, and friends rent a lake house for a weekend in the summer.

warnings: suggestive sexual comments, kissing, sexual tension

note: this idea came to me for a text blurb but i thought headcanons might be more fun! also i used green for harry’s dialogue and pink for y/n’s… it looks like wicked. i hope it’s not too corny i really tried.

p.s - i’m still a beginner on headcanons! if anyone has any POLITE suggestions or constructive criticism to HELP me better them that’d be so appreciated ❤️❤️ tpwk.

having one of the biggest and most popular friends in university is one of the best things ever

everyone loves everyone, and you all love to party

so when summer rolls around… what better way to spend it all together then at a super fancy lake house?!

with your boyfriend, the most popular guy on campus, harry fucking styles ?

pinch me i’m dreaming

it all starts with the drive up

it’s not too far away to the point where your bored and car sick, but not to short so you can enjoy the car ride

you all agree to meet up separately, so you drive up with harry

passenger princess, duh

because to harry your contentment is his priority

and as passenger princess, you always get your way.

the whole ride up— you get aux

with harry’s awful suggestions of course

“what’s this song?” “like a tattoo by sade” “can you put on drake?” “harry.” “what! you liked one of his songs” “fine, one song” “yes!”

there’s also the constant check ins

“you good?” “yes” “needa pee?” “no i’m fine” “you sure? there’s a gas station up ahead” “are you just asking so you have an excuse to get snacks?” “…yes” “pull over”

the chatting

“i’m so fricking excited” “me too, we’re gonna have so much fun” “what are you most excited about?” “getting away from the fucking pledg-” “harry.”

and then the constant touching

“why’d you take your hand off my thigh?” “well i needed to put my blinker on, baby” “put it back” “yes ma’am” “and eyes on the road” you tease “okay ma’am” he laughs

eventually you make it up there, to the big beautiful lakehouse

the minute you walk in, you already see niall there. filling up the fridge.

“harry! y/n!” “how long have you been here niall?” “long enough to know where the closest place to buy beer is”

classic niall what can ya say

since harry rented the place, he obviously gets first pick on bedrooms. ergo, the master suite

and it’s absolutely stunning

there’s a beautiful view of the lake from the bay view window, a huge bed in the room, a big flat screen, ensuite bathroom, and a big closet

it’s everything you could ever want and more

after you get all unpacked, more and more of your university friends start to arrive.

when you all arrive you all agree it’s time to head down the shore

the shore is right in your big beautiful backyard, with a campfire pit, plenty of lawn chairs, backyard games, a barbecue, even a hammock

straight out of a summer camp brochure really

most of you spend thr entire evening outside

the boys are barbecuing, the girls are playing lawn darts, and niall’s trying to build a fire on his own (he watched one episode of survivor.)

the night winds down, and by the time it’s dark, everyone’s curled up by the fire

you sit in harry’s lap, both of you slightly buzzed, watching the fire

it’s perfect, you think. a perfect start to summer.

until it starts to rain

“oh shit” harry says “go go go” he laughs

everyone (even including niall, who was so drunk you’re surprised he woke up) starts to run inside, all agreeing to call it a night

in your room you get ready for bed together

both pink from your buzz, and wet from the rain…

the air becomes hot

you sit on harry’s lap at the rooms vanity, taking off your makeup. he cannot stop staring at you

“you’re so pretty” he says “you don’t even need any of that makeup” he breathes, his chin on your shoulder, arm around your waist. “you have no idea how happy you make me” he says before closing his eyes

you smile faintly, kissing his forehead “i love you” you say. he hums.

you finish taking off your makeup and look down, studying harry’s sleepy, sleepy, face

“harry?” “mmm?” “you asleep?” “boutta be” “you’re still wet though” “mmm that’s what she said” “harry.”

you can take the guy out of the frat house, but you can’t take the frat house out of the guy.

you run a pretty strict program, so harry eventually stumbles gets up to change, moaning about leaving your touch

you crawl into bed first, harry follows. he pulls you by the waist into his chest. sighing sleepily

“don’t leave” “i forgot you were a clingy drunk” “yeah. don’t leave.”

he’s not kidding.

“goodnight baby” you say finally, pecking his lips before tucking back into his chest

“g’night beautiful” harry slurs, humming at the kiss

and just like that, lights out.

harry doesn’t remember much the next morning

“it rained?” he asks at the stove, making like a dozen eggs for everyone

“yeah and we came to the room and i sat on your lap while i took my makeup off?” “did i say anything weird?” “just that i’m pretty and stuff…” “that’s not weird, that’s a fact”

charming devil

all of you devour breakfast pretty quickly, and also come to a collective agreement to head to the lake

the second you come out to the backyard in your bathing suit, harry’s jaw drops

you catch eyes. he blushes, but tries to play it off

“is that new, baby?” he says, nursing his coffee

“mhm” you reply, knowing what you do teases him. “why?” you bite your lip

“nothing” he smiles “you look pretty” he says

goner. he’s a goner for you.

during the whole time at the lake he just keeps staring at you

you even over hear his conversations

“so i told them i couldn’t do that, obviously” “yeah huh” “and i kinda apologized for it but-” “earth to harry?” “mhm-” “harry would you quit staring at your girlfriend?” “what?” “are you even listening?”

when you’re in the lake, on a floaty, talking with your girlfriends— you feel something grab your ankle

you start to squeal, just to look under and see a big head of messy curls with dark red swim trunks

“harry!” you shove him as he comes up from the water

“what?” he chuckles, “can’t a guy see his girl?”

you roll your eyes, and in retort he shakes his head, water from his hair getting on you

“shower time!” he laughs

you groan, but before you can even retort harry’s grabbed under your knees and back, picking you up bridal style from the floaty

okay princess treatment

“what are you doing?” “just wanna look at ya” “well can you put me down.” “only if you go to the swim dock with me”

you both smile at each other. you roll your eyes dramatically “fine”

you swim out to the swim dock together, telling your friends you’ll just be a minute

there’s no ladder, so harry pulls himself up, flexing his triceps and biceps by pushing his palms into the dock and up

he catches you staring, and smiles, before pulling you up

“like what you see?” he says

“could say the same to you, googly eyes” you fire back, teasing of course

he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your torso while standing

“why’d you bring me here, huh?” you say, hands on his chest, pushing on it

“needed you alone” he says “couldn’t do what i wanted to do with niall and the boys breathing down my neck”

“you look gorgeous” he says “like drop dead fuck me sideways gorgeous” he smiles

you go to give him a peck on the lips, but he tries and nips your lip. you scoff laugh

you grin “you know they can still see us, right?” a giggle escapes from your lips

harry gives you a devilish look

“yeah” forehead kiss. “i just don’t…” jaw kiss “care” neck kiss

fuck

you kiss him, deeply.

well until you hear yelling from shore

“let’s fucking go styles!!”

yeah, moment ruined

“let’s go back to shore” he laughs, giving you one last kiss before letting go

“you know we’re about to do the swim of shame right?” “oh stop” “what! it’s true”

he really hates that term, but you love egging him on. so.

the evening goes by quickly after that

after dinner, everyone gets the bright idea to do a movie outside with the projector

thankfully one of your friends brought their laptop, but of course there’s still fighting on which movie

“jaws?” “harry, that’s too scary” “ooo dirty dancing?” “yes!” “no.”

yeah you end up watching dirty dancing.

except you fall asleep

sitting on the blanket with harry, against his chest

when the movie ends, harry carries you in

you stir, but he immediately shushes you

“harry?” “shh” “what time is it?” “shh” “did i fall asleep?” “yes y/n you did, now can you shut up please?”

you end the night in your soft bed, beside harry. half asleep, you feel him putting your hair in a ponytail (because he knows you hate when your hair touches your neck)

the princess treatment never stops

“goodnight” you hear him whisper “i love you”

that morning you have to pack up and leave paradise

you all have to get up and packed and out by 11 am, which is really hard when half your friends are hungover

and when harry’s sad. because he’s trying to hide it

he won’t admit it, but he loves more than anything time like this with you. mornings together. swimming together. just being together.

you can tell from his hints too

“maybe we can do this again next year” “i wonder if they rent this place for winter” “you think if i leave something here they’ll make us come back?”

you give him a weary smile, then a hug

“i’m sure we can come back soon” you say “maybe even with the pledges” you tease

that gets you a flick on the forehead, and a chuckle.

bittersweet

all of you and your friends say goodbye, promising to catch up before school starts back up again

you get in the car with harry, his hand immediately on your thigh

you smile at him, and he smiles at you.

“best weekend ever?”

“best weekend ever.”

taglist: @fernsandvinyls @lillrry @petrichorflz @harryskissco @jung-sun @kisseswithstyles @littlefreakmadi @jocelynlovesharrystyles @harryscherrysuckr @midnightmemories-1-d @kissallthetimeharrystyles @c0mfortablesilences @dropdop @prettiegirlavenue @tpwkmr @tabisswag @parker-barnes-af @slutfordpr @harlowsgirl @sisterslytherinog @bookluver114 @theboyzgirl @suhchopath @starlitlace @frankiebeeslyshouse @f1flowergirl @mariiibash @coolguycalcdizzleswizzle @swag313gurl @tunkers05 @haydee5010 @cavillsangel @velvetsighs @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @angzls @monlils @sarahinhersundaybest @jaehyunluvs @loeyidea @iheartremuslupiin @iisaaasstuff @afterhoursangell @kentchem @sp3ncerreid @madufw @starqrsz @imstressed17

[jarofstyles]

Adoration

Hi my lovebugs, this is the sequel-ish to Admiration! It could be read as a standalone though. I had them on my mind recently after I gave it a reread and I forgot how much I loved writing it so I wanted to touch on a few more things from them. Hope you enjoy!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 370+ exclusive writings and series

WC-4k

warnings- angst (resolved), avoidant attachment, talk of failed dates (not with H), anxiety, smut, anal play(not p in a penetration, just teasing it) soft Dom!Harry

There had been a time in the not so distant past that Y/N had been sexually frustrated, cynical, and almost hopeless about meeting the man who could give her what she wanted. 

She herself would admit that she had somewhat high standards compared to those she knew, but despite some urges from people around her that maybe they were possibly unobtainable, she refused to lower them. It wasn’t fair of her to settle for something she knew wouldn’t satisfy her, regardless if other people did. 

Perhaps that sounded cruel, and maybe it was, but so was settling for someone you weren’t head over heels for. 

That had been something she had done at the very beginning of her dating journey, and she had vowed after the third situationship with a man she had only seen potential and not results with that she would never, ever do that again. A lesson learned too many times.

People liked to say ‘if you know, you know’, and she hadn’t been so certain about that in the past. There were lots of instances of people who had given someone a chance when they were unsure and after a few dates it had worked, and for that she was ecstatic for them, but in her case it had only ever ended up with wasted time. 

Lots of people had initially been up for the ‘challenge’ when Y/N had tried to state her standards, and at the beginning it worked out slightly, sometimes showing some promise, but she could always see the cracks in the foundation she barely laid down. The cement hadn’t even cured yet when she watched their jaw twitch or heard the sighs of exasperation, and it was then that she would keep an eye on it but knowing that it likely wouldn’t work. 

There were three chances. She liked to think she was a very understanding person and that had been part of the problem when she had first started to implement going for exactly what she wanted instead of conceding to what was ‘available’, but with each person it got easier. Depending on the offense, the person didn’t get the third chance. 

Two cancelled dates in a row? Bye bye. 

Going three days without any texts or calls? Adios. 

They said something that very obviously didn’t align with her morals and values? See ya fucking later. 

So yes, it had been easy to become cynical after a while. 

That was also why four months into being official with Harry that she knew she was going to marry him. 

It was a feeling, really, a knowing that settled into her chest and stayed warm and glowy. The idea of being with him forever didn’t panic her like it had in the past with other people, there had been no major fuck ups besides a few cancelled dates because of work which he had rectified nearly immediately by a lot of soft words and heartfelt apologies he had stepped out of said meetings to give, sending her food and calling her on his way home, asking if he could see her to give her a kiss goodnight. 

Not to fuck and leave, but a literal kiss goodnight before being prepared to drive all the way back to his home. 

Did she end up inviting him in anyways? It depended on her mood. Usually, yes.

For a man so busy with multiple companies and a charity he was actually involved in, he always made time for her. He made sure she knew ahead of time what his schedule was and if he was going to be out of touch for a while, and that was something she appreciated more than he could ever know. 

Her avoidant tendencies had shifted into something far more settled, but she still had the remnants of that nasty anxiety that lingered. Somehow he could just tell, and made it a point to soothe it whenever he could. 

“I’m so sorry, my treasure.” He looked genuinely remorseful when she picked up the phone to see him on her screen, sleepy and sad. Harry was on a trip in Italy and he’d told her that he would call her at ten in the evening, but once it got to midnight, she was more than upset when her phone had remained silent. Angry, even. 

It wasn’t fair to be. Y/N knew he was out making big moves for his career and business was sometimes unreliable when it came to timing, but the anxiety had clawed at her quickly. Again, her old demons that she hadn’t quite slaughtered to completion putting unfair assumptions in her head that maybe he had met someone there more interesting, that he was dreading calling her, or even worse, something had happened to him. 

Crying over it had seemed excessive, especially at her age, but Harry had quickly become so, so important to her that she wasn’t quite sure she knew how to deal with it. She could see long term with him, she wanted to be with him more than anything, and her brain was still having a hard time processing that he hadn’t shown any sign of being anything like the mistakes she had dated before that had fed these monsters in her head. 

So waking up to his ring tone at 1:32 in the early morning had been a bit jarring, to say the least. 

“The meeting ran over and my phone had died. I promise you, I ran to my hotel the fastest I could.” To his credit, he looked disheveled, like he had been running his hand through his normally styled hair and he had some puffiness under his eyes from lack of sleep . Y/N was aware of the fact that sometimes the things he worked on were very involved, and rationally she knew it wasn’t a big deal… but it had triggered an old wound. 

It had happened to her an embarrassing number of times before, waiting for a phone call only to say they ‘fell asleep’ or they had straight up forgotten. The feeling of humiliation had been drudged back up like someone stepping in a clear stream and kicking the mud and gunk to make her feel cloudy as she had texted him for the third time unanswered, the feeling of a girl who used to give too many chances rising back. 

This was different, though. This wasn’t some party boy or hinge match that had strung her along. This was her boyfriend, one who had given her no reason to truly doubt him. 

“And no one else had a charger?” Her irritation showed through her sleepy voice, eyes narrowing at the screen. It felt ridiculous to say and embarrassment hit her gut when she did, but he shook his head in response, not getting prickly about her tone. 

“No, my darling, and that was very irritating. I am going to buy a portable one to keep in my briefcase, alright? I won’t let this happen again.” He paused, frowning as he watched her flip on her lamp on her nightstand, letting him see the tear tracks racing down her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I don’t like it when you cry. I can see that you did.” It looked like it pained him, no note of condescending lacing his tone. “Breaks my heart. I hate that I made you so upset.”

“It’s okay.” She sniffled, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to get snappy. I should have known it was something like that, but it made my imagination run a bit wild. It’s stupid.”

“It isn’t.” The strength of his response surprised her. “Nothing about the way you feel is stupid. It was a broken promise, and that’s my own fault. You didn’t do a thing wrong. It’s alright to be frustrated with me for that.” His lips turned into a sad smile, shifting his position on the bed. 

“Well… Thank you for that.” It felt strange to have a man validate her reaction like that, even if she did know it wasn’t fully warranted. “I was just anxious, I think.” 

“Why don’t you tell me why, hm? I want t’know what goes on in that pretty head of yours. I’ll make sure to keep mental notes so it doesn’t happen again.”

–

The way Harry handled her with such care was a whole new experience and in every single way. He’d made sure to make good on all of his promises so far, and while she knew it could change at any moment, she’d decided to let go of some of those fears to fully take him in. This was the man she wanted to be with and working through those things in order to trust him was important. 

Besides that, she had never felt more adored in her life. 

“You alright?” He murmured into her skin, kissing on her cheeks as she finished washing the final dish. Harry had cooked dinner so she had insisted on cleaning up, much to his protest. He’d lingered around while she did, offering a hand and chuckling when she whipped the kitchen towel at him, leaving only momentarily to take a quick call before returning right at the tail end of her cleaning spree and attaching himself to her. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” The honest answer was that she was flustered from his lips pressing kisses all over her face (at least where he could reach from the position) and down her jaw. It was like he didn’t want to leave any area untouched, tiny pecks and a soft humming from his throat along to the Nina Simone album he’d put on making her skin heat up. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” The hand on her stomach fiddled with the hem of her top, letting his pinky graze the bare skin from where it had ridden up. “I adore you. I hope you know.” 

The gentle reminder of his feelings made her beam, surely letting him feel her smile against his lips as he gave another kiss to the heated skin. He hadn’t been shy about letting her know that he felt something strongly towards her, even if it was only a few months in. 

For a man so refined, poised and controlled in every other context, when it came to letting her know how he felt, the longer they were together, the more free and messy he was in comparison. 

Y/N fucking loved it. 

“What a coincidence. I happen to adore you quite a lot, too.” She retorted, shutting the water off and wiping her hands on the clean towel hanging over the faucet before placing them on top of his. “I didn’t expect to like you this much, this quickly. Or for you to like me back equally.” Those small moments of vulnerability she sprinkled in to their conversations were sometimes intimidating to give, but the more open she was with him the more she got to know his thoughts. 

Harry was more than giving when it came to communication and giving her the validation she needed. Sometimes it felt too good to be true, but everything about it seemed so earnest it was hard to actually doubt him. “How could I not?” He sounded affronted by the idea of it, shaking his head before nosing into the crook of her neck. “You, my darling, are the most wonderful, intelligent, alluring woman I’ve ever met. I can’t describe to you how lucky I felt when you agreed to start seeing me regularly.”

Y/N snorted, running her fingers over his wrists and up to his forearms before cuffing over them. “I thought you weren’t really attracted to me at first because you didn’t try to fuck me.” 

His body stilled behind her. An interesting reaction for someone so smooth, she waited for him to move. It didn’t take long, craning his head towards her, the wrinkle in his brow showed confusion and a bit of offense before he slowly shook his head. She wanted to smooth it away, make his face relax. “That is the exact opposite of what was happening. I was doing everything in my power to show you I was serious, yes, because you deserved the respect of being treated like a lady… but please, never mistake my attraction for you. It has always been… borderline distracting. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Deciding to press his cheek against hers, he let out a sad sigh. “I never wanted you to think that. I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt undesired, my treasure. That’s never been the case. I just wanted to do it right.” The 5 o’clock shadow that had become more of an 8 o’clock one tickled her soft cheek as he spoke. 

“No, I know you did. I figured that out after the third date when you kissed me.” Her face felt hot when she recalled how carried away the kiss had gotten, her back cold against the passenger side of his car when he’d dropped her off and given her the first proper smooch. The electricity was there immediately and had lit her up, making her cling to the lapels of his jacket and his own hand sliding down her back, dangerously close to her ass. 

The memory of the groan he had let out was still something that made her knees weak. The way he’d tasted of wine and the mint he had on hand in his cupholder, too. 

“Mmm. Best first kiss of my life. I’d like it to be my last.” Thumbing over her stomach, he pressed her forward and into the sink with a sigh, moving to nose over her cheek as his mouth drifted toward her ear. “You’ve no idea how badly I wanted to say ‘fuck it’, right then and there. Hike that beautiful dress up to your hips and take you right there, because I knew immediately that you were mine and I wanted to take you. Be greedy. But I couldn’t.” Clicking his tongue in disappointment, he let himself press against her ass. 

Just the memory of the kiss had done something to him, too. 

“Really?” She breathed, swallowing the thickness in her throat. “I-I didn’t know. It was the first glimpse I saw of when you get…” 

“When I get what, sweetheart?” He questioned, letting his hand drift up, fingers running right over her breasts. A tease. Harry loved to fucking tease and it always made her squirm. He got off on making her impatient, hearing her whine, only to give in and give her the things she had only thought possible in her books and dirty dreams. It hadn’t helped her learn any patience, but thankfully he had enough for the both of them. “Hm?”

“When you get… feral. I don’t know. You’re always so proper but when you- when you grabbed the back of my neck to keep me where you wanted me, I got so wet.” Her breathy admission made him hum happily, finally allowing his hand to cup her and squeeze. Just a little bit- just another tease as his thumb grazed her nipple over the material of her top.

“Yeah? S’that what you like?” Harry knew damn well that was what she liked. He felt her get wet when he did, he felt her cum when he lost his control, he heard her sounds and how she went lax whenever he took over. “I can’t help myself sometimes. I just adore you so, so much. It takes over a part of me I’ve never seen. You’re the first to bring it out.” 

The lack of control he had over himself when it came to her was one of the things she loved most. It was nearly impossible for him to hide it now. The longer they were together the more he showed her. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when she was bent over the kitchen counter with her fuzzy cheetah sleep shorts discarded across the tiled floor and his hands running over her curves as he thrust into her, slow and deep. 

Filling her to the brim, to the point where she let out little gasps as his hips pressed against her bum, he let out low, gravelly murmurs of appreciation.  “Look at how you take it, my treasure.” He murmured, fingertips grazing the dimples in her back. “Like you were made for me. So fucking gorgeous, it’s driving me mad.” 

Regardless of how filthy their sex got, no matter how hard he took her, how dirty his words developed into when he grunted them into her sticky skin, Y/N never felt anything less than worshipped. Seeing a man break his composure he kept around every other human being because he was so obsessed with her was a sensation that she never knew she wanted, but now that she had it? It was a necessity.

He was reverent and sweet, even, as he picked up the pace and nudged her thighs further apart. “I can’t get enough of you. It’s never enough. Just want t’be touching you every moment… I’d live inside you if I could.” 

That sounded especially tempting as his hand slipped to her stomach and down to cup her mound, thumbing over her slippery clit. “Arch for me, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.” The opposite hand moved the hair that had fallen in her face, cooing as she did as he requested. “There she is. There’s my girl. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

It would be embarrassing, how wet she got for him, if Harry didn’t love it. He preened every time he saw just how slicked up she got for him, coating his cock and his sac damn near every time he got inside of her. Her body reacted almost excessively strongly to him, in ways she hadn’t known possible, and he worked to get every possible one. 

The squelch of his cock inside of her, skin against skin and her panting filled the kitchen, fingers clawing uselessly on the marble countertop when she felt his other hand make the trek from her face towards her bum- and she knew what was coming. 

Before Harry, she’d never really considered any sort of anal play to be her thing, but the first time he had gently nudged the tip of his thumb in, she had lit up. It had pleased him to no end, seeing as he knew no one else had touched her there, and he wanted to claim it. 

If only he knew just how much she belonged to him. 

“Yeah? Want me to put something in this precious little hole too?” He spoke sweetly, like he wasn’t about to do one of the filthiest things a person could do. It was the duality of the man that had her head spinning every time they were intimate, but it seemed to get better every damn time. 

“You know I do.” Her reply was breathy as she used her elbows to raise her torso, but he wasn’t having any of that. 

“No, none of that.” He scolded, abandoning her ass for a moment to urge her back down. “You aren’t doing any work. You’re going to lay there and be gorgeous while I take care of everything. S’my job.” 

Y/N had won the karma lottery for dating so many duds, she was pretty sure. Like a gift from the universe for her troubles, giving her a man who not only wanted to take care of her but thrived off of it. Harry loved to be in charge, sure, but it was the act of giving that really got him off- Caring for her in ways no one else possibly could.

“Okay, m’sorry baby.” She swallowed, taking a breath that was promptly stolen when he spit right over her hole. “Oh, fuck.” Her face went lax as she bleated the curse out, not sure if she wanted to move from the touch or back into it. It was so much, but not enough.

“You like it, I know. M’gonna give it to you. I’ve been neglecting this ass, haven’t I baby? That’s not nice.” He shook his head, rubbing over the rim of it. “So pretty and tight… Makes you feel so good, too. One day we’ll get my cock in there. Get you some toys t’open you up… but for now, I just want to make you cum. You’ve had a long day, and I’ve been thinking about my pussy all fucking day.” 

The pleasure was almost indiscribable. Feeling the intrusion of his thumb, his hand on her clit and his cock thrusting into her, she was never more full than this. In moments like this, it was abundantly clear not only who she belonged to, but who belonged to her. The noises out of his mouth, the praises, the worship, all of it in one proved just how much it was reciprocated.

“You’ll never feel undesired again.” He grunted, his thrusts catching a little speed. There was no doubt he could feel her walls clenching around him, sucking on him to try and get him to meet his end, and she could hear it in his voice. “Should have done this over the hood of my car during that third date, just so you knew how much I wanted you. Wanted you to be mine, to crave this cock like I was drooling over this perfect pussy before I had even seen it.” 

He’d hidden it quite well. She’d only had a little inkling that he wanted her after their kiss but he’d held off so gracefully that she had been unsure.

Now, there was no questioning it. She was wanted in ways she hadn’t ever fathomed. 

“I-I wanted you so bad. I love when you’re a gentleman- oh fuck.” She hiccuped when the tip of his cock brushed the spot she needed again, eyes watering at the feeling. “I love it, but I love this too. Wanna feel you wanting me.” 

That was a challenge if he ever heard one, even if she hadn’t meant it to be. 

Y/N felt his want when he focused on that spot that had her knees weak, felt it when he kept his thrusts the same to focus on that spot, and especially felt it when she came the first time and he didn’t stop. Not even a falter in his rhythm, no skipped beat. Just the continuation of pleasure. 

“I want you so much it aches. I sit at work and think about when I get to see you next, how I can get you closer to me, make up excuses to come by just to kiss you. But if you want me to do this more often? Want me to get you face down and gushing around my cock over and over again? I’ll do it. I want you forever.” His voice was slurred a little bit, but he didn’t stop. 

“Adore you so much. You’re everything I fuckin’ dreamed of. Never felt m-more lucky than seeing you on that first date. Knew you’d be mine. Knew I’d have to do anything I could to make you happy. My hands hurt from how… how bad I wanted to run them all over you, but now you’re gonna see.” He breathed, smacking lightly over her clit to get her to whimper for him. “M’gonna show you what’s going on on my head all the time.” 

That was what she wanted. Knowing he was in his office talking about god knows what business stuff he talked about, texting under the table that he couldn’t wait to have her was something she wanted. 

Harry completely unfiltered.

[jarofstyles]

Miss jars I have a niche ask and it’s ok if not but can you do a blurb with ball worship…. Maybe mean dom Harry

I haven’t done mean dom H in a while but I made a whole concept in my head of ex boyfriendrry that’s kinda toxic but I figured someone may like this so… thank you for giving me a prompt to do this with 🤭

Check out our Patreon for early updates and 370+ exclusive writings and series

Warnings- he’s technically her ex but also not, mean dom!harry, toxic relationship and dynamic, ball worship, some degradation, brief use of Daddy, some name calling, filthy filthy

Standing in the bedroom, shirtless and boxers down around his thighs as she knelt before him on the carpet wasn’t an unusual sight, but it was one he fucking loved to see. Eager eyes peering up at him with desperation on her pretty face, he could feel it leaking off of her just like this.

It was too bad she had misbehaved.

His hand was deceivingly gentle, carding through her hair while she licked over his balls with an enthusiasm that had him biting back a mean grin. The sight of her on her knees for him was fucking everything- his girl being so eager to please him turned him inside out every time.

“You wish you had my cock in that throat right now, hm?”

She whimpered against his skin, a pitiful, needy sound that made his dick twitch and strain harder where it rested against her cheek, his fist running down the length of it back and forth to tease her about what she couldn’t have. Her tongue was relentless over his sac, laving at him with worship that made him bite back a laugh. It felt so fucking good to have her be desperate for him, to get her reduced to this.

It never escaped him what a lucky sonofabitch he was. "You had been such a good girl lately, but you had t’fuckin’ ruin it. Going on a fucking date with that piece of shit when we both know you were going to come crawling bac t’me anyways, huh?” The hand in her hair guided her head back just enough to expose his cock to her mouth, the tip glistening with her spit already from when she’d tried to take it in her mouth initially. "You want forgiveness? You'll have to earn it. "

Her eyes watered up at him, pupils dilated and full of that need he loved seeing in them. The attempt at a date did nothing for her. They both knew it was to bait him into coming to ruin it, just like he always did.

She’d huff and puff and cry, tell him she didn’t want him back, but the moment he showed up and told her that she was leaving with him and to say goodbye to the sorry prick that had asked her out, she’d followed him to his car like a puppy wagging her tail and let herself into his house. like fucking clockwork.

That’s how it always went.

“You knew he wasn’t going to be able to give you what you need, yeah? You know it’s only me who can give you the nasty fuck you want.”

Back and forth. Cat and mouse. She’s go out with these so called ‘nice guys’, wait for him to come and save her from being bored, because she knew he was watching and that they weren’t ever actually done.

Every time they broke up, she pulled shit like this instead of just coming to find him. Thats how she liked it.

"No answer?" He asked, tilting her head back further to look up at him. "You gonna just sit there and lick my fucking balls like the needy little slut you are?" She whimpered again, face hot as she glared up at him but didn’t stop, tongue dragging up him yet again.

“Of course not.” The bitter laugh didn’t do much to deter her as he tightened his grip in her hair, pulling her mouth closer to him. “You just went out because you wanted me to come take you back home, where you belong. On your knees with a drippy little cunt and a mouth full of cock.” The words came out gruff, albeit with a hint of approval as he watched her tongue swipe over his sack before mouthing at them, feeling them tighten up at the attention.

His hand guided her head back so she was looking up at him with those pretty eyes filled with tears and desperation. “You know what happens when you misbehave, don’t you?” She nodded eagerly against his palm, mouth opening to suck on the sack without being prompted.

“Yeah, you do. Filthy little thing. Love t’make me mad and come back here to get fucked, but you’re going to work for it first. You love this cock too much, don’t you baby?” He crooned, petting her hair back so he could see all of her eyes. “You need me just as much as I need you. That slutty pussy knows who it belongs to. Just need your pretty head to catch up. Keep trying to run from me so I catch you, baby. Keep making me fuck you dumb so you can have a reminder on who loves you best. I’ll make sure that pretty little brain remembers it this time, because m’getting real fucking tired of this game.”

“Daddy…” She whined low in her throat, the sound vibrating against his balls and making his stomach muscles ripple sharply. Her apology was written all over her face with those deliciously wet eyes, flushed cheeks, pouty mouth that she couldn’t keep from working over him. It was an addiction, the back and forth, the way she purposely poked the bear until he pinned her down and fucked her until she remembered exactly who she belonged to.

“Oh, so now I’m Daddy? That’s fucking rich.” He scoffed, gritting his teeth.

God, he fucking loved her.

"You keep on doing it. Keep trying to find someone else to take care of this greedy little cunt. We both know no one else is ever going to get you this wet. You’re dripping on my fuckin’ floor just from sucking on me.” He groaned deep in his throat as she pulled off of him, the sickly, wet pop noise making his stomach clench before he guided her mouth to the other side.

“So go on… Keep pretending you don’t beg for this cum inside you, like you don’t beg me to take the condom off every time. Until you stop this shit, you won’t get it inside you at all. All you’re going to do is suck on Daddy’s balls while I jerk myself off and cum on this pretty, pathetic face.”

[watermelonlovershigh]

Breastfeeding in Public Gone Wrong (Angst/Fluff)

AN: this is partly inspired by that lady who made the tiktok video saying she was told to breastfeed in an airport bathroom but refused. i just put my own spin to the story. i don't write a lot of angst but for this blurb i decided it needed a little to make it complete. hope you enjoy and remember to leave feedback. xoxo (ps, this has been in my drafts since last september and i'm just now proof reading it to post.)

This story contains: breastfeeding in public, sexualization of breastfeeding, perverted man, comfort, angst

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry }

word count- 950

You begin breastfeeding your hungry newborn baby at the airport while Harry is on the hunt for you some breakfast, when all of the sudden an older man decides to butt into your business and share his negative thoughts on you breastfeeding in public.

This marked your first travel experience since welcoming your two-month-old daughter into the world, Penny, and it'd be an understatement to say you were a nervous wreck. You were unsure if Penny would sleep soundly for the duration of the flight, or if she'd cry and bother the other passengers. The unknowing of how she'll act on the plane gave you major anxiety.

You and Harry made sure to get to the airport two hours in advance of your flight's departure time, which gave you time to have some breakfast and soothe your nerves before the journey. After going through the security checks and having your bags examined, you sat in a small seating area near your gate while Harry looked for breakfast for the two of you.

While he's on the hunt for breakfast, Penny, who's strapped to your chest, begins to fuss, and you know precisely what her problem is. She's hungry as well. She hasn't eaten since just before you left your house, which was nearly two hours ago. You unclip her from your chest and take off the baby carrier, then gently lift your shirt just enough for her to have access to your breast.

In the first few weeks of having Penny, you often felt anxious about breastfeeding in public spaces; however, Harry quickly snapped you out of that anxiety. He emphasized that you are simply feeding your daughter, and if anyone has a negative remark about it, they can take their opinions elsewhere and fuck the right off.

Approximately a minute after you begin feeding Penny, an elderly gentleman takes a seat in the same waiting area as you. You initially pay him no mind until you observe his gaze fixated on your chest while you're feeding your daughter. You choose to ignore him and focus your attention out the large glass windows in front of you. This continues until the older man chooses to speak.

"Should be ashamed to have your breast hanging out like that in public. Very indecent for a pretty women like you."

You abruptly turn your head towards him, a scowl present on your face. How dare this stranger have the audacity to comment on the act of you feeding your child? It's not as if you're sitting here exposing yourself without cause. You clearly have a baby attached to your chest. Just as you're about to address the older man, Harry comes back with two breakfast sandwiches and two cups of coffee, completely unaware of the dispute that unfolded during his absence.

As Harry sits down beside you, the older man opts to speak to him, presuming that Harry is your partner. "Hey, could you tell your wife to feed your baby in the toilets or somewhere else less public? No one wants to see your wife's tits this early before a flight. It could lead to an uncomfortable situation for us men during our flights. If you know what I mean."

You nervously decide to glance over at Harry and realize you've never witnessed him this angry before. It was as if you could actually see invisible smoke billowing from his ears, and his face is a bright shade of red. "Uhmm, sorry, I must've heard you wrong. Because there is no way in hell you just implied that my WIFE feeding our CHILD would make men hard? If a man gets hard at the sight of a women feeding their baby, the man needs to be locked up and far away from society. You dirty bastard."

For a brief moment, you're anxious that Harry might go up to the man and provoke a fight, but once Harry finishes his angry speech, the intercom activates and announces that the older man's flight is ready for boarding. Thankfully, he is not on your flight. As he walks away, Harry turns to you with a concerned look and asks, "Are you okay? Did he say anythin' to you while I was out getting us breakfast?"

Sadly smiling, you respond, "I'm okay. Just a little bit shook up. He just said I should be ashamed to have my breast out like this and then said it was very indecent for a pretty women like me."

Harry sets the breakfast down on the empty seat to his left and leans in to kiss your lips softly. "M' so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. Ignore what that fuckin' pervert said to you. You did nothin' wrong. Feeding our baby isn't wrong. And any man who ever tells you they get hard at the sight of you feeding a baby, run as far away as you can from them. There is nothin' sexual about you feeding a baby."

"Okay. Thank you for taking up for me and Penny. We appreciate it."

Harry just stares at you for a moment with a warm smile before glancing down at your baby who's still sucking your breast from just beneath your shirt, unfazed by all the recent commotion. He leans down to peck a soft kiss to the crown of Penny's head and mutters, "'Course, I'll always protect you two. You're both my world. Love you more than anythin'."

For the remainder of your time in the airport before your flight, you sit and glance out the big glass windows while your baby feeds. Harry takes turns feeding himself and than helping you eat by positioning your breakfast sandwich to your lips since your hands are full. You couldn't be more grateful to have such an amazing husband. He's the sweetest and most caring man you know, and he repeatedly makes you fall in love with him over and over again, every single day.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[goldengalore]

He said we could be friends

Summary: When Y/N and Harry broke up, he promised to stay friends. Then he vanished. Three years later, he’s back, turning her life upside down again. Between old grudges, impulsive kisses, and lingering touches, Y/N wonders if she ever really moved on.

Word count: 10k

Warnings: mention of mental health issues (depression), angst, smut

A/N: Okay! This is an emotional one, full of nostalgia and longing and lots of angst. I started it two years ago (omg) and came back to it recently. Y/N is a med student here, in the first couple years of school (excuse any inconsistencies pls)

MASTERLIST

***

He said we could be friends. I think about that promise often.

The breakup was as amicable as it could be. We talked in circles until there was nothing left to say, until the truth was staring us in the face: something wasn’t working. It’s never easy walking away from someone you still love, especially after convincing yourself for so long that love could carry you through anything, that love would be enough. It feels naive now, but back then, it looked like hope.

That was three years ago. He said we could be friends. And I never saw him again. Until today.

“Y/N?”

I wish I could say that I didn’t recognize his voice, that I’d forgotten what he sounds like. But I recognized it instantly. Like an old song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every word to.

I turn around to find him standing next to the avocados, wearing a white button-up with the top two buttons undone, his swallow tattoos peeking out. Black pants and scuffed Vans. His hair is longer than I remember but not by much. Nothing like the first year of our relationship, when it fell past his shoulders. I still remember the day he chopped it all off.

“Harry,” I say calmly, even though my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

“Hey, it’s… nice to see you again.” He steps forward tentatively, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” I realize how tightly I’m clutching the bag of tomatoes in my hands, and I consciously loosen my grip. “How about you?”

“I’ve been alright.”

“I heard you moved back to London,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.

He looks down. “Yeah. But I’m here for a few weeks, visiting a friend.” He pauses, clears his throat, and looks back up at me. “So, what’ve you been up to—”

“Excuse me.” A woman tries to pass by Harry with her shopping cart, glaring at him for blocking the aisle.

“Oh, sorry.” He quickly steps aside and refocuses his attention on me. “Maybe we could grab a coffee at the spot next door—”

“I actually have to go. But it was good seeing you again.” I force a smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Good seeing you, too.”

Before he can say anything else, I make a beeline for the exit. It’s only when I’m two feet from the door that I realize I still have the tomatoes I haven’t paid for. I drop them in the nearest shopping cart, feeling only slightly guilty about it, and bolt.

***

For months after the breakup, I wondered what I’d do if I ran into him. I imagined myself falling apart in his arms, confessing how much I missed him and that I love him and that I’m sorry. I knew the breakup wasn’t anyone’s fault, but I still felt guilty for the hurt I’d caused him.

After a year of imagining these emotional reunions that never came, it became clear that I probably wouldn’t see him again. Then I heard he’d moved back to London, and I finally accepted that he was likely gone for good. By that point, my guilt had been displaced by a low-level resentment. He had essentially ghosted me, and I had to find out from someone else that he’d left the country. His decision to cut me off so coldly and abruptly, like severing a necrotized limb, made sense and didn’t at the same time. I understood, yet I was bitter. But I was moving on, too.

A couple months ago marked three years since the breakup. I only realized while lying in bed that night how little I had thought about him that day. He had become a distant memory. It was no wonder that seeing him at the store this morning was so disorienting. It had taken so long to get him out of my goddamn mind, to move on. And then he just materialized out of nowhere, reminding me that I can never fully let go.

I try to forget about the encounter by busying myself with chores when I get home, but it’s hard. My mind keeps drifting back to him, picturing his deep green eyes and wondering which friend he was visiting. We had a lot of mutual friends from college. Could it be one of them?

It’s not until I open my anatomy textbook to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture that I’m able to put the thoughts to rest. Later that evening, I check my friends’ group chat and see that they’re meeting up at Jacki’s tonight. Normally, I would embody the stereotype of the miserable med student by staying in, head buried in my textbooks, but I could use a drink or two tonight.

***

Jacki’s is a board game bar in the middle of town. It opened in my last year of undergrad and quickly became a staple for my friend group. After graduation, everyone got swept up in the whirlwind of new careers and grad school, so we stopped going for a while. We’ve only started going back recently.

It’s busier than usual for a Wednesday night. I head straight to the back. The front of the bar is usually packed with younger people more interested in getting hammered than playing games.

I hear Niall’s laughter before I see him.

“Hey, Y/N’s here!” Leah calls out when she spots me. Next to her is Mateo, her fiance. They started dating after graduation, which was a shock to us all, considering how much they’d despised each other in uni. I attended their engagement party earlier this year.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally emerged from her cave,” Niall teases.

“And I already regret it,” I reply with a sarcastic grin.

“You won’t be saying that once we get some shots in ya.”

I’m distracted by a familiar figure at the table. His back is to me, but as he turns around, his eyes settle on mine.

“Oh, yeah, um, Harry’s here,” says Niall.

“I can see that,” I reply sharply before taking a seat next to Niall. A full shot glass sits in front of him. Without asking, I grab it and knock it back in one go.

“Wh— Hey! Get your own!” Niall protests.

I set the glass down with finality.

“So! What’ve I missed?”

***

I’ve never understood why my friends are so obsessed with drunk Monopoly, especially with the vast selection of board games available at this bar. I have a hunch they’re actually just addicted to arguing. Like a proper dysfunctional family.

Niall is now accusing Leah of stealing money from the bank. Mateo, of course, has to defend his future wife’s honour. I catch Harry’s eye in the midst of the chaos, and he shoots me an amused grin. I’ve been trying my best to avoid eye contact with him without making it obvious, but now I smile back briefly before looking away. I pretend I don’t notice his gaze linger on me for an extra few seconds.

He leaves to go use the restroom a while later.

Leah leans over. “For what it’s worth, we would’ve told you he was coming if we knew you’d be here, but you hardly come out with us anymore.”

“It’s all good,” I say, trying to play it cool. “By the way, do you know where he’s staying?”

Leah and Mateo silently turn to Niall, who coughs awkwardly.

I raise my brows. “He’s staying with you?”

“I was going to tell you, I swear—”

“It’s fine, Niall.”

“Really?”

“No, but I’ll get over it.”

They return to the game as Harry makes his way back to the table. He shifts his chair closer to me this time before sitting down and offering me the plate of fries at the end of the table.

“May I interest you in some fries?” he asks.

I grab one. “Thanks.”

He sets the plate down and eyes me tentatively. “You hate that I’m here.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t need to. I’ve never seen someone sprint out of a supermarket as fast as you did this morning. How far did you get before realizing you were shoplifting tomatoes?”

“I made it to the door before I dropped them in some old lady’s cart.”

He chuckles.

“But seriously,” I add, “I don’t mind that you’re here.”

“You don’t mind? Okay. That’s one step up from ‘I wish you’d fuck off.’”

“It’s not exactly a huge step.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he says with a shrug.

I try to suppress a grin.

I prepare to head home about an hour later, much to my friends’ dismay. That’s one of the downsides of being in med school while your friends are all established in their careers already—they have a lot more time and energy to stay out late and get drunk than you.

I make it only a few steps out into the pleasant September air when I hear my name. Turning around, I find Harry exiting the bar.

“Can I walk with you?” he asks.

“Are you sure you want to miss drunk Monopoly?”

“I think I’ll survive.”

I laugh. He falls into step beside me as we head in the direction of my apartment. We walk for quite a while without uttering a single word, but the silence feels natural. Like when we’d lie on the couch together, my feet in his lap, each of us buried in our own books or phones, not needing to fill the quiet.

“So, Dr. Y/L/N, I’ve got a question for you,” he says when we’re halfway to my apartment. It’s started drizzling since we left the bar, tiny raindrops kissing the pavement.

“Not a doctor yet,” I reply, smiling. He used to call me “doctor” all the time, his tone always threaded with a mix of teasing and encouragement. I would sometimes correct him, like I did now, but it always left me feeling warm and reassured that he believed in my ability to achieve this endeavour more than I did.

“You’re basically there,” he brushes it off like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fine. What’s your question?”

His hands slip into his pockets, lips twitching up into a playful grin. “You see, I’ve got this mole on my left butt cheek. I’ve had it since I was a wee child—”

“Shut up.” I whack his arm.

He laughs, the familiar sound instantly putting me at ease. “Congrats on getting into med school, by the way. How’s that been going?”

“It’s been…” I search for the right words to sum up the late nights and the impostor syndrome and the deep feeling of fulfillment that my work brings me. “Challenging but rewarding.”

“You were never one to back down from a challenge.”

I notice the way he says it, like it’s something he has always known about me, and there’s that warm feeling in my chest again. I hesitate before asking, “How was London?”

“London was…” He shrugs, his gaze dropping as he kicks a pebble in his path. “You know. London.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Oh, don’t be so mysterious. What have you been up to these past few years?”

He looks upward, his eyes tracing the cloudy night sky. “Let’s see. I backpacked through Europe with a couple mates, took some freelance writing gigs while I was traveling, built up some experience. Got back to London and landed a job at a publishing company.”

I can sense there’s more he’s not saying, but I don’t press him.

“Do you like it? The job?” I ask.

“Yeah, for now. I’d like to publish my own work someday. That’s still a work in progress. But for now, I’m content with it.”

When we reach my building, I stop and turn to face him. “Well, this is me.”

“That was a short walk.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking away with an expression I can’t quite place. Like he’s searching for something to say, some way to prolong the moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he wants me to invite him inside.

“I suppose I’ll head back then,” he says, his voice trailing off.

“Or you could stay,” I blurt out. “I mean, until the rain stops.” The “rain” is barely a mist, more of a damp kiss on the skin, but it’s easier than admitting I want him to stay.

“Are you sure? If you need to study, I don’t want to intrude—”

“I’m sure.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of us moves. Then he smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“Alright then. Lead the way.”

***

When we enter my apartment, I can sense Harry taking in how different everything looks. I moved out of the apartment we shared shortly after he disappeared. I couldn’t stay, of course. There were too many little reminders of him—everything from the books he left behind on the bookshelf to the scent of his shampoo that seemed to linger in the bathroom no matter how many times I cleaned the damn thing.

I go to the kitchen and fill a glass of water, the faucet hissing in the silence. Behind me, Harry pulls off his hoodie and drapes it over the arm of the couch to dry.

“You finally got rid of that sofa with the weird stains,” he says, eyeing the smaller one that replaced it.

“I had to part ways with it after the fabric started ripping every time I sat down.”

He chuckles.

I set down my empty glass next to the sink. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just some water.” He enters the kitchen. I expect him to look in the cupboard for a clean glass, but to my surprise, he grabs mine off the counter and fills it under the tap before chugging it down. He finishes the glass with a satisfied sigh, a subtle smirk on his face as he catches my reaction.

Our proximity makes my pulse race. I take a small step back, my mind racing to find something to say.

“You got a new tattoo.” I point to his right bicep, my fingertip just barely grazing his skin.

He looks down at it. “Yeah. A few, actually.”

That launches a whole conversation about all the new tattoos he got and where he got them. It turns out most of them were from his backpacking trip after the breakup. Some people cope by getting blackout drunk. Others ink their skin. I coped by distracting myself with other men. It worked about as well as you’d expect.

I’m on the couch now with my feet tucked under me, while he sits on my faded floral rug. We broke out my stash of cheap wine, and I start to feel like I’m catching up with an old friend. I almost forget about our history until he says, “I was really happy when Niall told me you’re in med school. I know how hard you worked to get here. How’d it feel when you got in?”

“Surreal. It didn’t even sink in until my first day of class.” I remember the day I found out. I screamed in my room, then called everyone I knew. Everyone except the one person I wanted to tell most.

“I wish you’d called,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to. I mean, you disappeared without even telling me.” I can’t hide the betrayal in my voice.

He rubs the back of his neck, not meeting my gaze. “You broke up with me, Y/N.”

I frown. “It was a mutual decision. And you said we could be friends. Why say that if you didn’t mean it?”

“I did mean it. At the time.”

“Then what changed?”

He shrugs, pulling at a loose thread on the rug. “I didn’t know how to be around you after. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t.”

“So, instead of telling me that, you ran away. Just ghosted without a word. I had to find out from Niall.” I can feel myself getting heated and I don’t know how to stop.

His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“You still ran.”

“No,” he states firmly. “I left. There’s a difference. And you were the one who walked away first.”

I shake my head. “Bullshit. It was mutual. We both agreed it wasn’t working—”

“I agreed because I loved you. That doesn’t make it mutual,” he snaps, his words coming out sharper than I expected. “I would’ve done anything to make it work. I thought if I just tried harder, if I could just be better, I could fix it. And then you decided to give up.”

I scoff. “You think I just gave up?”

He doesn’t answer, which feels equivalent to twisting the knife.

“I was fucking drowning, Harry. I was getting rejected from every med program. My family took every chance to remind me what a fucking failure I was. I could barely get out of bed some days! And the worst part was seeing how much it was affecting you. Our relationship was barely surviving. I was barely surviving.” My voice catches in my throat. I didn’t even realize tears had welled up in my eyes until now. Embarrassed and angry, I try to blink them away. “Is that why you’re here? To accuse me of giving up on us?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“Then why’d you come back, Harry?”

He lets out a short, humourless laugh. “You know what? I don’t even know.” He stands abruptly, grabs his hoodie, and heads for the door.

“Oh, sure. Run away again. You’re so good at that.”

“Fuck off, Y/N.”

The door slams behind him.

***

You were the one who walked away first.

The words echo in my head, timed cruelly with the slap of my shoes against the pavement. It’s colder than usual. The morning air stings my cheekbones and the tip of my nose but does nothing to dull the ache in my chest.

You decided to give up.

I crank my music higher and push myself harder, lungs and thighs burning with effort, as if I can outrun the sound of his voice in my own head. I don’t stop until Niall’s building comes into view, my body forcing me to slow down. I bend forward, hands braced on my knees, and catch my breath before pulling out my phone to text Niall.

Me: Here!

Niall: Be there in a sec

Niall: Harry’s joining us btw hope that’s ok

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to turn around and sprint back home.

Me: The more the merrier

They appear a minute later, crossing the parking lot together. Niall is talking animatedly, while Harry walks beside him with his head down, shoulders slightly hunched, not making eye contact with me. My eyes flick briefly to his legs and the absurdly short running shorts that leave little to the imagination.

“Morning, slackers,” I tease, forcing lightness into my tone.

Niall makes a face at me.

We start running, me setting the pace. Usually, these runs with Niall turn into gossip sessions within minutes, but today the air feels tense, heavier. To me, at least. Niall easily launches into a story about something ridiculous a coworker said. Frankly, I’m grateful for the distraction.

As we approach a fork in the trail, I gravitate towards the familiar path.

“Wait,” says Harry.

I slow and turn back.

“We should go the other way,” he says, nodding toward the narrower path. “The view’s nice. I went down there yesterday.”

I glance at Niall, then back at Harry. “That trail is pretty rough. We don’t usually go that way.”

“We don’t have to run it. We could walk, see the view, turn back. It’s not far,” he suggests. “Could be a nice break.”

I raise an eyebrow. “We’ve been running for ten minutes. You need a break already?”

He blinks, clearly not expecting the jab. “Fine. We can run it, then.”

“Fine. Let’s race, actually.”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good—” Niall starts.

“What’s the prize?” Harry cuts in.

“Loser buys the winner lunch.” The words come out more flirtatious than I intended. I catch the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Deal,” he says.

“Oi, don’t do anything stupid!” Niall shouts as we take off.

The trail is steep and uneven, tree roots twisting through the ground, creating perfect traps to trip over. I focus on my footing, my breath, and Harry’s footsteps up ahead. Soon enough, I overtake him, triumphant laughter bubbling up from inside me.

“Ah! Fuck!”

I hear a painful thud. Stopping in my tracks, I turn to find Harry on the ground, a pained expression on his face.

“Shit.” I drop down next to him, catching my breath. “Are you okay?”

He rolls onto his side, then sits up, gaze dropping to his knee.

“Oh, fuck.” His eyes widen.

“Let me see.” I lean over to assess the damage. His knee is split open, blood seeping through the torn skin. When I look back up at Harry, his face has gone pale.

Oh.

“Harry, lie down.”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixated on the blood oozing from his knee, his breathing shallow and uneven. I grip his shoulders and gently guide him onto his back.

“Hey, you’re okay. Just breathe. Look at me.”

His eyes finally meet mine. He nods, pulling in a shaky breath.

“What the hell happened?!” Niall calls as he jogs up.

“He fell,” I reply.

Niall sees the injury now. “Oof, that looks bad.”

“Give me your sweatshirt,” I tell him.

“My sweatshirt?”

“Please.” I hold out my hand.

He takes it off, revealing an undershirt, and tosses it to me.

“Can you make sure he doesn’t pass out? He’s scared of blood.”

“He is?” Niall immediately kneels by Harry’s head and starts talking to distract him from the bloody mess.

I’m not surprised Niall doesn’t know about Harry’s phobia. It’s something he was always insecure about. I suspected it early in our relationship when he would get squeamish every time I spoke in depth about medical topics. My suspicions were confirmed when I cut myself while chopping vegetables one day, and he nearly passed out at the sight of my blood dripping down the side of the counter.

I press Niall’s sweatshirt against Harry’s knee. He winces.

“Sorry,” I murmur, keeping steady pressure until the bleeding is under control. Then I wrap the sweatshirt around his knee as securely as I can and help him up with Niall’s help.

“I can walk,” Harry insists, hobbling forward on his own.

“Let us help you,” I say, sliding his arm over my shoulders. Niall takes the other side.

“I’m sorry I ruined your run,” Harry says quietly.

“Hush,” I say. “The race was my dumb idea.”

“I would say I told you so, but…” Niall trails off.

I shoot him a glare.

***

Back at Niall’s apartment, Harry sits on the edge of the bed while I clean the wound properly and wrap it with gauze.

“I really am sorry,” he says, again.

“If you apologize one more time, I’m taping the gauze over your mouth.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “I’m just embarrassed.”

“About falling?”

“And nearly passing out.”

“A lot of people are scared of blood,” I say gently. “You’re not special.”

“Good thing you’re the one in med school.”

I smirk. “Yeah.”

“I still owe you lunch.”

I shrug. “We didn’t even finish the race.”

“You were going to beat me anyway.”

I don’t argue.

After wrapping the wound, I say, “I can stick around for a bit. Just to make sure it doesn’t bleed through.”

“Are you sure? You’ve probably got a packed schedule.”

I check my phone. It’s 8 AM. “I have lab at noon. I just need to go home and shower and then I’ll be back.”

Niall drops me off at my place on his way to work. I grab my things, shower quickly, then drive back. Harry lets me in.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

“I was about to make something.”

“I’ll do it.”

He hesitates. I head to the kitchen before he can protest. After assessing the ingredients in the fridge, I decide to throw together some breakfast burritos. He thanks me when I hand him a plate.

We sit on opposite ends of the couch while we eat.

“Niall’s birthday is coming up,” says Harry.

I nod. “Saturday.”

“I thought I’d cook and host a birthday dinner.”

“Good idea. Niall loves your food.” So do I. “Need help?”

“It’d be nice to have a sous chef.”

I smile. “Sure.”

After breakfast, I work on my laptop while Harry works on his. When my legs get stiff, I extend them in front of me. Harry mirrors me a moment later. My foot brushes his leg. I leave it there. He glances at me. Neither of us says anything.

I start packing up as it gets close to noon. I redress his wound before leaving.

“Thanks, Dr. Y/L/N. I appreciate the help.”

We grin at each other. There’s a moment where I realize I don’t want to leave. A familiar pull threatens to keep me there with him. But I say goodbye, head out, and spend the rest of the day wondering if he felt it, too.

***

Harry loves feeding people. Back in college, he would host cookouts for all our friends. It was a sweet gesture. Everyone appreciated getting a break from ramen noodles every now and then.

I would help out, chopping vegetables, following instructions like a good sous chef. I could see it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to cook for other people. And I can see now, as he preps food for Niall’s birthday dinner, that none of that has changed.

Leah and Mateo took the birthday boy out on the town and said they’d be back in time for dinner, so Harry and I have the kitchen all to ourselves until then. We slip into our old rhythm. I peel an onion and pass him the garlic before he even reaches for it. I chop the vegetables; he manages the stove. Soon, we’re effortlessly weaving around each other in the tiny kitchen.

I secretly reminisce about all the times we cooked together. A specific Friendsgiving dinner comes to mind. We were hosting at our apartment and barely finished cooking on time because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I remember trying to mash the potatoes while he kept coming up behind me to plant kisses down my neck. We nearly burnt the stuffing because we were too busy making out against the fridge. My lips twitch at the memory, at how badly we wanted each other back then.

A hand on my elbow pulls me back to the present. “Sorry, need a pan,” Harry says, nodding at the cupboard I’m blocking.

I move aside for him, the sensation of his touch still lingering on my skin. I catch his side profile as he stands back up with the pan, using his other hand to push back the curls that have fallen into his eyes.

“Do you still make your banana bread?” I ask. It had quickly become my comfort food when he would make it every time I’d had a bad day or a stressful week.

“Been a while.” He pauses, looks at me. “I can make it for you.”

For you.

I shake my head. “You don’t have to. I was just curious.”

He reaches for the fruit bowl, grabbing a couple of overripe bananas.

“Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He starts gathering flour for the bread before I can protest any further.

I watch as he combines several ingredients in a bowl without measuring anything and shake my head in awe.

“I still can’t believe you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Throw things in without measuring.”

He shrugs. “It’s never failed me.”

“I know. It’s infuriating.”

“Hey, you’re good at everything. You’ve got to let me have this one thing.”

I scoff. “I am not good at everything.”

I wasn’t good at keeping you in my life.

“You are. Annoyingly so.” He smirks.

I feel heat creep up my neck. I grab a knife and start chopping tomatoes, needing something to do with my hands.

Later, we’re both standing at the stove, stirring different pots of food, when his phone rings on the counter.

“Can you grab that?” he asks.

I hand over his phone, catching a glimpse of the caller ID.

“Hi, Mum.” He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and keeps working.

I’m standing close enough to make out his mom’s responses, though I zone out as they exchange mundane life updates. My ears perk back up when I hear my name.

“How’s Y/N?” his mom asks.

“Good.”

“Have you been spending time together?”

“Mhm.” His curt replies aren’t enough to stop his mom from prying.

“Do you think it’s in the cards?”

“Do I think what’s in the cards?”

“Oh, you know. You and Y/N?”

I try not to outwardly react to any of this so he doesn’t think I’m eavesdropping, but my heart races at his mom’s questions.

He sighs. “I don’t know, Mum.”

“Do you still think the two of you were incompatible?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He turns away briefly, reaching for something on the counter.

I don’t catch his mom’s response.

“Well, that’s part of it,” he says, stirring the pot too aggressively. “Look, Mum, it’s complicated. I don’t really want to get into it.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to upset you,” his mom says.

“I’m not upset. Just in the middle of something. It’s Niall’s birthday.”

“Oh! Tell him I said happy birthday.”

“I will. Alright now, love you. Call you later.”

“Love you, darling. Bye.”

Harry puts his phone away. Neither of us speaks after that, the light atmosphere from earlier being replaced by an awkward silence. It seems to go on forever until our friends arrive about twenty minutes later. We had invited a few more of Niall’s friends, so with Leah and Mateo, there are seven of us altogether.

Dinner is ready, and everyone digs in. We decide to eat in the living room since Niall’s dining area only seats four people. Harry and I sit on opposite sides of the room from each other. I’m not sure if it was a deliberate choice on either of our parts or if it just happened that way. Our gazes meet every now and then. He’s always the first to look away.

In another world, I’d be sitting next to him, or on the floor at his feet, or in his lap. His hands would find me without thinking, caressing my hip or my shoulder or the back of my neck. I’d steal bites off his plate; he’d pretend not to notice. We’d share amused glances and wine glasses and we’d be happy.

I feel that same magnetic pull towards him the entire night. I don’t give into it. Until he gets up and leaves the room and doesn’t come back for a while. I get curious about what he’s up to and can longer pay attention to whatever conversation is happening in the room.

I get up and collect some dirty dishes, pretending I’m just going to the kitchen to put them away. Instead of rejoining the group, I head over to Harry’s bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, revealing him lying on the bed with an arm over his face. I quietly enter the room, unsure if he’s asleep. Then he moves his arm away from his face to see who just walked in.

I join him on the bed, lying down next to him. We both stare at the ceiling in silence. I’m the first to break it.

“You told your mom we’re incompatible?” I ask, recalling the conversation I overheard on the phone.

“It was easier.”

“Than what?”

“Than explaining that I couldn’t make you want me anymore.” He says it so plainly, without emotion, yet there’s something deeply melancholic in his voice.

“Harry.”

“What? There’s no need to sugarcoat it. I can face the truth.”

“But that’s not the truth.”

“Is it not? You weren’t into me anymore. It’s okay to say that.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than me.

I turn on my side to face him. He continues staring at the ceiling.

“I was depressed, Harry. I couldn’t even enjoy a good meal, let alone sex. It had nothing to do with you. You kept thinking it did, but it didn’t.”

“It was hard to think anything else when I couldn’t make you feel good no matter what I did. I didn’t even know how to touch you anymore.”

“I know,” I reply quietly. “That’s why I ended it. I could see how hard you were trying and how much it was hurting you.”

“It was all I could think about. What could I do more? Why am I not enough? Why?” He whispers the last word, yet it rings louder than the rest, like the unknown was what killed him the most.

“I was drowning, and it took me way too long to realize I was pulling you under with me. I’m sorry.” I let the apology hang in the air for a while before adding for good measure, “You were never the problem. I was.”

He finally looks at me, brows slightly furrowed. “You weren’t.”

“I was,” I insist, my voice hardly above a whisper.

He studies my face for a long moment. His gaze shifts to my lips. He hesitates, then kisses me. I’m taken by surprise, not only by the kiss but the intensity of it, like he had been restraining himself for too long. I kiss him back. Our tongues just barely graze each other when he pulls away.

“Fuck,” he says, running a hand over his face. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed, his back to me.

“Harry—” I push up on one elbow.

“I can’t. I can’t do this again.” He leaves the room before I can say another word.

***

Me: Can we talk?

I text Harry in class the next day. I haven’t been able to focus on anything all day. My mind keeps replaying the kiss and his reaction afterwards. We avoided each other for the rest of the night, and I went home when I couldn’t bear it anymore. I hate that it’s been this way since the day he came back. The awkwardness, the passive aggressive jabs, the resentment mixed in with longing and nostalgia. It’s all too much.

Me: Please?

I text him again hours later, knowing that he probably saw the first message and contemplated ignoring it. He replies minutes after my desperate double text.

Harry: Okay

Me: Meet me at the trail at 6:30?

I watch him type for what feels like ages, the sound of my professor’s voice fading into nothing but a distant hum.

Harry: As long as we get to see the view

I smile, relieved at the light-hearted response.

The sun is close to the horizon when I make my way up the trail to meet Harry. He’s already there, lounging on a bench and watching the sunset.

“So, this is the view you were willing to sacrifice your dignity for?” I ask as I approach him, referencing the day he fell on the trail.

He clutches his chest and winces. “Ouch.”

I laugh and take a seat next to him.

“You were adamant about beating me that day,” he says.

My smile fades a bit, as I recall the fire burning in me that day. “I was angry.”

“I know.”

We watch the sunset quietly for a while.

I’m still thinking about how to say what I want to say when Harry speaks, “I’m sorry about what I said that night. About you giving up on us. That wasn’t fair.”

“I get why you thought I’d given up.”

He looks at me.

“If I was in your place, I probably would’ve believed it, too. And yeah, maybe I could’ve tried harder—”

He shakes his head before I can continue. “You weren’t well, Y/N. Saying you should’ve tried harder is like telling someone with a broken leg to just get up and walk.”

I don’t know why—maybe it’s the breathtaking sunset or the compassion in his words or three years of internalized guilt coming out at once—but my eyes well with tears. He notices before I can blink them away and reaches over to squeeze my hand.

“And I’m sorry I disappeared. I thought if I stayed away long enough, it’d hurt less.” He pauses. “Spoiler alert: it didn’t.”

I laugh while wiping away a tear. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I tell him, “I hate that you felt like you weren’t good enough.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Another wave of tears hits me. This time, I let them fall. He pulls me into a hug, and I hold onto him for dear life, my tears staining his hoodie.

I’ve spent three years telling myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I was drowning, that I would’ve shown anyone else the same compassion I couldn’t show myself. None of it ever stuck. I needed to hear it from him.

***

Harry spends most of the next week at my apartment. When he isn’t there, I’m at Niall’s. Somewhere between my neuroanatomy flashcards and his work meetings, we’ve slipped into something that resembles a life together. I study while he replies to work emails from the other end of the couch. We cook, run errands, go on runs, and stay up late talking over cheap wine whenever I don’t have an early class the next day. It’s dangerously easy to pretend we never broke up.

I almost grab his hand on a casual stroll in the park.

He slips up and calls me “baby” when asking me to pass the salt.

I fall asleep on the couch while studying one evening, and he carries me to bed.

I’m not surprised when I overhear Niall asking him about us while they’re playing a video game.

“If someone told me three years ago that you and Y/N would be back together, I would’ve told them to fuck right off.”

“Who said we’re back together?”

Niall just laughs.

“We’ve just been spending more time together.”

“Sure.” Niall pauses. “What’s the plan then? Don’t you fly home in, like, a week?”

“Yeah…”

“You don’t have a plan, do you?”

Harry doesn’t respond.

“You need to talk about it with her, you know. You can’t just disappear again. I don’t think she’d recover this time.”

“I know, Niall. I’m not just going to leave.”

“Okay. Good. You idiot.”

I hear a thump that sounds like Niall whacking Harry’s arm.

“Ow!”

***

That Friday, Harry and I get home from a morning run. I grab a cold water bottle from the fridge and toss it to him. I’m checking to see if I have enough berries to make two smoothies when I hear a soft sigh of frustration. I shut the fridge and turn around to find Harry glaring down at his phone. I try to ignore the voice in my head that comments on how hot he looks standing there in those little shorts, flushed and sweaty from our run, brows furrowed in thought.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Just a delightful message from my boss. I’ve spent the past month working on this project, and now he wants to toss out the whole thing.” He sets his phone on the counter and gulps down some water.

“What? Why?”

He shrugs. “He does this shit all the time. Everyone at work thinks he hates me.”

“What could you have done to make him hate you?”

He averts his gaze, coughing into his fist as he leans against the counter. “Dated his daughter?”

My jaw drops. “Harry.”

“I know, I know. It was stupid.”

“You messy, messy boy.”

“I was… going through a phase.”

I quirk a brow. “A phase. So, it wasn’t just the boss’s daughter then?”

A teasing smirk emerges on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.” I cross my arms and lean against the fridge. “Tell me more about this phase.”

He thinks for a moment. “Not much to tell. I dated around a bit. It never went anywhere.” A wry smile tugs at his lips. “Or maybe I never stuck around long enough for it to.”

Before I can pry further, he says, “Your turn.”

“What?”

“I’m sure you’ve got some stories from the past few years. Maybe not as bad as dating the boss’s daughter. But others?”

“I have nothing to share. My love life has been a perfectly boring wasteland.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Why not? ‘Med student too busy to date’ is a tale as old as time.”

He stares at me with a soft grin.

I blink. “What?”

“You’re cute when you lie.”

I shove him in the chest. He grabs my wrist. It’s all too familiar. I’d shove him playfully all the time when he would annoy me. He’d grab my wrist, yank me closer. We’d kiss. Now he lets go as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, but I don’t step back. I move closer, fist my fingers in his shirt, and pull him into a kiss.

Old habits die hard.

At first, he doesn’t kiss back.

“Y/N…” His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm on my lips.

I kiss him again. This time, he gives in. Satisfaction and longing course through me. I deepen the kiss. His large hands grip my waist and push me back against the fridge. I slide one hand up the front of his shirt while we continue making out, his abdominal muscles flexing against my palm with each hurried breath. His fingers linger at the waistband of my shorts. They stop there. When they don’t move, I cover his hand with mine and guide it lower.

He freezes, then gently removes both of my hands from him and takes a step back. It feels like a chasm just opened up between us. I stare at him, puzzled and suddenly a bit self-conscious.

“I want this,” he reassures me. “I want you. I just— I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Fuck it up how?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

The apprehension in his voice and his face makes my chest ache. He’s afraid of disappointing me. He’s already expecting that he’ll disappoint me. Did loving me teach him to fear intimacy? Is that why he never “stuck around long enough” with these other people he dated?

“Harry, I’m in a much different headspace than I was back then,” I state with years of therapy to back up my claim.

“I know. But what if I’m not?”

I may have overcome my depression, but that doesn’t mean he overcame the wounds of the inadequacy he felt back then.

“Then we’ll take it slow,” I tell him. “We don’t have to do anything right now. Maybe tonight we can just… share a bed?”

He laughs a little. “Just sleep?”

“Just sleep.”

“You’re serious?”

“Very.”

There’s still uncertainty in his eyes, but there’s hope, too. I gently take his hand, lacing my fingers through his.

***

I wake up to sunlight pouring through the blinds I forgot to close and a weight on my chest. I glance down to find Harry’s head resting directly on my breasts. He’s snoring softly. With half his bodyweight on me, I’m effectively pinned to the bed. I try to contain my amusement, not wanting to wake him.

We’ve been sleeping together for the past few nights. Just sleeping. Though I swear I felt him grinding against me in his sleep the other night. I didn’t comment on it the next day. When I told him we would take it slow, I meant it.

He stirs eventually, mumbling something incoherent. Then he lifts his head from my chest and squints up towards my face.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I laugh.

“What?”

“Are my tits really that comfortable?”

“Yes. They are,” he replies completely seriously. He rolls over onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. “What’s on the schedule today, boss?”

“Class, lab, more class… And then happy hour tonight with people in my program.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“We try to have some of that when we can. Do you want to come?”

He considers it. “Sure. Why not?”

As I expected, Harry has no trouble mingling with my classmates. They seem to like him. I’ve been introducing him to everyone as an old friend from college. They don’t need to know our complicated history nor do I feel like explaining it to them, quite frankly. Harry doesn’t seem to care.

We’ve been chatting with my classmate Bella for the last ten minutes. I’ve been checked out of program drama recently because my own life has been dramatic enough. Luckily, I can always count on Bella to catch me up on the lore.

“Is Nate back from his sister’s wedding?” I ask.

“Yeah. His girlfriend’s here, too.”

I lift my brows. “Oh.”

“What?” says Harry, catching my reaction.

Bella and I exchange glances.

“Let’s just say Nate’s girlfriend isn’t Y/N’s biggest fan.”

“We hooked up once,” I say flatly. “Before they were even together. She needs to get over it.”

“Once?” Bella snorts. “More like three times.” She looks at Harry with that devilish grin she gets when she’s about to drop some juicy gossip. “Y/N hooked up with half the guys in our class in first year.”

“Bella!” I widen my eyes at her, heat rising up my neck.

“What? He hasn’t heard about your hoe era?” She cackles and tosses back her tequila.

My face burns. “I’m getting another drink.”

I turn on my heel and walk away in spite of my reluctance to leave her alone with him. God knows what else she’s going to expose about me. Maybe it’s my own fault for introducing him as a friend. If she knew we were much more than that, it might have stopped her from spilling my whole sexual history to him. Or not.

I attempt to drown my mortification with a couple shots and some pretzel bites. Harry and I don’t reconvene until later that night. I’m just tipsy enough to be able to face him but not nearly enough to forget our previous interaction. My cheeks start tingling with heat again as he approaches me, black shirt tucked loosely into his jeans, an easy grin on his face. He reaches towards the corner of my mouth and wipes off a bit of cheese sauce before licking it off his thumb.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out.

“For what?”

“Bella. I forgot what a blabbermouth she is. That was so embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know how that sounded.”

“You were single, Y/N.”

“I was a mess.”

“Hey, if I’m allowed to have a messy phase, so are you.”

Fair.

We decide to head home, as most people are doing the same. Harry drives us back to my apartment. I’ve sobered up by then. We crawl into bed. I rest my head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around my body, pulling me into his side. We stay like that for a while.

“I met Nate,” he suddenly says.

“Oh?” I look at him.

“Quite the charmer. Nicer than I’d expected.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugs. “An arrogant arsehole. A movie villain of sorts.”

I chuckle. “Were you disappointed?”

“Maybe a little.”

“You know it never meant anything with him.”

“I know…” Then he smiles faintly. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous.”

He slowly traces a finger along my jaw, then my bottom lip. My heart slams against my ribs. I part my lips slightly. His finger pauses between them. I wrap my lips around it and suck lightly. He rests a second finger there, and I do the same thing with it. He exhales deeply, gaze focused on my mouth.

Removing his fingers, he replaces them with his lips. I let him take the lead this time, not wanting to push him anywhere he’s not ready to go. He pulls my body on top of his own. His erection presses against me, and I can’t help but grind my hips into him, feeling his cock pulse between us. He groans into my mouth and slides his hands into my shorts, gripping my backside through my panties and holding me flush against him. I can feel the frantic thumping of his heart against my chest so clearly, it almost feels like my own.

“Fuck.” He rests his forehead against mine. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to stop. But instead, he just flips us over and kisses me all over again. I can tell that he’s trying to be in the moment and not in his head.

He takes off my shirt, kissing down my neck and my chest. One hand palms my breast while his lips wrap around my other nipple. I run my hands through his hair while he does that. He slides a hand down my stomach and into my shorts, touching me through my panties. I rock my hips into his hand. He pushes the fabric aside and runs a finger through my wetness. I shiver under his touch. He slips two fingers inside me effortlessly.

“That feel okay?” he checks.

“Phenomenal,” I sigh out.

He laughs softly, his warm breath tickling my skin.

He pumps his fingers in and out of me, his palm massaging my clit at the same time. He watches me moan and squirm under him. When he inserts another finger, my mouth drops wide open. He grabs my jaw with his other hand and covers my mouth with his again.

“Harry, I want you,” I breathe against his mouth. “So bad.”

His lips curve against mine. “Yeah? Where do you want me, pretty girl?”

There he is.

“Inside me.”

“I am inside you, baby.” He curves his fingers up to prove his point.

A whine leaves my mouth. “Your cock.”

“Want my cock inside you?”

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip. My face is on fire just like the rest of my body.

“Inside where? Your mouth?”

“No. Yes. I mean—” He pumps his fingers faster. “A—anywhere,” I finally answer.

He grins, and I feel giddy like I answered correctly.

He makes me come, and I dig my nails into the back of his neck as the orgasm cascades through me. He starts taking off his clothes then, while I remove the rest of mine. All I can think about is his cock and where I’ll be taking it first. My question is answered when he turns me over onto my stomach. His hardness rests against my ass. Tenderly, he moves my hair to the side and kisses the back of my neck.

“God, I missed you so much,” he says into my ear, the words coming out strained and heavy. “Thought about you every day. Wondered if you were with someone else. If you were happy. If you missed me.”

“I missed you all the time,” I say, my throat constricting with emotion.

He kisses the base of my neck and eases his cock into me. I gasp. He mutters some curses under his breath. I have one hand resting up by my face, and he places his own hand over it, interlacing our fingers tightly before moving inside me.

“Missed your cock,” I admit boldly.

He pauses mid-thrust. “What’s that?”

I know he heard me. “I said I missed your cock.”

He chuckles and grinds his hips into me, making me moan. “So filthy. Going to make me come just from saying things like that.”

He starts moving again, his thrusts getting deeper and faster, and I know he’s close. Our intertwined hands on the bed are the only thing in my field of vision. I close my eyes, knowing that this memory will forever be etched in my brain—us making love for the first time after three years of painful yearning.

“You fuck me so good,” I say, knowing it’ll push him even closer to the edge.

“Oh yeah?” He pants, fucking me harder and faster.

“Mhm. The best. The best I’ve ever had.”

I start to lose coherence of my thoughts now, my words turning into a jumble of moans and pleas and whimpers. He slides his free hand under my neck, wrapping his fingers around the front of it. I’m engulfed in bliss, approaching my second orgasm of the night.

“Come for me, baby,” he says. “Come around this cock. That’s it.”

It ripples through my body harder than the last one. I moan his name over and over while he comes too, my pussy milking it out of him with every pulsating spasm.

He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my hair, as his breathing gradually slows. I’m smiling, content to be sandwiched between him and the bed. He rolls off of me and disappears into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth.

After cleaning up, we’re back to cuddling on the bed, my head on his chest and his arm loosely wrapped around my middle. I trace the tattoos on his torso with my finger, trying not to think about the limited time we have left together.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving in a couple days,” I say quietly.

“I know. It went by so fast.” He strokes my hair.

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too.”

“Mind if I sneak into your luggage?”

“I would very much like that.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “But you’ve got important things to do here.”

“Nothing’s more important than you.”

I feel his chest rumble with laughter at my corny line and the saccharine way I delivered it. I giggle.

But then my mind drifts to what happens after he leaves. Surely, after everything, we won’t just go back to our separate lives, miles away, not speaking to each other. Right?

“I’ve been looking for jobs,” he says.

“What?”

“Like, jobs here in town. So I can quit the other one.”

I quickly lift my head to meet his eyes. “Wait, you’re moving back here?”

“Do you want me to?” He studies my reaction.

“Of course I do.” I search for any sign of amusement in his face. “Wait, are you serious?”

“So serious.”

“But what about your mom? And your sister?”

He shrugs. “They’ll understand.”

“But you’re okay with being so far from them?”

“Yeah. I want to be close to you.”

“So do I, but I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through. I don’t want you to feel like you have to move for me. We could do long distance if we have to and—”

“Y/N.” He cups my cheek, green eyes searching mine. “I’ve thought about it plenty, trust me. I want to do this. I want to be here with you.”

I don’t know what to say. I just stare at him. This man who left, who came back, who’s been planning a whole future around me.

“These past few weeks,” he continues, “are the happiest I’ve been in ages.”

My throat tightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then, before I can stop it, the words spill out. “I love you.”

His face breaks into a grin. “I love you, too.”

***

I park my car by the curb. Harry walks around to the trunk to get his bags. I meet him behind the car. We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us ready to say goodbye.

“I’ll call you as soon as I reach London,” he says instead.

“Do you have to go?” I realize I sound like a whiny child, but I can’t help myself. I feel like I only just got him back. Him leaving now, even though I know it’s not forever, presses against some old wound deep in my soul.

“Baby.” He takes my hands. “We talked about this. It’s only for a short while. Just until I secure a job here and tie up some loose ends there. And then I’m on the first flight back. I promise.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.

“Do you need my help? I can go to these places in person, tell them how amazing and hardworking and dedicated you are and how I’d hire you immediately if I were them.”

A small, amused smile spreads across his face. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll accept my girlfriend as a reference. But thank you, baby.”

My heart flips at the word ‘girlfriend’. We haven’t explicitly discussed labels, so it pleasantly surprises me.

He pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s not goodbye.”

“It’s not goodbye,” I repeat.

We exchange four I love you’s and twice as many kisses before finally parting. He waves at me one last time before disappearing through the doors. I stand there for a long moment, watching the space where he was.

He said we could be friends. That was a promise he couldn’t keep.

This one, I think he will.

It’s not goodbye.

[hscherrywine]

Takin' It All In

summary: To an outside harry is sweet. He’s actually quite perfect. Who is he really when the clothes come off? Is he still that sweet?

wc: 1.4k

warnings: 18+, smut , dirty talk, oral (f receiving)

——

To everyone, Harry was sweet. As a friend, brother, and neighbor, he was a kind young man. He was a polite actor, singer, and songwriter.

It doesn’t matter what aspect of his life it was; there was nothing but praise for Harry Styles. He gets the best reviews from critics for his music, and fans always rave about his concerts, and his co-stars have nothing but nice things to say about him on set.

To an outsider, it would be sickening to hear of all the great things he does and how naturally he does them. It seems like everyone has a story about how sweet Styles is. He even helped a fan parallel park their car once. It sounds insane. 

He had manners, which is becoming increasingly uncommon in men. He was naturally funny and could compliment just about anyone with complete sincerity. He was everything anyone wanted in a man.

If you could “build a boy”, it is highly likely that the perfect product would be Harry. It’s too bad that this is the side that everyone gets from him. No one else would ever guess the dirty things he whispers in your ear while making love or the downright mean things he wants to do to you.

The two personas were so contradictory. He was as mean as he was sweet, but that part was only for you. 

Bystanders would have never guessed that he had this side to him. Behind his smile lies a cruel man.

None of them would guess that he demands you come at least once before he can get off. They don’t know how many times he has come home angry from work and bent you over the kitchen table and restrained you with his belt - not even bothering to get to the bedroom.

There was one time in particular that you remember being fooled by his charm. It was one of the first times the two of you were intimate together. You knew he was rough, and it only excited you. It was something you would have never guessed when the sultry words dripped from his tongue: “I’d take you right here in front of all these people, but I don’t like to share” he whispered at the party you met.

That night you went home with him, so interested in the man he revealed himself to be rather than the man you had heard about prior.

The two of you had just met, but he was all over you in the back of the cab. When you made it inside, your clothes were strewn across the floor in minutes. He wasted no time getting what he wanted - and what he wanted was you. 

The guy who had been singing about treating people with kindness on stage the night before was plotting the dirtiest things to do to you. When he met eyes with you across the bar the sweetness seeped off of him and was replaced by the man that stood before you.

He was in a hurry to explore every inch of you. The words he spoke sent shivers down your spine, “You gonna be a good girl and let me get you off? Gonna have you squirming round my head.” he hummed into your kisses. They were rough and needy.

The two of you somehow made it to the bedroom that night, and he pushed you down against the mattress and placed his warm thick fingers around your throat. “You gonna be good? I know you want it rough,” he spoke. No words came out of your mouth.

“ ‘m gonna need an answer, little doe, or I can’t fuck you, dumb.” 

His vulgar words struck a chord. “I need it so bad, please.” He pushed down harder on your windpipe “Good.”

He hovered over you just taking you all in. He kissed deeply in the area round your neck where his hand recently had occupancy. Then he moved down to your breasts which he toyed with like no other man you met.

Usually, the men you slept with were less experienced and only cared about their own pleasure, but the man who was undressed before you knew how to take care of you. He pinched and flicked your nipples until the pain and pleasure just came out as a mix of sounds from your gut.

You knew the moans fed his ego the way he would speed up the lapping of his tongue in your breasts when he gave the que.

Everything about it was filthy. He was eager and desperate to get you off, so he ventured down to your thighs where he peppered tiny bites and kisses. He knew you were dripping for him, but didn’t want to dive in just yet. 

He was in it for the love of the game. He knew he could make you come, but he was just having fun with it. 

“Can’t wait to get a taste.” He mouthed into your thighs. The he pulled back to get a better look at you spread out before him. It was a gorgeous sight, one he hoped to see again even after tonight was over. 

Right after he teased it, he brought one finger slowly down from the top of your clit, to your enterance and right back up again. The motion made you eager for more. Then he took that same finger and pushed it deep inside your hole. 

When he pulled it out, it was glistening with your juice and he brought it up to his mouth that allegedly was as sweet as candy and swirled his tongue desperately around the digit.

He made himself moan the way the action turned him on. It was so simple, but the thought of you coming undone had swarmed his brain. 

He repeated the action a few times, sliding his figer in and out of you. He liked to see your tight hole swallow his large finger. The look of it made his pants tighten. 

He imagines his cock next at your entrace and the way it would look taking something that big.

He then leaned back in to get another taste of your clit, this time directly with his mouth. 

It latched on and sucked you like he was on one mission - to make you come. He kind of was. His wet lips and tongue gilded all over your clit and folds. There was no space left untouvhed or unsatisfied. 

The act was making your stomach swell with fire. No one had ever made you feel this way from head and you wondered if this is what you were missing out on the whole time.

Your head tilted back with pleasure as he continued to devour your cunt. He was so dedicated that you wondered if he even took a second to breath. 

He did eventually come up for air and whisper words of encouragement to you. Words you couldn’t process fully because your core was on fire.

He went back down to finish you off. His hands digging into your thighs like leverage to get deeper into your warmth. And it worked his tongue was working overtime inside of you and his fingers grazed your clit making your legs shake. 

“Shit, Harry, I’m gonna -” you warn him. He doesn’t let up at your words. 

“I’m gonna cum, Oh my..--” you try and get out, but he is too fast and too aggressive taking you.

He is absolutely ravenous groaning into your pussy. When your back arched up, you caught him grinding himself into the mattress. Eating you out had an adverse affect on his cock. 

He mutters something into you that could have sounded like “Come for me.” but you couldnt’ make it out from the ringing in your ears and the sounds of your own panting.

The next thing you know, your orgaasm crashed into you and down your body, the warmth heating you. It knocked the wind out of your chest first. Then it made your core tighten and legs wrap around Harry’s head. 

He relentlessly lapped up everything he could before you tried to physically push him away. 

“Too much. Too sensitive” You whined and he just grinned.

He grinned the same grin that the fans claim comes from the sweetest man alive. If only they knew what he had just done to you. If only they knew that oicture perfect face was covered in your come. 

If only they knew that sweet perfect man was asking, “You still think you can take me inside you?”

[raedisconova]

DATING FRAT BOY HARRY → TEXTS PT 2

who dis?: fratboy! harry x afab! reader

summary: texting your frat boy boyfriend harry

warnings: mentions of alcohol

note: this was a little rushed so i apologize if it’s a little sucky. thank you for the support on these! if you have any suggestions for like text topics lmk in my inbox 🥳 I LOVE YOU ALLLL

disclaimer: these are not my photos and i do not claim them as my photos, they are from pinterest.

taglist: @fernsandvinyls @lillrry @petrichorflz @harryskissco @jung-sun @kisseswithstyles @littlefreakmadi @jocelynlovesharrystyles @harryscherrysuckr @midnightmemories-1-d @loversofadore @kissallthetimeharrystyles @c0mfortablesilences @dropdop @prettiegirlavenue @tpwkmr @tabisswag @parker-barnes-af @slutfordpr @harlowsgirl @sisterslytherinog @bookluver114 @theboyzgirl @suhchopath @starlitlace @frankiebeeslyshouse @f1flowergirl @mariiibash @coolguycalcdizzleswizzle @swag313gurl @tunkers05 @haydee5010 @cavillsangel @velvetsighs @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @angzls @monlils @paardonmysswag @sophthyst @jaehyunluvs @loeyidea @iisaaasstuff @afterhoursangell @kentchem @sp3ncerreid @castellanverse @madufw @starqrsz @imstressed17

[raedisconova]

DATING FRAT BOY HARRY -> TEXTS

'who dis?’: fratboy! harry x afab! reader

summary: texting your frat boy boyfriend harry

warnings: mentions of alcohol

note: i’m bored and realized i haven’t posted in forever so i decided to make some texts! if you guys have any reqs like this lmk in my inbox. also just PRETEND schools in england have frat houses/sorority houses ok? or just pretend harry’s american idk. thank you.

disclaimer: these are not my photos and i do not claim them as my photos, they are from pinterest.

taglist: @fernsandvinyls @lillrry @petrichorflz @harryskissco @jung-sun @kisseswithstyles @littlefreakmadi @jocelynlovesharrystyles @harryscherrysuckr @midnightmemories-1-d @loversofadore @kissallthetimeharrystyles @c0mfortablesilences @dropdop @prettiegirlavenue @tpwkmr @tabisswag @parker-barnes-af @slutfordpr @harlowsgirl @sisterslytherinog @bookluver114 @theboyzgirl @suhchopath @starlitlace @frankiebeeslyshouse @f1flowergirl @mariiibash @coolguycalcdizzleswizzle @swag313gurl @tunkers05 @haydee5010 @cavillsangel @velvetsighs @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @angzls @monlils @paardonmysswag @sophthyst @jaehyunluvs @loeyidea @iisaaasstuff @afterhoursangell @kentchem @sp3ncerreid @castellanverse @madufw @starqrsz @imstressed17

[zclhes]

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Word count: ~ 4k

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

POV: Harry, third person / Reader, second person

Setting: 2026, Together, Together Tour

Warnings: none

Summary: What begins as a sunny run to the stadium ends with you racing him around the stage in front of an entire crowd and Harry learning, very publicly, that revenge doesn't always go his way.

London, N4 — 19 June 2026

By the end of the fourth Wembley show, you're standing beside Harry’s stage in running clothes, jogging on the spot in front of ninety thousand people, and seriously reconsidering several life choices. Not really all of them, mostly just the one where you fell in love with a man who thinks racing his girlfriend during the outro of As It Was is a reasonable way to settle a private argument about sprinting ability.

The stadium is still completely feral around you. Harry is on stage, sweat-bright and euphoric, dancing his way through the last encore song like he has energy stored somewhere no human body should be able to access after a two-hour show. The crowd screams every lyric back at him, voices rolling up into the night through open Wembley roof, phones raised, lights flashing, the whole place alive in that wild final stretch where everyone knows the night is nearly over and refuses to let it go politely.

You, meanwhile, are in the narrow lane between the stage and the pit barricades, wearing running shorts, a running top and trainers, doing little warm-up hops while trying not to think too much about the fact that every camera in the stadium could turn your way at any second.

Anthony is already having the time of his life. He stands a few steps ahead of you with his camera lifted, moving backward, sideways, crouching slightly, taking photo after photo with the professional excitement that tells you these shots are never, ever getting deleted from his hard drive.

You glare at him when he lowers the camera for half a second and he grins. “You look very athletic,” he says.

“I look like I’ve been bullied.”

You glance towards Harry, who is singing into the microphone, hips moving to the beat, face full of mischief whenever he manages to look in your direction. His eyes flick to you again between lines, and that smug, satisfied little grin appears at the corner of his mouth. God, you want to punch him in his stupidly handsome face, lovingly.

“Why am I even doing this shit?” you mutter.

Anthony laughs out loud. “Because you chose the crazy one. All by yourself, by the way.”

You shoot him another look. “I didn't know he was this crazy.”

Anthony lifts the camera again. “That feels like something you should’ve noticed.”

“I was distracted.”

“By the face?”

“Shut up, Pham.”

He laughs harder and starts taking pictures again, which earns him yet another glare, though you're fairly sure you've lost all authority while stretching your calves beside a stadium stage like you're about to run an Olympic qualifier for the entertainment of Harry Styles fans.

And the worst part is that you know exactly how you ended up here, the answer is clear as day: Harry — your silly, ridiculous, overly competitive boyfriend, who cannot let one lost sprint go.

Earlier today, your life had still been peaceful. You had been lying on the sunbed in the garden, bikini on, sunglasses perched on your nose, book open in one hand and iced coffee waiting on the table beside you. London had been warm and bright, the kind of June afternoon that makes you forget responsibilities for a dangerous twenty minutes. The house had been quiet, the patio sun-warmed beneath your bare feet, and you had just reached a very good part of your book when Harry appeared in the open doorway of the glass doors wearing nothing but shorts, which was unfair. It was unfair because you were trying to read, it was also unfair because he knew exactly how good he looked like that, even if he pretended not to. It was especially unfair because his hair was soft from showering, his skin still a little flushed from the sun, and the tattoos scattered over his torso kept catching your attention even when you made a determined effort to look at the page.

“Time to get ready,” he said.

You lowered the book, immediately suspicious. “Already?”

“Yep.”

You reached blindly for your phone, tapped the screen awake and frowned at the time. “We don’t leave for another hour and a half.”

“We’re leaving early today.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not taking the car.”

That made you sit up properly and your sunglasses slid down your nose. “Harry.”

“What?”

“I already told you I’m never getting on a Lime scooter with you again.”

He started laughing before you had even finished the sentence, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, looking deeply pleased by your grumpy confusion. “Not a scooter.”

“Bike?”

“No.”

“Horse?”

“Creative, but no.”

“Then what?”

Harry disappeared back inside for a second and returned with your running clothes bundled in his hands. Before you could process what he was doing, he tossed them at you and they landed across your chest and face. You pulled the fabric away slowly: running top, running shorts, socks. Your eyes lifted to him. “No.”

Harry grinned. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Come on, love.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Not recently.”

“It’s ten kilometres to Wembley.”

“About that.”

“About that?” You stared at him, sunglasses now pushed up into your hair. “You want to run ten kilometres to work before you perform for two hours?”

“Perfect warm-up.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Because it’s often true.”

“You said Pilates at seven in the morning would be good for us, and I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“You looked very graceful.”

“I looked half-dead.”

“Gracefully half-dead.”

You threw the running clothes back at him, and he caught them easily, because of course he did.

“I’m not running to Wembley,” you said.

Harry’s grin softened into the exact kind of charm he uses when he knows he is about to become impossible. “It’ll be nice. Weather’s great, we’ll take it easy, no traffic, no sitting in a car. Just us.”

“Just us and my funeral.”

“So dramatic.”

“Ten kilometres, Harry.”

“You run ten kilometres with me all the time.”

“Not on show days.”

“You’re not even performing.”

“I’m emotionally performing every time your fans open X.”

“It’s Twitter.”

“You’re not winning me over this time.”

He laughed and stepped outside, bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head before putting the clothes back into your lap. “Get ready.”

You groaned. “Harry.”

“Please?”

You looked up at him and he widened his eyes just enough to be unfairly cute annoying.

“No,” you said.

“Please?”

“No!”

“Pretty please?”

“You’re thirty-two years old.”

“And asking nicely.”

You held his gaze for another second, then looked down at the running clothes. The thing about Harry is that he could ask you to do something deeply inconvenient, and somehow make it sound like an adventure you would end up laughing about later.

You sighed. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe,” he said, already walking back inside. “But you’re getting ready.”

You muttered several unkind things under your breath as you followed him upstairs.

In the bathroom, you brushed your hair, tied it into a ponytail, washed your face and tried to look like someone who hadn't just been emotionally manipulated by a shirtless man with dimples. By the time you joined Harry in the walk-in closet, he was already pulling on his running shirt, watch strapped around his wrist, focused and boyishly excited in a way that made it impossible not to soften a little. You absolutely refused to show that softness, though. “You’re insane for this,” you grumbled.

“Perfect warm-up,” Harry repeated.

“I hope you know that sentence is becoming unattractive.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is.”

“You love a healthy lifestyle.”

“I love being left alone on a sunbed.”

“You can love both.”

“I don't want to.”

Harry smiled while putting on socks, then his expression became a little more serious when he glanced up at you through the mirror. “Has Jeff reached out?”

You went quiet for a second. Two days had passed since the argument in the tunnel, since Jeff had snapped at you over moving fans from obstructed seats into the Disco pit, since he had said words that still sat wrong whenever they crossed your mind. Harry had stepped in immediately, angrier than you had ever seen him on your behalf, but the situation itself had not been resolved properly yet.

You shook your head. “No.”

Harry’s mouth tightened as he looked back down at his now covered feet. “Stubborn git.”

The words came out under his breath, thicker with the northern edge that slipped back into his voice whenever he was irritated enough to stop polishing himself for the world. You tried not to laugh very hard, and you failed greatly.

Harry looked up. “Did you just mock my accent?”

You leaned against the wardrobe, completely unbothered. “Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Didn’t even deny it.”

“You asked, I answered.”

“Rude.”

“You were very Cheshire just then.”

“I’m always very Cheshire.”

“No, sometimes you’re international pop star. That was pub car park Harry just now.”

He stared at you for half a second, then his bottom lip pushed out in a pout so dramatic it deserved its own spotlight. His eyes went big, soft, wounded, and completely ridiculous, making you laugh properly.

“Oh no,” you said, stepping closer. “Did I hurt the baby’s feelings?”

Harry held the pout. “You’ve wounded me, love.”

“You’re so adorable.”

“I’m a grown man.”

“You’re a cute little baby.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but the pout remained. You framed his face in your hands and squished his cheeks. “A tiny, precious, pouty baby.”

“Keep going and see what happens.”

“What? You’ll pout harder?”

“Maybe.”

You kissed the pout quickly, once, before letting go and walking out of the closet. “Come on, babygirl. Perfect warm-up.”

Behind you, Harry recovered quickly enough to slap your arse as you passed him, and you gasped and turned on your way to the stairs. “Excuse me.”

He followed with a satisfied smile. “Careful, love, or I might have to give you a little spanking after the show.”

You laughed as you continued down. “You’re way too soft to ever do that.”

Harry paused behind you, offended all over again. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not even a tiny bit scared of me?”

“Of you?” You reached the entrance hall and sat to pull on your trainers. “No.”

“Never?”

You thought for a second, tying your laces. “I was when you stepped between me and Jeff and asked him to repeat what he said.”

Harry’s expression changed, the humour dimming slightly before softening into something more serious. “That was different,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re not scared of me.”

You looked up from your shoes and Harry stood near the front door, watch ready, hands on his hips, face gentle now in a way that made the earlier teasing feel suddenly smaller. “I mean it,” he said. “If you ever are, even for a second, I want you to tell me. I never want to be the reason you feel afraid.”

You held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “That was deep.”

“It’s still true.”

“I know.” You stood and stepped closer, touching his arm. “And I would tell you.”

“Good.”

“You’re not scary, though.”

“I can be.”

“To Jeff, maybe.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Only when needed.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Come on, protector. Take me on this terrible run.”

The run itself had started easily. Harry set off down the road towards Wembley with far too much energy, and you followed with a noise of protest that only made him laugh. Once your body settled into rhythm, though, it became almost peaceful. The two of you ran mostly in quiet because you were both fast enough that conversation became more work than it was worth, your steps falling into a steady pattern through London’s warm afternoon, past pavements, parks, side streets, traffic lights, people who glanced at you without realising who had just passed them until it was too late. Harry kept looking over now and then, checking your pace without making it obvious and you pretended not to notice anyway.

By the time Wembley came into view, huge and waiting ahead, you were warm, sweaty, and quietly pleased with yourself for not complaining once during the entire run. Then Harry looked at you with a smile you didn't trust.

“Oh no,” you groaned.

His eyes glinted. “Race you!”

“Harry, don’t—”

He took off before you could finish.

“Harry fucking Styles!!!”

He laughed ahead of you, long legs carrying him forward, stupidly fast, stupidly pleased, the stadium growing closer with every second. For about two seconds, you were too annoyed to react properly, then competitiveness took over, because you weren't running ten kilometres to Wembley and letting him beat you in a final sprint he hadn't even announced fairly. So you chased him.

Harry is a trained runner, annoyingly good at distance, the kind of person who can run a marathon under three hours and then pretend he is simply “a bit tired.” But sprinting is different, sprinting is yours, sharp and explosive and all stubborn pride and so you caught him faster than he expected.

“Heeey!” he shouted as you came alongside him.

You didn't answer though, you just overtook him instead and the last stretch towards the security fence became a blur of hot pavement, breathless laughter, and Harry behind you making some wounded sound of disbelief. You reached the fence first, grabbing it with both hands, bending over as your lungs caught fire. Harry arrived seconds after, just as breathless, one hand landing on the fence beside yours while the security guard standing nearby stared at both of you, clearly unsure whether this was normal celebrity behaviour or a medical issue he should call help for.

You looked at Harry through sweat and victory, he looked back at you, you smiled, and to say it nicely, it wasn't a humble smile.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Harry panted.

Your smirk only grew. “Don’t like losing?”

“I let you win.”

You laughed, still trying to breathe. “Of course you did.”

“I have a show tonight. Couldn’t exhaust myself.”

“You challenged me.”

“Because I like seeing you happy.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Harry pointed at you, still bent over. “Revenge.”

“Stop being petty and admit I’m a better sprinter.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“No.”

“You lost.”

“Temporary outcome.”

“You’re such a bad loser.”

He pushed away from the fence, breathing hard but grinning. “I’m thinking of something.”

“That sounds threatening already.”

“As it should.”

You rolled your eyes as security let both of you through into the secluded area. “Whatever makes you feel better, loser.”

Harry’s head turned sharply. “Loser?”

“You heard me.”

He stared at you for one second too long, then smiled and you should really have known then. You should have known that smile meant night four would end with you jogging beside the main stage while Anthony took evidence photos and Harry prepared to make your private sprinting argument everyone else’s business.

Now, hours later, the band is playing As It Was, the last verse nearing its end, and Harry is stretching on stage like the most dramatic man alive. He sings the final line, moves the microphone back into its stand, then rolls his shoulders, shakes out his legs and walks to the edge where you're waiting below. The big screens catch him first, then follow his gaze to you, and the stadium seems to realise all at once that something is happening as a roar moves through Wembley.

You look up at him, and he looks down at you, his eyes bright with competition and pure childish joy. He mouths, “Ready?”

You mouth back, “Fuck off.”

He laughs visibly, pointing at you as if the cameras need to capture your disrespect.

Anthony walks over to the finish side, camera ready. The live camera operators adjust quickly, catching both of you on the screens now, Harry on the stage runway and you in the protected lane below between barricades and stage. Fans in the pits are losing their minds, screaming your name, Harry’s name, both of your names together, the noise is unreal.

Sarah, from behind the drums, leans towards her mic with obvious amusement. “Ready?” she calls.

Harry gets into position, you bend slightly, heart kicking up.

“Steady…”

Harry glances at you once more, smug, and you narrow your eyes.

“Go!”

The stadium explodes, Harry launches down the stage runway, and you take off below.

For the first stretch, he leads. Of course he does, because he is annoying and fast and fuelled by the adrenaline that comes from singing to an entire stadium. The fans along the barricades scream as you pass, faces blurring, arms waving, phones trying to follow the movement. You hear his footsteps above you on the stage, feel the crowd’s roar shifting as he rounds the first corner slightly ahead.

Absolutely not, you tell yourself before you push harder on the long straight. The lane beneath you is narrower than a proper track, but clear enough to open your stride. You can see Harry in your peripheral vision, still ahead but not by much, his body angled forward, one hand lifting briefly to hype the crowd even while running because he is impossible.

You gain on him, and by the second corner, you're finally level and the noise becomes sharper and even louder, because the crowd sees it too. Harry glances down, you flash him the quickest grin you can manage while sprinting and he laughs, breathless, speeds up again and so do you.

The final straight is chaos, the stage lights blur white and gold, the fans at the front are screaming so hard you can barely hear the band, and somewhere ahead Anthony has positioned himself near the finish, camera firing rapidly. Harry is still right beside you, separated by height and stage edge, both of you sprinting towards the place marked in your heads as the finish.

You cross the finish line with Harry almost exactly beside you, then both of you keep running a few steps because stopping instantly would probably kill one of you. He disappears towards the side-stage exit above, and you veer into the backstage route below, lungs burning, legs buzzing, the crowd still roaring behind you as the outro carries on.

Harry arrives backstage first because his route is shorter from the stage stairs, doubled over with one hand on his thigh, laughing and panting at the same time. You come in seconds later, equally breathless, but with your smug grin already returning because you already know. A crew member hands Harry a water bottle, another hands one to you just as Anthony appears, looking delighted enough to be irritating.

Harry points at him while trying to catch his breath. “Who won?”

Anthony checks his camera screen with the solemnity of a judge at an international sporting event and you sip water, smiling behind the bottle way too casual.

Harry looks at you. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re already smug.”

“I have a feeling.”

Anthony zooms in on the last burst of shots, then lets out a laugh. “She did.”

You throw one fist into the air.

Harry’s mouth falls open in sheer disbelief. “No fuckin' way!”

“Yes!” you say, still breathless.

Anthony turns the screen to show him. “Barely, but yeah.”

Harry stares at the proof, you lean closer, looking at the image of yourself crossing a fraction ahead of him, and your grin becomes outrageous. “Oh, that's beautiful.”

Harry points at the camera. “That angle is biased.”

Anthony laughs. “It’s a camera.”

“Biased camera.”

“You lohooost,” you sing extra sweet.

Harry looks at you, sweaty, breathless, still glowing from the show and the race and the sheer absurdity of what he has just done in front of an entire stadium. “I had just played a two-hour show.”

“It was your idea.”

“It was hot.”

“Still your idea.”

“I sang while you were standing there warming up.”

“Your idea.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

You take another drink of water, very pleased. “Do you admit I’m the better runner now, or are we doing revenge number three?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the better sprinter.”

You gasp. “Was that an admission?”

“Sprinter,” he repeats. “Not runner.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Don’t get greedy over there.”

“I beat a sub-three marathon man twice in one day.”

“Because the marathon man had a show to deliver.”

“The marathon man is making excuses.”

“The marathon man is going to remember this.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll learn humility.”

Harry laughs again, the last of his competitive irritation dissolving into pure enjoyment. It was ridiculous, and he knows it, but it was also fun, properly, stupidly fun. The kind of thing he will probably be asked about for the next month or two, the kind of clip that will be online before he even changes out of his stage clothes.

You and Harry drink in silence for a few seconds, still breathing hard, both of you sweaty. Then Harry slings an arm around your shoulders as the two of you begin walking towards the dressing room corridor. His body is warm and damp from the show, his breathing finally evening out, his energy still buzzing around him like leftover electricity.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say, half-laughing as you look back in the direction of the stadium noise. “In front of everyone.”

He smiles. “You loved it.”

“I loved the winning part.”

“Same thing.”

You shake your head. “This is going to go viral.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“They’ll say you let me win.”

“I might say that too.”

“I will post the camera proof myself.”

“You would.”

“I absolutely would.”

He laughs, pulling you closer into his side. The corridor is cooler than the stage area, and you only now begin to feel the sweat cooling on your skin. You're tired, but in the bright, satisfied way that comes after moving hard and laughing harder.

“At least for once,” Harry says, “I won’t be trending for my dick or my slutty little shorts.”

You glance up at him. “You wish.”

He looks down at you, offended. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll be trending for losing to your girlfriend while wearing your slutty little shorts.”

Harry thinks about that, then sighs. “That’s probably true.”

“And the comments about the shorts will still happen.”

“Can’t escape them.”

“Tragic.”

“Difficult being me.”

“You’re so brave.”

He squeezes your shoulder gently. “Thank you.”

You walk a few more steps, then tilt your head. “Do I get a prize?”

Harry’s expression changes to mischief, you recognise it and regret the question immediately.

“A prize?” he asks.

“For winning.”

“Of course.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I know exactly what you were going to say.”

His smile turns slower, cheekier, he's entirely too pleased with himself. “I was just going to say I’ve got a very special prize for you.”

You stop walking for half a second. “Harry.”

“What?”

“We’re in a corridor.”

“I’m whispering.”

“You’re not whispering enough.”

He leans down slightly, voice lower now, eyes glittering. “You asked for a prize, love.”

“Oh my God.”

“You won fair and square.”

“I regret everything.”

“No, you don’t.”

You try not to laugh, fail, and shove lightly at his side. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet.”

“And yet what?”

“You still ran around Wembley for me.”

“I ran around Wembley against you.”

“That too.”

You reach the dressing room door, and Harry pauses with his hand on the handle, looking at you in the soft, amused way that always follows his most ridiculous ideas. He's still breathless, still sweaty, still high on the show, but the look in his eyes has settled now. “You did make it more fun,” he says.

“The show?”

“The night.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “You only say that because you lost and need to sound gracious.”

“I’m a very gracious guy.”

You laugh, and Harry’s smile grows because that was the entire point, really. You laughing at the end of a long show day, glowing from sprinting and winning and being dragged into his madness, looking at him like he is both the most ridiculous man alive and exactly the one you would choose again.

He opens the door. “Come on, winner,” he says. “Let’s discuss your prize.”

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

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[maladaptivescorpio]

that pic is giving major dismissive daddy that's barely reacting while you're giving him a blowie and trying to get a reaction out of him in an empty stadium

"You've got a little drool there, love," Harry said, indicating the corner of his mouth, acting completely indifferent to anything else that was in your mouth.

Whining around him, you hoped the vibrations along his cock would create some kind of reaction, yet he just kept sucking on his lollipop, unbothered by your sloppy blowjob. He'd been dismissive when you first begged to suck him off, tugging the zipper down with an eyeroll, but you figured he'd cave in just like he usually did. Your jaw was starting to ache from all the effort you had been putting in, but he had yet to utter a single sound, yet to offer any appreciation for your work. So you kept your head bobbing, choking when his dick reached the back of your throat.

"Careful now," he warned nonchalantly, barely glancing down at you. "If it's too big, I can give you something smaller you can suck on." Harry pursed his lips around the sweet treat, twirling it between them, making his lips appear even pinker.

[maincharactermuse]

Strawberry Wine: Part Three

Part Three: The Version Of You That Could Do It

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC (Sadie Styles)

Word Count: 11.6k

Warning: This story contains infidelity/cheating, marital conflict, emotionally intense arguments, discussions of shame and self-loathing, anxiety and depressive thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanism, alcohol use, discussions of identity loss after motherhood, themes of grief/guilt/relationship breakdown. This story does not romanticise infidelity, but explores the emotional aftermath and psychological complexity surrounding it.

Summary: As Harry’s London residency comes to an end, he and Sadie are pulled between moments of painful honesty and devastating miscommunication. From an emotional confrontation at Sadie’s flat to a heartbreaking conversation backstage after Wembley, both are forced to face the same truth: despite the betrayal, the love between them hasn’t disappeared—but neither has the damage.

Series Masterlist: Here

Masterlist: Here

The next few days passed in fragments. That was the strange thing about heartbreak when life refused to stop around it. It didn’t arrive dramatically every morning with violins and collapse. Sometimes it arrived through practicalities. Through half-packed overnight bags by the front door. Through nursery pickup schedules and unanswered texts and standing in the cereal aisle trying to remember whether Jesse liked the dinosaur-shaped ones or the stars this week.

Harry’s residency kept moving around him regardless. Show after show. Sold out. Critics calling it electric. Fans crying online over performances he barely remembered giving.

By now, the routine of it had become muscle memory again. Wake up. Coffee. Rehearsal notes. Wardrobe. Meet-and-greets. The roar of the crowd. Sweat and lights and adrenaline. Then afterward, the strange crash back into himself alone in a dressing room while everyone else buzzed around congratulating him on another incredible night.

He’d become frighteningly good at compartmentalising. It scared him a bit. Sadie drifted through the edges of those days like someone slowly fading from a photograph. Not intentionally cruel. Not punishing him exactly. Just… disappearing in increments. First the kisses at the end of messages vanished. Then the softness. Then even the attempts at conversation. Now mostly he just got photos of Jesse. No context. No commentary.

A blurry picture of Jesse asleep sideways on the sofa with yoghurt on his shirt. A short video of him screaming with laughter at pigeons in the park. A photo of tiny wellies abandoned upside down near Sadie’s front door. That was it. Harry would stare at the screen for a second afterward waiting instinctively for another message underneath.

He’s been asking for you all morning.

He finally ate vegetables.

or even just

Miss you.

Nothing came. So he’d reply.

Looks like he’s having fun x

Tell him I said goodnight.

And Sadie would answer.

Will do.

Okay.

Sometimes just... 👍

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Because technically this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Honesty stripped of performance. No pretending things were fine when they weren’t. But now every message from her felt like communication between strangers forced to coordinate logistics after a natural disaster. And underneath all of it sat the sketchbook. He still had it.

Anne had given it to him quietly the morning after the show, saying only, “Maybe keep hold of it for now.” Harry hadn’t known what to expect when he finally opened it properly later that night alone in bed. Not that.

Page after page of him. Not celebrity Harry. Not stage Harry. Human Harry. Harry asleep on planes with his mouth slightly open. Harry crouched beside Jesse tying tiny shoelaces. Harry standing in the kitchen with one hand around a coffee mug while looking out the window. Harry laughing mid-sentence, unfinished in pencil because maybe Sadie had stopped before she got to the eyes.

Some drawings were barely sketches at all. Others were so detailed they made his chest physically ache. One page was just his hands over and over again in different positions, rings and tattoos perfectly rendered from memory.

There were dates scribbled in corners sometimes. Three months ago. Last year. During tour. After Jesse was born.

Harry had sat there for almost an hour turning pages slowly, grief building in him in strange uneven waves. Because the sketchbook didn’t feel like evidence of a woman who stopped loving him. It felt like evidence of someone who maybe loved him so much she’d lost herself entirely somewhere inside it. And somehow that made the betrayal worse, not better.

The residency was ending soon. Three more shows in London, then a short break before the next leg overseas. Usually by now there would’ve been conversations about travel plans, where Jesse would stay, whether Sadie would come for part of it, whether Anne wanted to join for a few days somewhere warm and complain about hotel pillows. Their life had always existed in motion around Harry’s work. Chaotic but functioning.

Now everything sat suspended. Nobody asked directly what was happening next because nobody knew.

Harry found himself thinking about it more at night after shows when adrenaline drained away and left him too awake to sleep. He’d lie staring at the ceiling replaying therapy sessions over and over, trying to locate the point where he and Sadie had stopped speaking honestly to each other. Not arguing. Not logistics. Actual speaking.

At what point had she started disappearing inside herself without him noticing properly? At what point had he become someone she couldn’t bring things to anymore? And then, inevitably, the thought would slam back into him like it always did.

Harry, I cheated on you.

Some days he could almost hear it exactly how she’d said it. Quiet. Trembling. Like the words themselves had shocked her on the way out. The sentence still rearranged his insides every time. Because no matter how much therapy they did or explanations they circled or truths they unearthed about loneliness and control and identity, the reality underneath remained horrifyingly simple. She cheated on him. His wife looked him in the face after years together and admitted she’d crossed that line. Nothing softened that. Nothing.

And yet somehow he still found himself worrying when she took too long to answer messages. It made him feel vaguely insane.

One afternoon, two days before the final London show, Harry sat alone in the kitchen scrolling absentmindedly through setlist notes while the house stayed unusually quiet around him. Jesse was at nursery for the morning. Anne had gone back up north for a few days before returning for the final show. Rain tapped softly against the windows. His phone buzzed. Sadie. Immediately his chest tightened before he could stop it.

I’m not going to be able to make the next therapy session. Is it okay if we miss a week?

That was all. No explanation. No apology. Nothing. Harry stared at the message for a long moment.

Something about it unsettled him instantly. Not because missing one session mattered practically. Dr Bennett herself had said sometimes people needed breathing room. But the wording felt wrong somehow. Flat. Detached. Like Sadie was already halfway out the door emotionally and trying not to make noise while leaving. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Why?

Deleted.

Are you okay?

Deleted that too. Finally he typed:

Yeah, okay. We can miss a week if you need.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Then disappeared. Nothing came after. Harry rubbed a hand over his jaw slowly, irritation and worry tangling together again in ways he increasingly couldn’t separate. Before he could stop himself, he typed another message.

Will you be at the last show?

He stared at the sentence after sending it, immediately unsure why he’d asked. Maybe because some stubborn part of him still looked for her backstage automatically every night. Maybe because the idea of ending the London run without seeing her in the crowd suddenly felt heavier than it should have.

No response came. Five minutes passed. Ten. Eventually another message arrived. A picture of Jesse asleep in the car seat, mouth open slightly, one sock missing. No words attached. Harry stared at it for a long time. Then longer.

Something uncomfortable settled slowly beneath his ribs. Because suddenly the silence around Sadie no longer felt like punishment exactly. It felt like surrender.

Harry lasted exactly three hours after waking up before he ended up outside Sadie’s flat. He tried, genuinely, to be rational about it first.

Tried coffee. Tried the gym. Tried running through setlists with Mitch while half-listeningTried answering Jeff’s texts about afterparties and flights and tomorrow’s press. None of it worked. Because underneath everything — the sold-out residency, the praise, the exhaustion, the anger — one thought kept circling him like something frantic and trapped:

This is not how this was supposed to go.

Today was supposed to feel triumphant. The last London show. The ending of a residency they’d spoken about for months beforehand while lying in bed together, Sadie half-asleep against his chest while he rambled excitedly about staging ideas and surprise songs and what part of the city they should stay in this time. Jesse had been part of the picture too somehow. Tiny headphones backstage. Family dinners after shows. Sadie laughing at him when adrenaline kept him awake until two in the morning afterward.

He’d imagined coming offstage tonight and finding her there waiting for him. Not because things were perfect. Just because she was his wife. And now they communicated through blurry toddler photos and thumbs-up reactions like divorced strangers trying to stay civil. The whole thing suddenly felt unbearable.

So by eleven-thirty that morning, Harry was standing outside her building in a black hoodie and sunglasses despite the grey weather, one hand shoved into his pocket while his phone rang in his other hand.

Sadie answered on the fourth ring sounding breathless and tired. “Hi.”

“I’m outside.”

“Oh.” He could hear movement in the background. “I thought we agreed you were having him tomorrow after the show.”

“Sadie.”

“What?”

“I need to talk to you.”

The exhaustion in her silence travelled straight down the phone line. “Harry…”

“No, properly. We need to actually talk.”

A long pause followed. He pictured her standing somewhere inside the flat with one hand pressed against her forehead the way she did lately whenever she got overwhelmed. Finally... “Okay.”

The buzzer sounded a second later. By the time he reached her floor, his pulse was hammering hard enough to irritate him. He wasn’t even fully sure what he’d come here to say anymore. Just that he couldn’t keep existing in this half-dead version of their marriage where every real conversation happened in therapy offices while the rest of their lives dissolved quietly around it.

Sadie opened the door before he knocked. The first thing Harry felt was anger. The second was immediate guilt for it. Because she looked awful. Genuinely worn down in a way that made something protective and furious rise in him at the same time. Oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder slightly, hair shoved back messily, skin pale enough that the shadows beneath her eyes looked bruised. She’d always been naturally slim, but now she looked diminished somehow, like parts of her were slowly disappearing without her noticing.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Harry stared at her for one beat too long before stepping inside. The flat was quiet except for low cartoon noises somewhere deeper in the apartment.

“Jesse awake?”

She nodded. “Watching Bluey.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Right.”

An awkward silence settled instantly between them. Sadie closed the door gently behind him and folded her arms loosely, not defensive exactly. More like she was trying to hold herself together physically.“What’s going on?” she asked carefully.

Harry laughed once under his breath and started pacing immediately, energy too sharp under his skin to stay still. “I don’t know anymore, honestly.” Sadie watched him quietly. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said finally.

Her expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Doing what?”

“This.” He gestured between them sharply. “This weird fucking strangers thing we’re doing. I can’t.”

Sadie looked down immediately. “Harry—”

“No, seriously.” His voice cracked with frustration and heartbreak all tangled together now. “How are we strangers? How did we get here? One minute we’re planning a residency together and arguing about whether Jesse needs another bloody stuffed dinosaur and now you send me photos of our son like you’re proving he’s still alive.”

Sadie flinched. Harry instantly regretted the phrasing but couldn’t stop now that the words had started coming.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything real!”

Her jaw tightened tiredly. “Everything I say hurts you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” Her voice stayed quiet, which somehow made it worse. “I breathe wrong lately and it hurts you.”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair hard enough to tug. “You cancelled therapy.”

“I just needed a week.”

“You didn’t explain.”

“I didn’t think I had to explain every single thing anymore.”

“See?” He looked at her helplessly. “That. That’s what I mean. You just disappear and shut everyone out and act like nobody’s allowed to care.”

Sadie’s face flickered then, irritation finally surfacing through the exhaustion. “People caring about me right now feels a bit ridiculous, Harry.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She laughed quietly under her breath. “I cheated on you.”

The sentence still hit exactly the same every time. Harry felt it physically. Sadie saw it happen in his face immediately and looked away. Silence crashed between them. From the lounge came Jesse’s voice faintly shouting something excited at the television.

Harry swallowed hard. “I know you did.” Sadie closed her eyes briefly.“But I need you to stop acting like that means you deserve to disappear. I mean it.” His voice softened despite himself. “You need help, Sadie.”

Her eyes opened slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I am.”

“You’re not eating.”

Something defensive flashed immediately. “You don’t know that.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“That’s not your problem anymore.”

Harry stared at her. “See, that’s exactly what I mean. You keep deciding things for everyone.”

“I’m not deciding anything.”

“You are.” His voice sharpened. “You’ve decided I hate you. You’ve decided everybody blames you. You’ve decided you should isolate yourself until you feel punished enough to deserve existing again.”

Sadie looked stunned for half a second. Then angry. “Don’t psychoanalyse me.”

“I’m not. I’m watching you fall apart.”

“I’m not falling apart.”

“You dropped your keys because your hands were shaking.”

She froze. Harry’s chest tightened immediately because there it was, the moment she realised he’d noticed. “You think nobody sees you,” he said quieter now. “But we do.”

Sadie looked away sharply toward the kitchen counter, blinking too fast.

“And it’s making me fucking crazy,” Harry admitted suddenly, voice roughening with emotion now that he’d finally reached the real thing underneath all the anger. “Because this should be straightforward, shouldn’t it? You cheat on me, I hate you, end of story. But I don’t.” He laughed once, miserable and exhausted. “I’m angry all the time and I’m heartbroken and some days I can barely look at you without hearing those words in my head again, but I still…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I still need you to be okay.” Sadie’s face crumpled slightly. Harry looked away before he lost his nerve entirely. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then softly, carefully, like she was afraid sudden movement might break him further, Sadie said, “Harry, just... calm down a bit, yeah? Jessie is going to hear you and it's going to start a whole thing.”

He laughed breathlessly. “When are we supposed to have a conversation then? Honestly? Because therapy’s the only place we speak properly anymore and now you’re cancelling that too.”

“I just needed space.”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “You needed support and instead you isolated yourself.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is watching you punish yourself into the ground while pretending it’s accountability.” Her eyes filled immediately at that. Harry stepped closer without really thinking. “You think you’re alone in this and you’re not. Yes, you hurt me. You broke my heart, Sadie. You did.” His voice cracked properly now, the vulnerability in it shocking even himself a little. “But now you’re making everybody stand back and watch you destroy yourself over it because you think that somehow balances the scales.”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks now. Harry softened instantly. “Hey.”

She shook her head quickly, embarrassed already. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“I just…” Her breathing trembled unevenly. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

The honesty of it gutted him. Not fix us. Not fix the marriage. Just... fix it. As though the damage itself had swallowed everything else whole.

“You can’t fix it overnight,” Harry said quietly. “Neither can I. But this…” He gestured toward her vaguely. “This thing where you stop talking and stop eating and stop sleeping and disappear into yourself — we’re not doing that anymore.”

Sadie rubbed at her face hard. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “But I can tell you I’m worried. I can tell you that I care.”

She looked up at him then, properly looked, and for the first time in weeks Harry thought maybe she was seeing his heartbreak without therapy-room anger wrapped around it. Just the grief itself. The devastation. The confusion. The love that still existed despite every logical reason it shouldn’t. It seemed to shake her more than shouting ever had. Then from the lounge came a loud toddler voice.

“Mummy! Bingo sad!”

Both of them blinked. The tension cracked slightly around the edges. Sadie laughed wetly under her breath and wiped quickly beneath her eyes. “Coming, Jess!”

Harry exhaled slowly, running a hand over his mouth. “Also,” he added suddenly before she could walk away completely, “you’re coming tonight.”

Sadie turned back. “Harry—”

“No.” His voice steadied with surprising certainty. “You’re coming to the last show.”

Her expression immediately shuttered again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“Harry.”

“I mean it.” He stepped closer again, tired but firm now. “I know you think you don’t belong there anymore or whatever’s going on in your head, but I’m making this decision. I want you there.” Sadie stared at him quietly. “And before you say it,” he added, softer now, “yes, I heard what you said about living in my world. I did. But this isn’t me controlling you.” His throat tightened slightly. “This is me asking my wife to be at something important.”

The word wife nearly broke them both. Sadie looked down immediately, tears threatening all over again. Finally, very quietly, “Okay.” Harry nodded once.

Neither of them knew what exactly they’d just agreed to. Whether this was repair or simply survival. Whether love was enough anymore or too much. But for the first time in weeks, standing there in the quiet wreckage of their marriage while Bluey played faintly in the background and their son narrated cartoon emotions from another room, they at least looked directly at each other again instead of through each other. And somehow that felt almost terrifying.

Two hours before the final London show, Harry was pacing hard enough backstage that even Jeff eventually stopped pretending not to notice. Usually by this point in the evening Harry settled into performance mode naturally. The nerves sharpened into energy, the dressing room filled with movement and laughter and familiar ritual. Mitch tuning guitars in the corner. Hair and makeup floating in and out. Someone inevitably losing an in-ear pack at the worst possible moment. Harry half-dressed and wandering around barefoot while everybody shouted at him to sit still for five minutes.

Tonight none of it was landing properly. Because Sadie still wasn’t there. Neither was Jesse. And logically, Harry knew there were a hundred harmless explanations. Traffic. Jesse refusing shoes. Parking around the stadium being a nightmare. Sadie getting overwhelmed and needing five minutes in the car before walking inside. But logic had stopped being particularly useful to him where Sadie was concerned.

His phone sat face-up on the counter beside him. No new messages. The last thing from her had been forty minutes ago.

Leaving now.

That was it. Harry checked the time again.

“Mate,” Jeff said carefully from the sofa, “you’re gonna wear a hole through the floor.”

Harry stopped pacing just long enough to drag both hands down his face. “Sorry.”

“You wanna call her?”

“No.” Immediate. Defensive. “I don’t wanna be… insane.”

Jeff wisely chose not to point out that Harry had already checked his phone approximately thirty times in ten minutes. A soft knock came against the open dressing room door before Anne slipped inside carrying a cup of tea she probably knew he wouldn’t drink.The second she saw his face, her expression softened. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Harry looked away immediately, embarrassed by how obvious he apparently was. Jeff stood smoothly. “I’m gonna go check where we’re at with doors.” The room quieted after he left.

Anne handed Harry the tea anyway before sitting on the sofa. “Talk to me.”

Harry laughed once under his breath, exhausted. “I feel like all I do lately is talk.”

“Try me anyway.”

He stayed standing for another few seconds before finally sinking into the chair opposite her, elbows on knees, tea untouched between his hands. The adrenaline under his skin felt jagged tonight, less excitement than pure emotional overload. “I went to Sadie’s this morning.” Anne’s eyebrows lifted slightly but she didn’t interrupt. “And I think maybe I scared her a bit.”

“Scared her?”

“Not intentionally,” Harry said quickly. “I just… I don’t know. I kind of lost it.” He rubbed hard at his jaw. “Not angry. Just saying too much, probably.” Anne watched him quietly. Harry stared down into the tea. “I told her we can’t keep doing this weird strangers thing anymore. And I told her she needs help because she looks like she’s disappearing in front of everyone and pretending she’s fine.” His voice roughened slightly. “And then I told her I needed her here tonight.”

Anne’s expression softened even further. Harry laughed again, quieter now, more miserable. “See? This is what I mean. I feel like I’m saying the same thing over and over again and none of it makes any sense.”

“What thing?”

He looked up finally then, eyes bright with exhaustion and grief and frustration all tangled together. “She broke my heart and I can’t trust her, but I trust her with my life when it comes to Jesse. She cheated on me and some days I can barely look at her because all I hear is those fucking words in my head again, but at the same time all I want to do is look at her.” His breathing had started going uneven now, emotion finally pushing past whatever control he’d been holding onto all day. “And I hate what she did. I do. I hate it. But I’m also still so insanely in love with her and I don’t know what the fuck to do with that because this version of her now — this version that won’t sleep or eat or talk to anyone — it’s terrifying.”

Anne stayed very still, letting him get it out.

Harry shook his head hard. “And if she won’t listen to me, then who the fuck is she gonna listen to? Because Joanna tries and she shuts her down and Bennett tries and she shuts her down and every time I think we’re getting somewhere she disappears again.” His voice cracked then, properly cracked, the heartbreak underneath finally surfacing without anger protecting it. “And I still don’t understand why she did it. I don’t. I understand pieces of it maybe, loneliness and control and all that shit, but I don’t understand why she ruined us. Or maybe…” He swallowed hard. “Maybe we were already ruined for her to do that in the first place and I just didn’t see it.”

Anne’s eyes filled instantly. Harry laughed helplessly through the emotion building in his chest. “And now tonight’s supposed to be this big final London show and all I can think about is how it was supposed to feel. She was supposed to be here with Jesse and we were supposed to leave together afterward and go to the next city together and it was supposed to still be us.” He looked down, voice dropping quieter. “And now I know she’s probably gonna leave halfway through because she still thinks she doesn’t belong here anymore, and I feel so fucking alone all the time, Mum.”

The confession seemed to physically pull something out of him. “And then I have to go out there,” he continued shakily, “and sing happy songs and flirt with the crowd and act like I’m having the best time of my life when really I feel like somebody’s peeled my skin off.”

“Oh, darling.” Anne was across the room before he fully realised he’d started crying. Not dramatic sobbing. Just the kind of exhausted heartbreak that finally overwhelms the body after weeks of being held too tightly. Anne pulled him into her arms immediately, one hand cradling the back of his head the same way she had when he was little.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she murmured softly against his hair.

Harry laughed wetly despite himself. “Don’t call me that.”

“You’ll always be my baby boy.”

He folded into the hug for one dangerous second longer than he meant to, breathing uneven against her shoulder while she rubbed slow circles against his back until he could breathe properly again. And then, faintly through the corridor outside, came the sound of a child crying. Harry pulled back instantly.

“Mummy!”

His head snapped toward the door. Sadie’s voice followed immediately after, soft and calm despite the distress underneath it. “Oh, Jesse, come here. You’re okay, sweetheart. That must’ve hurt, huh?”

Harry was moving before he consciously decided to. The dressing room door swung open and there they were in the corridor outside. Sadie crouched down holding Jesse against her chest while he cried dramatically into her shoulder, one tiny hand clutching at her tank top. There was a faint scrape along his forearm already pinking from what looked like a fall.

Harry’s first instinct should’ve been the scratch. Instead, shamefully, overwhelmingly, all he could think was... She came. And Christ, she’d listened.

Not fully. She still looked tired — he could see it immediately in the shadows beneath her eyes — but she’d tried tonight. Her hair was down properly instead of shoved into a messy knot, soft makeup warming her face slightly, lips tinted faintly pink. She wore a simple cream slip tank tucked into a denim midi skirt with little ballet flats, understated and beautiful and so painfully her that Harry’s chest physically hurt looking at her. Not hiding. Not disappearing into oversized jumpers.Present.

He hated that his first feeling wasn’t relief about Jesse. He hated that his first thought was she cared enough to come properly.

Sadie looked up when she heard the door open, and for one tiny second something uncertain flickered across her face, like she wasn’t sure what version of Harry she’d be met with now. Harry was already kneeling beside them. “What happened?”

Jesse sniffled hard. “Daddy, I fall over. ”

“Oh, buddy.” Harry reached immediately for his little arm, inspecting the scrape gently. “That’s all right, s’just a scratch.”

Sadie smoothed curls back from Jesse’s damp forehead. “He tripped over one of the cables near the door. Scared himself more than anything.”

“I no like falling,” Jesse whispered miserably.

“I know.” Sadie kissed the side of his head softly. “But look, mummy and daddy are both here, yeah? You’re okay.”

The words hit Harry harder than they should have. Mummy and daddy are both here. For a brief second it sounded dangerously close to normal. Harry held out his arms automatically. “Come here then, I’ll calm you down.”

Sadie shifted slightly to hand him over, but Jesse immediately tightened his grip around her neck. “No. Mummy.”

The silence that followed was tiny but noticeable. Sadie froze for half a heartbeat before trying to hide the reaction entirely. But Harry saw it. The immediate softening around her eyes. The almost disbelieving relief. Like Jesse choosing her in that moment repaired some tiny fractured thing inside her, even temporarily.

“All right,” she said softly, voice wobbling just slightly despite her effort to steady it. “Mummy’s got you.”

Jesse buried his face into her shoulder again dramatically. Harry watched her rub his back in slow circles and suddenly realised she looked more present right now than she had in weeks. Still fragile. Still exhausted. But present. Like maybe showing up tonight had cost her something significant emotionally, but she’d done it anyway.

His eyes flicked toward her quietly. “Have you eaten?” Sadie looked up, surprised by the question. Harry kept his voice low enough that Jesse wouldn’t notice. “Today.”

For a second she looked almost embarrassed. “We were on our way to catering before…” She glanced down at Jesse gently. “Before this happened.” Harry waited. Sadie swallowed slightly before adding softly, “I’ll eat. I promise. I will.”

And for the first time in weeks, he believed her.Not because he trusted everything suddenly. Not because the betrayal hurt less. Not because any of this was fixed. But because she was standing here. Hair done. Makeup on. Holding their little boy close while he cried against her shoulder, having forced herself into the world instead of disappearing from it. Trying.

Harry looked at her for one long quiet second, something aching and complicated moving through him all over again. Then Jesse sniffled loudly and pointed toward Harry’s dressing room. “Daddy sing now?”

Harry laughed softly through the emotion still sitting thick in his chest. “Yeah, buddy.”

Jesse nodded seriously from Sadie’s shoulder. “Daddy amazing.”

Sadie’s eyes flicked instinctively toward Harry then, and despite everything — despite all the damage between them — she gave the smallest, softest smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “He is.”

The show was good. That was the worst part.

It wasn’t one of those nights where his body betrayed him or the crowd felt distant or the band missed cues or he had to fight every second to stay afloat. The show was good from the first note. Better than good, probably. The kind of good where Harry could feel it happening even while some awful, detached part of him stood back and resented it. The crowd was loud enough to shake the floor beneath his boots, the lights came in clean and blinding, the band locked into him like a second heartbeat, and when he stepped out for the opening song, the roar rose so violently it hit his chest before he’d even taken his first breath.

For a little while, performance saved him. Not fully. It never did lately. But it gave him shape. It gave him somewhere to put his hands, his voice, his face. He moved because the song moved. He smiled because twenty thousand people were smiling back. He lifted the mic and the room answered before he asked it to, and there was comfort in that, in the old reliable machinery of call and response. He knew how to be this version of himself. He knew how to give strangers something real enough that they could take it home and call it magic, even if backstage his marriage was lying open like a wound that nobody knew how to bandage properly.

The first few songs blurred together in colour and heat. Gold light. White light. Bass through the floor. Hands reaching up from barricade. Someone’s sign near the front that made him laugh even though he barely read it properly. He heard himself speak between songs, easy and charming and loose, and felt the odd distance of recognising his own voice as something useful. “London, you all right?” he shouted, and the arena went mad for him, and for one brief second he almost believed he was all right too.

Then he looked toward the side. Anne was there, one hand pressed over her chest like she always did during the big moments no matter how many times she’d seen him do this. Joanna stood beside her, dancing with absolutely no sense of shame, as promised. Simon was just behind them with his arms folded and a proud little smile he probably thought looked subtle. And Sadie was there.

Harry’s throat tightened around the next lyric, but he caught it in time.

She stood a little back from the others, not as far removed as last time, but still not fully swallowed into the group. Jesse was in her arms despite being far too big to be carried comfortably for long, his green earmuffs slightly crooked over his curls, face already crumpled in a half-whinge against her shoulder. Harry saw Sadie shift him higher with effort, saw the way her mouth moved near his ear, murmuring something only Jesse could hear. Jesse shook his head stubbornly, lower lip out, and Sadie pulled a ridiculous face at him — not big enough for anyone else to notice, just enough for Jesse — crossing her eyes slightly before pretending to bite his sleeve. Jesse giggled. Harry nearly forgot where he was.

It was such a small thing. Nothing, really. A mother making her tired child laugh during a loud show. But the sight of it went straight through him. Sadie’s hand spread across Jesse’s back, her thumb moving in slow circles. Jesse’s face tucked into her neck. The soft competence of her, the instinctive tenderness that hadn’t vanished just because everything else was broken. Harry turned toward the other side of the arena before he could stare too long. The crowd screamed when he moved down the catwalk.

He played into it because that was what he was meant to do, because he had built a career on knowing how to make a vast room feel like it had been personally noticed. He walked slowly, grinning, gesturing to signs, taking in the sea of faces and lights, but every few seconds his gaze wanted to cut back toward the family section. By the time he reached the end of the catwalk, he finally let himself look again. Jesse had perked up now, one hand lifted awkwardly in his general direction while Sadie held his wrist gently and helped him wave. Harry waved back. The arena screamed like he’d done it for them. He hadn’t.

Sadie smiled faintly when Jesse gasped in delight, and for one second Harry saw them as if from outside himself. His little boy waving with his whole arm, his wife helping him, his family gathered at the side of the stage, the final London show glowing around them like the life they were supposed to be living. It hurt so badly he had to turn away and sing directly into the dark instead.

That became the shape of the next several songs. Perform, look, survive. Perform, look, survive. He gave the crowd everything because it was easier than holding anything back. He joked more than usual, moved more than usual, let the music pull him forward when his own mind wanted to drag him under. The fans would never know the difference. Maybe that was a mercy. Maybe that was terrifying. He could be falling apart internally and still look electric beneath stage lights. He wondered, briefly, how many people in the arena were doing the same thing in smaller ways. Smiling beside friends. Singing love songs beside people who had hurt them. Filming him with hands that shook for reasons nobody would ask about later.

Halfway through the set, during a song that had once made Sadie cry laughing because Jesse used to shout the wrong lyric from his car seat, Harry looked toward the side again. Anne was there. Joanna was there. Simon was there. Sadie and Jesse were gone. The lyric kept moving through his mouth. His body stayed in time. The crowd didn’t notice. But something inside Harry dropped so violently it felt almost physical.

For a few seconds, he told himself not to react. Jesse was tired. She probably took him somewhere quieter. That had been the plan, sort of. She’d said she’d watch until he got fussy. But the rational thought came too late and too weak. The older fear had already risen, fed by weeks of watching Sadie retreat from every room where she might have belonged. She left. Of course she left. He’d asked her to be there, begged in the only way he still knew how to beg without sounding like it, and she’d still left. She’d smiled, nodded, promised, dressed up like she meant it, brought Jesse, stood where he could see her, and then vanished the moment it became too much.

Everything he’d said in her flat suddenly felt humiliating. I need you there. Apparently that meant nothing. Apparently he meant nothing.

No. Not that. That was too childish. Too cruel. But hurt had never been reasonable, and under the heat of lights with the whole arena singing back at him, Harry’s brain took the absence and turned it immediately into evidence. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to. She was already gone.

He pushed through the rest of the song on pure instinct. Then the next. Then the next. If anything, the show got better after that because anger could masquerade as energy if he aimed it correctly. He ran harder down the catwalk. Laughed bigger. Held notes longer than he had all week. The crowd lost their minds and Harry let them, because if they were loud enough maybe they could cover the sound of his own thoughts tearing at him.

By the encore, he was almost dizzy with it. By the final bow, his face hurt from smiling. The second he stepped offstage, the world narrowed brutally. Noise shifted from roar to backstage chaos. Crew cheering. People clapping him on the back. Someone shouting, “Incredible, H!” over the ringing in his ears. Jeff appeared, grinning and relieved, already saying something about the run, about how good that one had felt, about press photos waiting, about champagne. Harry ripped his in-ears out so hard one of the cables snapped against his neck.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

Jeff’s expression changed immediately. “Harry?”

“Not now.”

“Mate, what’s going on? Show was great.”

Harry shoved past him before he could stop himself. “I said not now!”He heard Jeff follow anyway, because Jeff was Jeff and because there were very few people in Harry’s life paid or brave enough to ignore the warning tone in his voice. “Harry, slow down. Talk to me.”

But Harry couldn’t slow down. The adrenaline had nowhere to go now that the stage was gone, and it came tearing through him sideways, ugly and hot. He moved through corridors too fast, stage shirt sticking damply to his back, pulse hammering in his throat. Someone congratulated him and he barely nodded. Someone tried to hand him a towel and he missed it. His dressing room door came up too quickly, and he pushed it open harder than necessary. Then stopped dead.

Sadie was inside. Not gone. There.

Sitting on the sofa with Jesse asleep heavy against her chest, his head hanging over her shoulder at an angle that looked uncomfortable for everyone except him. One of her arms curved around his back, the other hand moving slowly through his curls in the repetitive soothing motion of someone who’d been doing it for a while. The room was dimmer than before, only the mirror lights on low, and Sadie had kicked off her ballet flats beneath the coffee table. Her skirt was creased where Jesse’s legs had been curled against it. The strap of her slip tank had slipped slightly down one shoulder. She looked tired and soft and startled, turning toward the door with Jesse still asleep against her.

“Harry?” she whispered, immediately concerned by whatever she saw on his face.

He stood in the doorway breathing hard. For a second, all the anger had nowhere to land. “I thought you left,” he said. The words came out low and harsh, half whisper, half accusation.

Sadie’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“I thought you left.”

Understanding moved across her face slowly, then something like shock. Not offended shock. Wounded shock. As though she hadn’t realised her absence from the side of the stage could matter enough to do this to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly, glancing down at Jesse as he shifted faintly. “He was getting really fussy, and the noise was too much, so I brought him in here. I was just trying to settle him. I didn’t—” She looked back at Harry, worry sharpening. “I didn’t leave.”

Harry swallowed hard, still breathing like he’d run the length of the arena. Behind him, Jeff appeared in the hallway and stopped immediately when he saw the scene. Sadie looked past Harry briefly, then back. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“I can’t talk to you,” Harry said, voice tight. Sadie’s face shut down so fast it hurt to watch. He saw it and immediately added, rougher, “Not like that. I mean I can’t talk to you while you’re holding him. I don’t want to wake him.”

Jesse stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, making a tiny sleepy noise into Sadie’s neck. Sadie looked down at him, then nodded once. “Okay.”

The care she took putting him down nearly undid Harry again. There was a makeshift cot set up in the corner from earlier, one of those collapsible travel things someone had dragged in after Jesse fell asleep during a previous show. Sadie stood slowly, every movement controlled, Jesse heavy and boneless against her shoulder. Harry stepped forward instinctively as if to help, then stopped himself because he didn’t know whether touching either of them right now would steady him or shatter him completely. Sadie lowered Jesse gently into the cot, one hand supporting his head, the other easing his arm from around her neck. He whined softly, and she froze, whispering, “Shh, baby, you’re okay. Mummy’s here. Daddy’s here. Sleep, sweetheart.”

Harry closed his eyes at that. Mummy’s here. Daddy’s here. Again. That phrase. That impossible little lie that was also, in the moment, true.

When Jesse settled, Sadie tucked Harry’s hoodie — the one Jesse had apparently stolen from the sofa — around him like a blanket and kissed his forehead so softly it barely looked like contact. Then she turned back to Harry, face pale.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Jeff cleared his throat awkwardly from the doorway. “I’ll just…” He looked at Harry, then at Sadie, then wisely stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute. But people are waiting, H.”

Harry didn’t answer.

Sadie led the way into the adjoining room because she seemed to understand, somehow, that if Harry had to stay in the same room as sleeping Jesse, he would swallow every word and choke on it. The adjoining room was smaller, used mostly for wardrobe overflow, with a rack of clothes pushed against one wall and champagne already sitting unopened in an ice bucket on the sideboard. Celebration waiting politely beside collapse.

The door clicked softly behind them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry stood with his hands on his hips, chest still rising too fast, sweat cooling unpleasantly on his skin. Sadie stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself despite the room being warm, eyes fixed somewhere near his collarbone.

“You thought I left,” she said quietly.

He laughed once, bitter and embarrassed all at once. “Yeah. I did.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know that now.”

“I would’ve told you if I was going.”

“Would you?”

She flinched. Harry hated himself for saying it and still felt the truth of it burning in his throat. Sadie’s eyes filled quickly, but she blinked hard, refusing to let them fall yet. “I stayed because you asked me to.”

The simplicity of the sentence landed like a hand against his chest. Harry looked away.

“I stayed,” she said again, softer now. “Jesse just needed quiet.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath because the emotional whiplash was too much. “Do you know what it felt like looking over and seeing you gone?” Sadie’s mouth parted slightly, but no answer came. “It felt like every fucking thing I said this morning didn’t matter.”

Her face crumpled.

“And I know that’s not fair,” Harry continued immediately, voice rough and unsteady now, “because he’s three and he was tired and obviously you took him somewhere quiet. I know that. I’m not stupid. But I looked over and you weren’t there and my brain just—” He broke off, pressing his thumb and forefinger hard against his eyes. “It just went.”

Sadie wiped under one eye quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I am.”

“I know you are!” His voice rose slightly, then he immediately glanced toward the door and forced it lower. “I know you’re sorry. I know you’re always sorry. That’s part of what’s making me lose my mind.”

She stood very still. Harry looked at her fully then, and all at once the words came the way they had with Anne, only worse now because Sadie was the person they belonged to.

“I don’t understand how we got here,” he said. “I don’t understand how I’m standing in a dressing room after the last London show feeling like I can’t breathe because my wife wasn’t where I expected her to be. I don’t understand why you ruined us.” His voice cracked on that last word, and Sadie’s face crumpled completely. “And I know that sounds cruel, but that’s what it feels like. You ruined us. Or maybe we were already ruined and I didn’t know. I keep trying to work it out. I keep going back through everything — tour, Jesse, the wedding, the months before it happened — trying to find the bit where we stopped seeing each other.”

Sadie covered her mouth with one hand, tears now slipping silently down her cheeks.

Harry kept going because if he stopped he’d never survive starting again. “I can’t trust you. Not with us. Not with me. And I hate that because I trust you with Jesse completely, which makes no sense. I know you’d throw yourself in front of a car for him. I know you’re a good mum. I know that, and then I look at you and I think, how could the same person do what you did to me?” He laughed once, broken and quiet. “I can’t look at you sometimes. I genuinely can’t. It hurts too much.” Sadie nodded like she accepted the wound because she’d made it. Harry’s face twisted. “And then all I want to do is look at you. All day. All the time. I look for you in every fucking room like an idiot.”

A sound escaped her then, tiny and devastated. He stepped back because the instinct to reach for her was suddenly so strong it frightened him.

“I hate you,” he whispered, but there was no force in it. Only grief. “Sometimes I really think I do. Not you. Not all of you. But what you did. The version of you that could do it. I hate that person so much I don’t know where to put it. And then you stand there looking like you haven’t slept in a month and all I can think is that I need you to eat, and I hate myself for caring because it feels like you’ve made me responsible for your pain too.”

Sadie shook her head quickly, tears falling harder now. “I don’t want you to feel responsible.”

“But I do!” Harry said, voice breaking again. “That’s the fucking problem, Sadie. I do. Because you’re still my wife and I’m still in love with you and you’re walking around like you’re half dead, and somehow I’m supposed to be angry enough not to care?”

She pressed both hands over her mouth now, crying silently but violently, shoulders shaking with the effort of not making sound.

Harry looked at her and felt the rawest part of himself exposed. “You hurt me,” he said, quieter now. “You hurt me more than anyone ever has. And I don’t think you understand what it’s like to be furious at someone and terrified for them at the same time.”

Sadie lowered her hands slowly. Her voice, when it came, was barely there. “I do.” He stared at her. She swallowed hard. “Not the same way. I know that. But I do.”

The admission shifted something tiny and dangerous in the room. Sadie took a hesitant step forward, then stopped immediately. Her hand lifted slightly, like she wanted to touch him, maybe his arm, maybe his hand, something. The movement was so familiar that Harry almost moved into it without thinking. Then she dropped her hand.

“I don’t know how to answer you in a way that helps,” she said, voice shaking. “I don’t know how to make this make sense. I wish I did. I wish there was a reason clean enough for you to hold. There isn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. There’s just…” She inhaled unevenly. “There’s me being so unhappy in myself that I made the worst possible choice with it. And that sounds pathetic, and I know it’s not enough, but I don’t know how to dress it up into something more useful.”

Harry said nothing. Sadie’s tears kept falling, but she didn’t wipe them away now. “I didn’t leave tonight because I didn’t care. I left the side because our son was tired and overwhelmed and I thought if I stayed out there making him watch because you asked me to be there, then I’d be doing the exact thing I keep saying hurt me — forcing someone into your world because it mattered to you.”

The sentence landed hard. Harry’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again.

Sadie shook her head quickly. “That’s not me blaming you. It’s not. I know this is your night, and I wanted to be there, and I was there. I promise I was. But Jesse needed quiet, so I brought him here.” She looked away, embarrassed by her own honesty. “And maybe part of me thought you wouldn’t notice anyway.”

Harry’s face tightened. “How could I not notice?”

The question came out so softly it hurt both of them. Sadie looked back at him. For a moment they just stood there in the wardrobe room after the final London show, surrounded by clothes and unopened champagne and all the versions of Harry the world wanted him to be, while the two of them faced the private version nobody else got to see: exhausted, heartbroken, still tethered to each other by something neither betrayal nor shame had managed to cut.

A knock came at the door. Both of them flinched. Before Harry could answer, the door opened partway and one of his team leaned in with an apologetic but bright smile, holding two champagne flutes already filled.

“Sorry, H, they’re ready for you out front. Quick champagne photo with everyone, then we can do friends and family. Amazing show, by the way.”

The room changed instantly. Harry looked at Sadie. Sadie looked down, wiping her face quickly with both hands, trying to erase the evidence of what had just happened before anyone else could see it.

“Yeah,” Harry said after a second, voice rough but controlled. “Give me one minute.”

“Of course.”

The door clicked shut again, but the moment was already broken. Sadie stepped back first. “You should go.”

Harry stared at her, still breathing hard, still full of everything he hadn’t finished saying. “Sadie—”

“No, you should.” She nodded toward the door, forcing steadiness into her voice and failing at the edges. “It’s your last London show.”

He almost laughed at the cruelty of that. Not from her. From the situation. His last London show. Celebration waiting outside. His son asleep in the next room. His wife crying in a wardrobe room because he had finally told her exactly how impossible it was to love her now.

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” he said quietly.

Something in her face broke all over again. But she just nodded once. “I know.”

He hated that answer. He hated all the answers they had lately.

Another cheer rose from the hallway, muffled through the door, his name somewhere inside it. The world wanted him back. Harry looked at Sadie one last time, then forced himself to turn toward the door because that was what his life had always asked of him in the end. To walk out of one kind of heartbreak and into applause.

The first thing Sadie noticed was that she still thought of it as home. Not Harry’s house. Home. And that was a problem in itself.

She sat in her car for nearly a full minute after pulling into the driveway, staring at the front door through the windscreen while her fingers remained wrapped around the steering wheel. The weather had turned properly autumnal over the last week, grey clouds sitting low over London and making everything look softer than it really was. Home.

Not anymore. The thought came automatically now. Every time. She grabbed her bag and climbed out before she could talk herself into leaving. The front door opened before she even reached it. Harry. For a second they both just stood there. The aftermath of the stadium conversation still lingered awkwardly between them. Not resolved. Not fixed. Just... there. Like furniture nobody knew where to put.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hi."

His eyes flicked over her face automatically. A quick assessment. Eating? Sleeping? Existing? She hated that she recognised it now. "Anne and Jess already left?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Park. Apparently Jesse wanted to show Nanny Anne every duck in London."

A tiny smile almost appeared. "Right."

Silence. "Jeff's inside."

"Okay." She stepped past him.

The familiarity of the hallway hit her immediately. The framed photos. The stupid console table she'd spent three weeks convincing Harry to buy because the first one he'd chosen looked "like it belonged in a hotel lobby." The faint smell of coffee. Her chest tightened. Harry noticed. Of course he noticed. But neither of them said anything.

Jeff was already sitting at the kitchen island with a laptop open and several documents spread around him when they walked in. He looked up and immediately offered a smile that sat somewhere between manager and family friend. "Morning."

"Hi Jeff."

"Tea? Coffee?" he asked.

Sadie shook her head. Harry answered, "Coffee."

The meeting started easily enough. Dates. Flights. Accommodation. Show schedules. Practical things. Safe things. The upcoming residency was already planned months ago. Two weeks in Los Angeles. Two weeks in New York. Hotels secured. Security arranged. Transport booked. The only variable now was Jesse. Which meant the only variable now was them.

Jeff scrolled through his calendar. "Okay. So realistically, we need to finalise Jesse's schedule before the end of the week." Harry nodded. Sadie nodded. Jeff looked between them. "Thoughts?"

And then, somehow, they both spoke at exactly the same time.

"I thought I could have Jesse for the two weeks—"

"I can come with you—"

The words collided. Silence. Jeff immediately looked like a man who wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole. Harry turned toward Sadie. Sadie turned toward Harry.

"Oh." The word escaped both of them differently. Harry's sounded surprised. Sadie's sounded embarrassed.

Jeff cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right."

Nobody helped him. Because Harry was still staring at Sadie. "You wanted to come?" The question wasn't dismissive. That somehow made it worse.

Sadie immediately looked away. God. Idiot. Of course she'd misunderstood. The stadium. The conversation. Him asking her to stay. Some stupid part of her had let herself believe it meant something larger. Not reconciliation or forgiveness but maybe he still wanted her nearby. Maybe there was still a version of their life where they could figure it out while existing in the same space. And now she could practically feel how foolish it sounded.

Harry filled the silence before she could. "Right, well..." He rubbed his hands together. "I just thought Jesse could come out for two weeks." Sadie kept her eyes fixed firmly on the table. Harry continued talking. Talking because talking felt safer than the silence. "He'd have fun. Mum will be there. Then after the two weeks she could fly him home and he'd stay with you while I do New York."

Jeff nodded. "That's definitely workable. Plenty of support."

"Exactly."

Every sentence felt like another brick being laid down between them. Sadie nodded once. "Yeah."

Harry looked at her. "What do you think?"

The answer sat right there. I think I thought you wanted me there. I think I'm embarrassed. I think I'm tired of guessing what you mean. Instead she smiled faintly. The same smile she'd been using for weeks now. The one that hid everything. "That's fine."

Harry frowned immediately. "Sadie."

"It's fine."

"You said you wanted to come."

The gentleness in his voice almost made it worse. Sadie shrugged. A tiny movement. Like she was physically trying to make herself smaller. "It was a stupid idea."

Harry's expression changed. "No it wasn't."

"It is."

"Why?"

Because you clearly don't want me there. Because I misunderstood. Because I'm tired of putting myself in positions where I have to realise I'm not wanted.

But saying any of that aloud felt unbearable. So instead she just looked down at the papers. "Your idea works."

"Sadie if—"

"It's fine."

There it was again. That word. Fine. The word Harry had grown to hate more than almost anything. Because fine never meant fine. Fine meant retreat. Fine meant armour. Fine meant Sadie deciding what everyone else felt before they could tell her themselves.

Jeff shifted awkwardly in his seat. Harry looked like he wanted to argue. Then stopped himself. The rest of the meeting stumbled forward after that. Not badly. Just... carefully. Like everybody had become aware of a crack in the floor and was trying not to step directly on it.

By the time they finally left for therapy an hour later, Harry felt exhausted all over again. The drive lasted nearly forty minutes. Sadie spent most of it staring out the window. Harry spent most of it staring at the road. The silence wasn't angry. That would almost have been easier. Instead it felt familiar. The exact kind of silence they used to sit inside before everything fell apart. The kind where both people were thinking constantly and saying absolutely nothing.

Halfway through the drive Harry almost broke. Because he kept replaying the meeting in his head. I can come with you. The way she'd said it. Not demanding. Not manipulative. Hopeful. And then the immediate embarrassment afterward. The immediate retreat. Harry gripped the steering wheel harder. Because the truth was he hadn't rejected the idea, not really, the truth was he'd never even considered it. Not because he didn't want her there but because he wanted her there too much. London had been one thing. Familiar ground. Family around. Therapy every week. A routine.

Los Angeles was different. New York was different. Hotels. Flights. Months of being trapped in the same orbit while neither of them knew whether they were fixing their marriage or ending it. It hadn't felt safe for either of them but Sadie didn't know that. And now she was sitting beside him assuming the worst. Again. Just like he was assuming the worst. Again.

They were unbelievable. Both of them. By the time they pulled into the therapist's parking lot, Harry had worked himself into a fresh wave of frustration. Not at Sadie but at them. At how impossible this had become. At how every conversation somehow transformed into a misunderstanding. At how every misunderstanding immediately became another reason not to speak.

The car had barely stopped before Sadie unclipped her seatbelt. Harry looked over. She already had her hand on the door handle. "Sadie."

She paused. Not looking at him. "What?"

Harry opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Because suddenly he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. Don't do this? Tell me what you're actually thinking? Stop deciding how I feel before I say it? Stay? The words tangled. And in the end all he managed was. "We should probably actually talk about it."

For a second Sadie stared out through the windscreen. Then she nodded once. Still not looking at him. "Okay."

But Harry already knew that wasn't what she meant. Then she climbed out of the car before he could stop her, crossed the parking lot quickly, and disappeared through the therapist's front doors. Leaving Harry sitting behind the wheel alone for another moment, watching her go and feeling that familiar helplessness settle heavily in his chest.

Harry knew before they even sat down that this session was going to be a disaster. Not explosive or dramatic. Those were almost easier now. At least when they shouted, things got said. This felt worse.

The receptionist smiled at them when they arrived. Sadie smiled back automatically. Harry watched her do it and thought, not for the first time, that she had become frighteningly good at pretending she was fine for exactly fifteen-second interactions. And then they were sitting in the waiting room. Sadie in her usual chair. Harry one seat away. Back where they'd started.

The entire drive over sat heavily between them. The tour conversation. The misunderstanding. The look on her face when she'd realised they'd imagined completely different futures.

Harry rubbed his hands together and stared at the floor. Beside him, Sadie sat unnaturally still. No fidgeting, checking her phone. Just still, which somehow worried him more.

When Doctor Bennett finally appeared in the doorway and called their names, Sadie was on her feet almost immediately. Like she'd been waiting for permission to escape. The session started quietly which Doctor Bennet noticed immediately. She sat opposite them, notebook resting on her knee, and looked between them carefully. "I imagine we should probably start with the missed session."

Sadie let out a small breath. "Yeah."

"You said you needed a break."

"I did."

Lydia nodded slowly. "And how did that feel?"

Sadie stared at a spot somewhere near the carpet. "Good. Bad."

A tiny smile from Lydia. "Both? Can you explain that?"

Sadie rubbed her thumb across her wedding ring unconsciously. "It was nice not talking about everything for a week."

Harry noticed she still wore it. He always noticed.

"And the bad?"

Sadie's laugh was hollow. "The bad is that all the stuff you're avoiding is still there when the week ends."

Lydia nodded. A moment passed before she asked another question. "Have you made any progress with individual therapy?"

Sadie's face immediately did something strange. Something close to dread. "Yeah."

"And?"

"My first session is next week."

Doctor Bennett smiled. "That's good."

"Sure." Sadie's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Lucky me." Sadie shrugged. "Two therapists."

Doctor Bennett almost laughed. "That's one way to look at it."

"It feels excessive."

"You've had a difficult few months."

"That's one way to look at it too."

The sarcasm was mild. Barely there. But Harry noticed it as did Lydia. Interesting, at least she was engaging. Then Doctor Bennett's attention shifted. "Has something happened today?"

Silence. The meeting. The difference in ideas.The waiting room. The tension. Everything. Sadie didn't answer, so Harry did.

"This morning we were meeting with Jeff. My manager."

Doctor nodded. "About your tour in America, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah." Harry sat back slightly. "It was logistics stuff." His eyes found Sadie's briefly. Then looked away again. "When we were a family..." The words came naturally before he could stop them. "This is just what we did. We planned where Jesse would be, where Sadie would be, what dates worked."

The second the sentence left his mouth he saw Sadie flinch. Tiny but unmistakable. Harry's stomach dropped.

"Sadie?" Doctor Bennet questioned.

Sadie swallowed then laughed quietly. Not amused. "I don't see why it matters."

Harry frowned. "What?"

She looked at Lydia instead of him.

"You just said when we were a family." The room immediately felt colder. Harry opened his mouth. Closed it again. Sadie shrugged. "There isn't really much else to discuss."

"Sad—"

"No, it's fine."

The dreaded word again. Fine.

Lydia leaned forward slightly. "It doesn't sound fine."

Sadie smiled sadly. "No." A long silence followed. "I just thought..." Her voice caught unexpectedly. She looked down and then tried again. "I thought after what you said at Wembley..." Harry froze. "...maybe you felt differently."

The admission sat between them. Raw. Embarrassing. Honest. Sadie laughed softly at herself before either of them could respond. "Which is probably just me being stupid."

"Sadie—"

"No, it's okay." She wiped beneath one eye quickly. "I just had high hopes."

Harry's chest tightened. "That's not—"

"And that's my fault." Her voice remained calm. That somehow made it worse. "We're not a family." The words hurt to hear. "We're not." She nodded once. "And that's because of me."

"Sadie—"

"And that's how it is now."

Bennett shifted slightly. "Can you explain what you mean by that?"

Sadie looked exhausted. Like every sentence cost her something. "I cheated on my husband." The bluntness shocked even Harry. "So we're not a family anymore."

"That's not necessarily—"

"But we aren't." The tears were back now. "I understand that."

Doctor Bennet opened her mouth but Harry spoke first because suddenly he was frustrated. Not angry. Frustrated. Because they were doing it again. The same dance, the same assumptions. The same conclusions reached before anyone else got a chance to speak.

"I was open to hearing what you wanted." Sadie looked over. Harry leaned forward. "I genuinely was."

"Okay."

"No." His voice sharpened slightly. "I mean it. You said you wanted to come but then the second I asked about it you shut down." Sadie's face changed. Harry kept going. Because once again he could see her doing it, the thing she'd always done. Only now he finally had words for it.

"You decide how everyone feels before they tell you." The room went quiet. "You've always done it." Sadie stared at him while he shook his head. "You hurt yourself first."

"Harry—"

"No, listen." His voice wasn't cruel. If anything, it sounded tired. "You decide people are disappointed before they can be disappointed." Sadie's eyes filled immediately. "You decide they don't want you before they tell you whether they do."

"Harry."

"You've done it since I've known you." Her breathing visibly changed. Harry could see it happening but he couldn't stop. Because for the first time he felt close to something true. "And it's only become more obvious since you decided to ruin our family."

The second the words left his mouth he wished he could drag them back. Not because they weren't true. Because they were, at least partially. That's what made them dangerous.

Sadie went completely still. She wasn't crying. She was just still. Harry knew instantly he'd hit something. Too hard. Too deep.

Lydia spoke first. "Harry." A warning.

He barely heard it because Sadie's face had emptied. Like he'd reached into her chest and confirmed the thing she'd already been telling herself every night.

You ruined your family.

Harry felt sick. "Sadie, I—"

She shook her head once. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. And she barely spoke for the rest of the session.

The drive home was awful because Sadie cried the entire way. Silently, while looking out the passenger window. Harry gripped the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. Three times he opened his mouth and three times he closed it again. Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry? He wasn't sorry. The comment came from somewhere real. Somewhere wounded. But seeing what it had done to her made him wish he'd chosen different words. Or maybe just different timing.

The silence stretched for thirty minutes. By the time they pulled into the driveway Harry felt exhausted. Sadie was out of the car before the engine fully stopped.

Inside, the house felt warm. Safe. Normal. Which somehow made everything worse. Anne and Jesse were in the living room. Jesse immediately spotted them. "Mummy!" He launched himself off the sofa. Sadie caught him automatically. And for the first time all afternoon Harry saw something soften in her. Only for a second.

She buried her face in Jesse's hair. "Hi, Jess."

Jesse wrapped both arms around her neck. "Mummy why you crying?"

The room froze. Sadie closed her eyes briefly and then smiled. "No, sweetheart, everything is okay."

Harry looked away. Anne looked between them immediately, understanding far too much. Sadie picked up Jesse's overnight bag and then his dinosaur toy, and his water bottle. Moving quickly. Purposefully. Harry recognised it as escape. "I'm just gonna get him and go." Her voice sounded flat.

Anne frowned. "Sadie—"

"My mum will drop him back in three days." She adjusted Jesse on her hip. "I've got my first session then anyway."

The room felt tense enough to snap. Harry stepped forward. "Sadie." She stopped but didn't turn around. "Can we talk?"

"No." The answer came instantly. She was tired.

"Please."

Still facing away, she shook her head. "I don't want to."

The honesty of it hurt. Harry looked at Anne helplessly. Anne looked away. Giving them privacy without actually leaving.

"Sadie..."

Finally she turned and she looked exhausted. "You told me exactly how you feel." Her voice was quiet. Steady. "You think I ruined our family."

Harry swallowed. "That's not—"

"It is." A small shrug. A defeated shrug. "You don't have to take it back." The tears started again. "I know what I did."

"Sadie—"

"No." This time her voice cracked. "I really don't want to do this right now."

Jesse shifted sleepily against her shoulder. Completely unaware that both his parents looked like they were barely holding themselves together. Sadie kissed the top of his head and then looked back at Harry one final time. And what Harry saw there scared him. She didn't look angry or heartbroken. But there was a look of resignation, which somehow felt worse because at least heartbreak still fought. Resignation gave up.

"I'll see you in three days." Then she turned and walked out the front door. And left Harry standing in the hallway with the horrible feeling that, somehow, despite all the progress they'd made, he'd just pushed her further away than ever.

[harrystylesarchives]

If you’re interested in crying your eyes out, read this series 😭

[unabashegirl]

baby — masterlist

You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harry’s possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but it’s the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.

TITLE: Baby

PAIRING: Harry Styles x Reader

RATING: Explicit (18+)

STATUS: 10 Parts 🌟 COMPLETED 🌟

WORD COUNT: > 25,000 words

TROPES: Corporate Sugar Daddy / University Student Sugar Baby , Age Gap (45 & 21) , Forced Closeness (The 40-Hour Weekend Rule) , Strict Contracts / NDAs , Size Difference , Wealth Gap , Dominant/Submissive Dynamic , Academic Mentorship

THE VIBE:

Signing a strict NDA for a £15,000 monthly allowance.

"In the bedroom, I want to be obeyed.".

Getting a MacBook Pro because your broken Dell offends him.

Terrifying public jealousy over a young waiter.

Skipping an Aspen ski trip for a vintage typewriter.

Obliterating his elite ex-wife at an art gallery.

Maliciously complying with the contract until he snaps.

"Do you want to get what you paid for?".

A billionaire hiding in Soho out of pure jealousy.

Watching her graduation from a parked Range Rover.

Dropping the penthouse key and shattering a crystal bow

EXCERPT:

"Do you want to talk about poetry, Harry?" she asked, tilting her head. "Or do you want to get what you paid for?"

The words were a slap in the face.

Harry stopped moving. He looked at her naked body, and for the first time in his life, his desire warred with a crushing sense of shame.

"Don't say it like that," he said roughly.

"Like what?" She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. Her palm was warm, but her touch felt mechanical. She began to undo his buttons. "You were very clear, Harry. You pay for my time. You pay for my company. I'm just trying to be... efficient."

She pushed his shirt open and leaned in to kiss his neck. It was a practiced move. A move a courtesan would make.

"Y/N, stop," he said, grabbing her wrists.

She looked up, her eyes wide and innocent. "Stop? Is something wrong? Do you want me to do something else?"

"I want you to stop acting like an employee!" he shouted, the frustration finally boiling over.

Y/N didn't flinch. She just looked at him, and a small, sad smile touched her lips.

"But I am an employee, Harry," she whispered. "You fired the girlfriend. Remember?"

Harry stared at her, his chest heaving. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to scream that he hadn't fired the girlfriend, he had just panicked. He wanted to drag her downstairs and make her pasta and dance in the kitchen.

But the ghost of his own words hung between them. I am not your boyfriend.

He couldn't take them back. Not without admitting he was wrong. And Harry Styles did not admit he was wrong.

CONTENT:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

if you want to read ahead, check out my Patreon!

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

im thinking angst, you usually both watch shania, but you had an argument before, so he is watching by himself, leaving you alone backstage, the ending can be whatever you decide xx

Still The One.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

authors note - hey everyone, happy sunday, enjoy this little bit of angst and a little surprise near the end.

word count - 4.3k

in which, usually you watch shania twain together, she’s your artist, but after a tense argument backstage, your not stood next to him and it’s absolutely killing him inside.

The thumping bass rattled the floorboards, a physical manifestation of the adrenaline pulsing through the stadium, but Harry couldn't feel it.

He was standing precisely where you had seen him earlier, pressed back against the cold, teal-blue wall, His hands were loosely clasped in front of his dark athletic shorts, his body entirely still while his friend—one of the crew members—stood beside him, gesturing and talking animatedly about the stage cues for Harry's upcoming set.

Harry wasn't processing a single word.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

The air in the dressing room was thick and humid, the kind of heavy, backstage heat that a single oscillating fan could do nothing to fix.

To your right, the soft, rhythmic puffing of your eight-month-old baby boy was the only sound cutting through the quiet. He was fast asleep in his buggy, stripped down to nothing but a nappy, his little chest rising and falling.

The poor thing had been up since 4:00 AM, teething and restless, which meant you and Harry had been running on fumes before the sun even came up.

You were sitting on the plush velvet sofa, your arms raised over your head, completely immersed in trying to get a neat French braid down the back of your head. Your fingers were tangled in your strands, your focus entirely narrowed down to sections of hair, blindly weaving them together by feel.

The heavy dressing room door clicked open and shut with a sharp thud.

Harry walked in, smelling faintly of sweat and the crisp afternoon air outside. He had just finished a grueling pre-show workout with Brad, and every line of his body screamed pure exhaustion.

He was flushed from the workout, wearing his slouchy white long-sleeve tee, dark athletic shorts, and the grey compression sleeves still pulled up over his knees. His white socks were slipped into his striped slides, dragging slightly against the carpet.

His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, and desperate. All he wanted—the only thing keeping him going—was the thought of crashing onto the sofa for a thirty-minute nap before the frantic pre-show schedule kicked into high gear.

But as he closed the door, his eyes landed on you. Sprawled out right in the middle of the couch, arms up, taking up the entire space.

Harry’s jaw instantly tightened, his brow furrowing into a hard, agitated line. The sheer fatigue of the 4:00 AM wake-up call, combined with the physical drain of his workout, had left his fuse dangerously short. He was vibrating with irritation, a dark cloud settling over his shoulders.

Your hands froze in your hair, but you didn't drop your arms. You were so hyper-focused on keeping the braid tight that you completely misread the rough edge in his voice, assuming he was just groaning about being tired.

"Oh, good, you’re back," you said, your voice breezy and fast as your fingers kept weaving. "Listen, Brad didn't keep you too long, did he? Because the tour manager was already in here looking for you. Apparently, the schedule got pushed forward by fifteen minutes. And oh, before I forget—the hotel in the next city called back about the crib. They don’t have the one we requested, so we might have to use the travel one from the bus, but the zipper on the travel bag is stuck again. Did you manage to look at it? Harry? Also, we’re almost out of the specific nappies he likes, the ones that don’t give him a rash in this heat, so I was thinking maybe one of the runners could—"

"Can you just shut up for five seconds?"

The words didn't come out as a tired grumble. They cut through the room like a whip, loud, sharp, and dripping with pure venom.

Your hands instantly dropped from your head, the half-finished braid unraveling down your neck. The sudden, violent volume in the quiet room made your heart leap into your throat. You stared at him, stunned.

Before you could even process the shock of him yelling, a sharp, frightened wail pierced the air.

To your right, the buggy rattled. The sudden shout had violently jarred your eight-month-old out of his precious sleep. He kicked his little bare legs, his chest heaving as he burst into a hard, breathless cry, terrified by the loud noise.

"Look what you did," you whispered, your own anger flashing through the shock as you immediately stood up to tend to the baby. "Harry, he’s been teething all day, he barely slept—"

"No, look what you're doing!" Harry snapped, his voice staying dangerously high, completely unravelling from the sheer exhaustion of the 4:00 AM wake-up and the crushing pressure of the tour. He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at you and the buggy. "I have a two-hour show to give to thousands of people, I’ve been running on three hours of sleep, and I walk in here to a bloody barrage of noise! You’re suffocating me! I just wanted thirty minutes of peace on the couch, but you're taking up the whole room, prattling on about zippers and nappies!"

You froze, your hand hovering over your crying son, staring at your husband as if he were a stranger. "It's our son, Harry. It's our life. If you're stressed about the show, don't take it out on—"

"I wouldn't have to take it out on anyone if I could just get some space!" he roared, the final filter of his exhaustion snapping entirely. He stepped closer, his eyes wild and dark, and delivered the blow that made the room go completely cold. "Honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour if this is what you’re going to be doing every night. You’re just in the way."

The silence that followed was suffocating, save for the heart-wrenching cries of your baby.

The moment the words left his mouth, you saw the instant flash of horror in Harry's eyes. The anger drained out of him so fast it left him looking pale, his jaw going slack. He reached a hand out, his chest heaving. "Wait—no, I didn't—"

"Don't," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper but sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.

Your eyes stung with hot, furious tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. Carefully, deliberately, you scooped your crying baby out of the buggy, pressing his warm, nappy-clad body against your chest, bouncing him gently to soothe his whimpers. You didn't look at Harry again. You just grabbed your bag with your free hand, walked right past him—forcing him to step back against that teal wall—and marched straight out into the corridor, leaving him alone in the wreckage of what he’d just said.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour... You’re just in the way.

The words tasted like poison in his mouth. How could he have said that? To you? To the person who had spent the last eight months sacrificing sleep….comfort.

"...and then we'll transition straight into the encore, mate. Sound good?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry just gave a dull, numb nod, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. He felt hollow, stripped of his usual pre-show energy, looking utterly defeated against that stark blue backdrop. He wanted to turn back, run down the corridor, and find you—to beg, to explain that the exhaustion had completely hijacked his brain.

But his feet felt like lead.

Suddenly, the roaring crowd let out a collective, deafening cheer as the high-energy track Shania was performing faded out. The stadium lights dimmed into a soft, intimate amber glow.

Then, the first tender, unmistakable acoustic chords of a guitar rippled through the monitors.

Harry’s entire body went rigid against the wall. His breath hitched violently in his throat.

It was "You're Still the One."

Your wedding song.

Every defense mechanism he had built up over the last half hour crumbled to dust. That wasn't just a song on Shania's setlist; it was your song.

The song you had slow-danced to at your wedding, your foreheads pressed together, whispering promises that no matter how crazy his career got, you would always be each other's home.

Hearing it right now, with the sting of his venomous words still hanging fresh in the air, felt like a physical blow to his chest.

"Looks like we made it

Look how far we've come, my baby

We mighta took the long way

We knew we'd get there someday..."

Shania’s smooth, emotive vocals soared through the backstage monitors, crisp and crystal clear. Each line felt like a targeted strike. The contrast was agonizing—the song was singing about overcoming the odds, about proving the doubters wrong, but Harry had just become the biggest threat to his own marriage over a petty argument about a stroller zipper.

As the chorus hit, the massive stadium crowd joined in, a stadium of thousands of voices echoing the declaration of enduring love.

"You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life..."

Harry dropped his head. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his eyes burning as a wave of pure, unadulterated regret crashed over him. He felt so far away from being the man you belonged to right now.

He couldn't just stand here anymore. He didn't care about the schedule, the crew, or the impending stage time. He needed you.

Slowly, his head turned, his heavy, guilt-ridden gaze tearing away from the stage and sweeping down the dim, crowded corridor, desperately searching the shadows for the only person who could put him back together.

The crushing weight of everything became too loud to bear, suffocating him. Harry couldn’t stand there for another second. He couldn't just stand against that teal wall and pretend his world wasn't ending.

Abandoning his spot, he broke into a frantic jog, his slides slapping against the concrete as he tore through the backstage corridors. He was a man possessed, his chest heaving as he threw open the heavy door to the green room.

The room was a bright, noisy haven of family life, completely oblivious to his internal agony. Across the carpet, your eight-month-old boy was wide awake, happily babbling and playing with Sarah and Mitch’s kids, alongside Jeff and Glenne’s little one. The tour family was doing what they always did—rallying around, babysitting, keeping the kids entertained.

But as Harry’s eyes frantically swept the room, his heart plummeted. You weren't there.

"Hey, man, you good?" Pauli asked, noticing the pale, frantic look on Harry’s face.

"Where is (Y/N)?" Harry panted, his voice tight and breathless. "Have you seen her?"

Pauli blinked, sensing the gravity in Harry's tone. "She's back in the dressing room, mate. Said she needed a minute."

Harry didn't even say thank you. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the final stretch of the hallway, practically throwing himself against the dressing room door.

When the door swung open, the sight inside made his breath leave him completely. You were there, but you weren't resting. You were frantically moving around the room, packing the baby’s toys, formula, and extra nappies into a travel bag. And right next to the buggy sat your own canvas duffle bag—halfway zipped, stuffed with your clothes.

"What are you doing?" he choked out, his voice cracking.

He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two large strides, his hands coming down over yours, firmly but gently wresting the baby blanket out of your grip and setting the bags down on the floor out of your reach.

"Don't touch them," you said, your voice dangerously quiet, though you didn't look up at him. You kept your eyes glued to the empty space where the bag had been. "I'm just taking him back to the hotel. It’s better if the little one gets a decent night's sleep. And... like you said. It’s probably better if we aren’t on the tour if we’re just going to be in the way every night."

"No. No, absolutely not. I am not letting you leave," Harry broke out, his voice raw and pleading. He reached for your hands, his fingers trembling as he caught your wrists, forcing you to look at him. "Please, just look at me. Look at me, sweetheart."

You finally raised your eyes, and the sheer devastation in them made him flinch.

You didn't yell.

You didn't pull away.

You just stood there, completely exhausted, as the first silent, hot tear spilled over your eyelashes and tracked down your cheek.

Then another. You were silently sobbing, your chest trembling with the effort to keep from breaking down completely.

"I am so, so sorry," Harry rushed out, the words tumbling over each other as he stared down at you, his own eyes swimming with tears. "I am a bloody idiot. I’m an absolute monster for saying that to you. I was tired, and I was stressed about the set change, and I took it out on the only person in this entire building who doesn't deserve it. The only person who keeps me grounded."

He squeezed your wrists gently, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up, his face pale with desperation.

"I was running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, and my brain just completely short-circuited. It was a stupid zipper, a stupid schedule change, and I let the pressure of everything turn me into a stranger. I looked at you taking care of our boy, doing everything on your own while I went off to a workout, and instead of thanking you, I snapped. It’s disgusting. I hate myself for how I made you feel just now. I saw the look in your eyes when I said those words, and it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

You didn't answer, a choked, silent gasp escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, more tears streaming down your face. Harry’s hands moved up from your wrists to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping at the wetness on your cheeks, though his own hands were shaking.

"You aren't in the way," he whispered, his voice cracking completely as his forehead came down to rest against yours. "You could never, ever be in the way. You and our baby are the only reasons I do this. This entire tour, the crowds, the music—it means absolutely nothing if I don't have you waiting for me when I walk off that stage. You are my home. I am so sorry I made you feel like a burden when you’re the most precious thing I have. I need you here. I need you beside me. Please don't leave me, sweetheart. I love you so much."

You closed your eyes, a broken, hitching breath tearing out of your chest as his words tore down the final wall of your anger, leaving nothing but pure, aching exhaustion.

Harry didn’t wait.

The second he felt your posture soften, he pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vise, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was trembling, his chest heaving against yours as he held you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might still vanish if he let go.

"I've got you. I'm so sorry, I've got you," he muttered frantically into your skin, his voice thick and rough.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, dilated, and swimming with a volatile mix of leftover adrenaline and sheer desperation. He looked down at your wet cheeks, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips, and the restraint in him snapped completely.

He leaned down and crashed his mouth against yours.

The kiss was heavy, raw, and completely unraveled—an explosive release of all the suffocating tension that had been building since he walked through the door. It wasn't gentle; it was a bruising, breathless apology, a silent plea for forgiveness translated through the hard, demanding press of his lips.

He tasted like the salty sweat of his workout and the sharp sting of regret, his tongue tangling with yours in a chaotic, bruising rhythm that made your knees instantly buckle.

You let out a soft, muffled sob against his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his baggy white long-sleeve tee, fistfuls of the cotton bunching in your fingers as you pulled him closer.

The sudden, intense heat of his body washed over you, melting away the cold isolation of the last hour in a single, devastating second.

"Harry," you gasped out when he parted your lips, your voice catching in your throat.

He didn't let you speak.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper before his tongue swept back into your mouth, deeper and hungrier this time. He backed you up blindly until your spine hit the edge of the dressing room vanity, the jars of makeup and water bottles rattling behind you.

He crowded into your space, his heavy thighs pinning yours against the wood, completely trapping you beneath him.

His hands left your face, sliding down the column of your neck to your shoulders, before his large, warm palms slipped entirely under the hem of your shirt. His fingers were slightly damp and burning hot against the bare skin of your waist.

He gripped your hips with a possessive, unhinged tightness, his thumbs digging into your skin to lift you up onto the edge of the counter.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, the friction of your bodies rubbing together through your clothes sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to your core.

Harry let out a low, wrecked growl at the contact, burying his face in your neck.

His mouth traveled down your jawline, biting and kissing a feverish path down to the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking deeply until he knew it would leave a mark.

"Tell me we're okay," he breathed against your heated skin, his chest heaving violently against yours as his hands slid up to frame your ribcage, his thumbs stroking the underside of your breasts. "Tell me I didn't break us. Please."

"We're okay," you whispered, your fingers tangling into his short, damp curls, pulling his head back up so you could look into his blown-out eyes.

Your own breath was coming in ragged shorts. "We're okay, Baby. Just kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He captured your mouth again with a desperate, sweeping hunger that stole the remaining air from your lungs. It was an angsty, tangled mess of teeth and tongue, both of you fighting to get closer, trying to erase the cruel words he’d spoken with the sheer, bruising force of your bodies pressed together.

His hands moved frantically over your back, mapping the curve of your spine, pulling you so flush against his chest that you could feel the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beating in perfect sync with your own.

He ground his hips into yours, a heavy, agonizingly slow rub that made you arch your back and cry out into his mouth. The sound only drove him wilder; his kisses grew faster, sloppier, his breathing completely ruined as he devoured your lips over and over again, cementing the fact that you were his, that he was yours, and that neither of you was going anywhere.

"I want you," you breathed against his lips, the words a jagged confession that broke through the last of the frantic chaos between you. "H, I want you. So much."

The desperation in his movements instantly shifted, a profound, heavy silence settling over him at your words. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching yours, looking at the honesty in your tear-stained face. The frantic, bruising energy melted away, replaced by something deeply reverent and achingly tender.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his voice incredibly thick as his thumbs gently brushed a final tear from your cheek. "You've got me. Always, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me," you whispered, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"I promise you," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I promise. Look at me... I am so sorry for what I said. Let me show you how much I need you."

Slowly, deliberately, he reached down to guide your legs down from his waist so you could stand on your own feet, though he kept his body pressed completely flush against yours.

With slow, trembling hands, he reached for the hem of his baggy white long-sleeve tee and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the floor beside your duffle bags. He looked exactly as he had against the teal wall in image.png, but the defensive shield was entirely gone.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes traveling over your face as he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. Slowly, gently, he pushed them down past your hips, helping you step out of them until there was nothing left between you but bare skin and raw emotion. "Just... stay with me. Please."

"I'm here," you replied softly, your voice trembling. "I'm not leaving."

He lifted you back onto the edge of the vanity, and this time, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he stepped into you with a quiet, agonizing slowness. His eyes never left yours as his hands anchored underneath your thighs, supporting your weight.

When he slid inside you, it wasn't a sudden rush. It was a slow, deep, and unyielding push that made you both let out a long, shaky sigh.

He filled you completely, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he froze, letting the absolute perfect fit of your bodies sink in.

"Oh, God," he groaned quietly, closing his eyes for a brief second as he pressed his forehead against yours. "You feel so good. You have no idea how much I missed you today."

"Then don't stop," you whispered, your hands tracing the line of his bare shoulders. "Harry, please."

He began to move, and it was the furthest thing from the frantic pacing of before. It was a slow, rhythmic, agonizingly beautiful tempo.

He withdrew almost entirely, pulling himself out until the very tip of his length brushed against your entrance, making you gasp and arch into him, before he plunged back in, slow and deep, pressing his hips firmly against yours.

"Harry..." you whimpered, your fingers burying into the short curls at the nape of his neck, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as the intense, slow friction began to build a deep coil of heat in your stomach.

"I'm right here," he murmured, his breath warm and steady against your skin. "I've got you. Tell me what you need."

"More," you gasped, tightening your legs around his waist as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, before sinking all the way back inside. "Just like that. Don't hurry."

"I'm taking my time," he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and laced with a quiet intensity. "We have all the time in the world right now. I'm right here with you. Every single part of me is yours."

He repeated the motion, pulling almost completely out, teasing the sensitive opening of your core until you were silently begging, before sinking all the way back inside you with a heavy, grounding weight.

Every single thrust was deliberate, an unspoken vow, a physical manifestation of the apology he had spoken earlier. He was taking his time, making love to you with a quiet intensity that healed the ache in your chest with every stroke.

"I love you," he murmured between shallow, heavy breaths, his lips grazing your jaw. "I love you so much. Say it."

"I love you, Harry," you cried out softly, your hands gripping his back as the pleasure started to overwhelm you. "I love you."

The room was silent save for the soft, rhythmic sound of skin against skin, your ragged, synchronized breathing, and the quiet declarations whispered between kisses.

He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in his world, his lips constantly pressed to your temple, your jawline, your shoulder, whispering quiet assurances between deep, slow pulses.

The tension in your core coiled tighter and tighter, driven by the torturous, beautiful slowness of his movements. You gripped his shoulders, your muscles clamping around him as the edge of your release drew closer.

"Harry, I'm close," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I can't—"

"Go ahead, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his pace gathering just a fraction of momentum, his deep thrusts becoming a steady, relentless rhythm that pushed you completely over the precipice. "I'm right here with you. Let go."

You let out a choked, breathless cry, your body trembling with the waves of your orgasm. The tight contraction of your walls tore the last of his restraint away. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your chest, Harry drove into you one last time, burying himself as deeply as possible as he came, his muscles locking tight as he poured himself into you.

"You're mine," he panted against your neck, his voice fading into a ragged whisper. "Always mine."

“Your still the one.”

[harrysbabycherry]

moonstruck

summary: y/n and harry are destined to be mates. that’s what he says at least.

8.8k words

warnings: mention of werewolves, not really smut, ends abruptly lol. this is just a silly one to get me back into writing again. also this was for halloween like six years ago but i finished it so i figured i would post now since it’s been twelve years. i hope you enjoy!!!

This is (Y/N) and Joey’s fourth date and she couldn’t be any more pleased with him.

He’s sweet and thoughtful and most of all, he knows how to communicate. That’s a big one. He tells her good morning and goodnight, he tells her when he’s busy and might not be able to get to his phone. He lets her know that this is going well and that he really likes her. He might just be on his way to securing his spot as her boyfriend if he keeps it up.

They met on a dating app, which is probably the easiest way to meet people nowadays, (Y/N) thinks. Most matches that come through are make or break. She can usually tell right away what type of person swiped on her profile and so sure, she’s had a lot of misses and a few guys ghost her but that’s what comes with using the apps. And to think she almost didn’t match with Joey. She almost deleted the app altogether, vowing that she was just going to go out and meet people the old-fashioned way and then the notification came through. He was a charmer right away, asking about her cat that she posted and answering all the questions on her profile just the way she wanted.

He was very kind and very, very nice on the eyes. So, now four dates in, (Y/N) could really see this going somewhere. She almost couldn’t believe she actually made a decent match on the app she was using. She didn’t think guys like Joey even existed anymore.

“So, it’s been a long week. Better now that I get to see you though.” He smiled, reaching his hand over the table to grab hers.

See what she means? It’s like he has some kind of playbook that tells him exactly what she wants him to say at all times. He’s perfect.

“I feel the same. Mine was definitely interesting.” Her eyes rolled the tiniest bit but she didn’t elaborate. Joey would never understand even if she tried to describe it to him. The only way he’d come close to believing her was seeing it with his own eyes and even then, he’d probably never want to see her again.

There was no reason to let the two meet in the first place, so she tried to keep that part of her life very, very, very separated from this one with Joey.

But her phone kept on ringing.

In her defense, she didn’t tell him she was going anywhere tonight, and most times when her phone rings, she answers it. Now that she’s not, she’s sure that he has a pretty good idea about what she’s doing tonight. And plus, he’s probably already tried her apartment.

“Do you need to get that? It sounds important.” He glanced toward her bag at the edge of the table. You could hear it buzzing away even inside the bag and on silent. It’s been going for about thirty minutes. It’ll stop because she didn’t answer and then start right back up again. She would turn off her phone completely but she knew he’d throw a fit.

“No, no. It’s not important. I don’t even know who it is.” It stopped buzzing. And started again. “Probably a debt collector or something. You know, they just keep calling and they don’t even really want anything when you ask.” She laughed it off, snatching her bag off the table and hooking it around her chair instead.

“Sorry about that. I don’t want anything to interrupt us right here so—” She was cut off by the Find My sound playing on her phone, in her bag, probably disrupting the entire restaurant. It was ear-piercing and she can’t even believe he would ever go that far. And she didn’t know that her phone was on his Find My and that just boils her blood because that also means he has her location. “Give me one second.” Trying to smile politely at Joey, she grabbed her purse up and walked towards the back of the restaurant where the restrooms are. There was a long and vacant hallway connected to that going back to the kitchen, so it was absolutely the best place to answer this phone call.

“What could you possibly want?” She asked immediately upon clicking the answer button.

“I don’t appreciate being ignored all day. You know that very well, (Y/N).” He spoke in the same tone he always does. Cold and no emotions seeping through at all. Just straightforward, no room for any type of misinterpretation.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I do have a life outside of whatever you have planned for me, you know that very well, don’t you?” They’ve had this conversation many times and she’s not sure what he doesn’t understand about it yet.

“You need to come home now. Wherever you are, doesn’t matter. Home. Now.”

It was laughable to have him demand her to do anything. Even if he sounded scary and a small part of her internally trembled, she didn’t like to come running. She liked to push him as far as he’d let her.

“We haven’t even made it through the main course yet. And I’m enjoying myself so you’re going to have to wait.” She leaned back against the wall behind her, listening to him huff through the phone.

“(Y/N). It would be in your best interest to leave that restaurant now. Unless you’d like me to come get you myself.”

“I’m almost done. Another hour at most, I promise.” Her tone switched up, hoping that he would understand a little bit that she’s smack dab in the middle of dinner with a guy she really likes. He doesn’t care about the guy part, it probably only infuriates him, honestly. But she was hoping he’d cut her some slack.

“I don’t care. Be home in fifteen minutes or I’m going to come find you. And you don’t want that.” The line cut and she shoved her phone back in her bag and stomped back to her table with Joey, wondering what kind of excuse she’d have to make up this time.

He must have been able to tell by the look on her face that the phone call was bad news.

“Do you have to go? Is everything alright?” He was always empathetic too. He was the perfect guy and so understanding. Hopefully this would all be over soon and she could really focus on Joey instead of whatever this is.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. Something just…came up. I hate to leave like this. Here’s the cash for mine.” She sat down only to open her purse and get to her wallet but he stopped her right away.

“Don’t worry about it. No need to apologize. I’ve got the bill. You just get to wherever you need to be. Text me when you can and we can set something up for another time.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It was nice having dinner with you again.”

A gem, truly. And now she has to go deal with some other man that acts the opposite. Just because he dares to call whatever this is fate and divine intervention and something that they can’t control.

When she got home, she didn’t even have to unlock the door. Harry flung the door open from the inside and dragged her in by the front of her dress.

“Excuse me! You don’t have to grab me like that! I was on my way in, you fucking psycho.” She batted his hand away and watched the disapproval melt onto his face as he looked her over.

“That skirt is atrocious. I’m not sure why you bothered to wear it in public.”

(Y/N) knows better than to let him bait her into an argument, so she just takes a deep breath and turns on her heel. She knows he only wants her to lay down in bed and that’s really it. But he’s so annoying about it.

“(Y/N).”

“What?” He was standing in her doorway when she turned around.

“I’ve been waiting too long for you. The sooner you lay down, the better for us both. Please.”

She hadn’t noticed when she walked in because she was so angry that he disrupted her. He looks like he always does when he comes to her in the middle of the month. When the new moon hides away and he’s feeling extra vulnerable. He’s supposed to be with his mate until the full moon, which is apparently very hard on him too, but he never really looks worse than he does now.

It wasn’t ideal. It was never going to be. Their dynamic and how strange it is.

(Y/N) met Harry on a trail in the woods near her house. She just needed a breather and might have stepped off the allotted path for just a second, to see what else was out there, beyond the trail. It was a bad idea and she did know she shouldn’t be doing things like that alone. But it really didn’t take Harry long to sniff her out and then look at her like he was absolutely appalled by what he’d stumbled upon.

From what he tells her, he caught a scent two towns over and followed it to the source. The source being her. It was a scent reserved for mates. So as Harry was rushing to find his mate, he never for a second thought she’d be human. And apparently that was a huge deal in his world. It was rare enough that he had to do his own “research” to figure out how to go about it.

(Y/N) honestly didn’t give two fucks when he told her that in the beginning because she thought he was crazy. He spoke about moon phases and how they only had six moons left to mark her as his mate or fate would do as fate does and force the two of them together. And forcing a mate didn’t seem like something he wanted to do. But she was human and it didn’t seem like he liked the idea too much.

At first, she didn’t even believe a word he was saying. Talking about wolves and mates and his pack that he was apparently the leader of. But it didn’t take long for it to start making sense.

Her body felt…different. There was a slight pull to be around him. It was strange. She adored his smell which was even more strange. So much so that she found herself nuzzling her nose into his chest just to breathe him in. She could feel how far away he was. If he was ever too far, pain. Somewhere deep inside of her that felt like she was crumbling from the inside out. It wasn’t something she could really put into words, but as soon as their eyes locked in the woods, it was over for them both. Whether they wanted it to be or not.

This is their last full moon to mark (Y/N) before all their feelings amplify and it all turns into a huge mess. And Harry has been on edge, she can tell.

He doesn’t want to mark her because he doesn’t know what will happen to her. That was reserved for wolves only and as far as she knows, she’s not a wolf and never has been. So they’re unsure how the whole process will go with her being human.

And he’s not sure how she’s supposed to meet his pack. Bringing a human on their territory wasn’t normally advised . At least that’s what he says.

She did some research of her own but most of it seemed out of fairy tales. She asked if he had an aversion to silver and he was on his way to laughing at her by the time the conversation was over with. She asked about vampires because to her the two go hand in hand and he just told her she watched too many movies. None of it made sense. What was real and what wasn’t. She couldn’t be sure anymore after meeting him. And he wasn’t a fan of straight answers so that really made it difficult.

But he tries to explain it to her in a way that doesn’t sound so awful, but all of it does. He sinks his teeth into her neck and they both run away and live out their days on his land somewhere in the mountains. It was inevitable, according to him. So the only thing they’re doing is buying themselves time to get her adjusted to the thought of it. There is no choice in the matter.

The new moon had Harry being a little gentler. He’d ramp back up as the full moon approached but right now, he patiently waits for her to change her clothes and then tucks her into bed just the way she likes.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I guess.” She shrugged, forcing her eyes to look at the ceiling so she didn’t have to watch him pull his shirt over his head and show off his insanely toned upper body. It almost hurt to look at.

He crawled in beside her, onto top of the blankets because he ran really warm, and stuffed his nose into the side of her neck.

“You smell like him.” He pulled back, grimacing.

“I’d really smell like him if you gave me more than five minutes with him.” She rolled her eyes, turning her head away from him.

(Y/N) wanted to live out the rest of her free days as normally as possible. She wanted to go on dates and kiss cute guys and get one last fuck in, but Harry prevented all of that. She couldn’t even stand the idea of Joey leaning in to kiss her much less actually kissing him. It was against everything she was thinking about. She thought she would want to kiss him, he’s cute and sweet. But her body knows something that she hasn’t quite accepted yet.

She wonders why Joey goes on dates with her if she won’t let him get close enough to touch her. But he does. He probably thinks she’s just really shy. And that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“It is not written so it won’t be.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She felt his nose nudge further into the side of her neck.

“This is our last moon.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’ll be different this time.”

“Apparently.”

“(Y/N).” He pulled back, forcing her to turn to him. “It’s important that we’re together that night. Things will happen fast.”

“What things?”

“Your mark.” His finger brushed over her neck where he said all the other mates have theirs. She shivered every time he touched her. “Both of us will want to be together. It’s best that we’re here.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the bedtime story.” She pulled the blankets up over her shoulder and turned to her side. He followed, pressing right against her and nudging his nose right back against her throat. Since they weren’t mated, the only thing that stopped the ache was closeness and each other’s scent. It was annoying, as were many things about Harry, but she couldn’t lie and say his presence didn’t feel like a key in a lock or a puzzle piece snapping into place. Like he was something she’d been missing and she finally found it. She didn’t dare mention that to him though.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

****

As it turns out, Harry can be very moody.

(Y/N) thinks it’s mostly the upcoming full moon but she’s not sure what else. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s giggling and awing at her phone next to him because Joey is sending her all these cute things.

It probably is that. He peeked over her shoulder once and grumbled something under his breath that she didn’t catch.

They weren’t doing much today, but most of her plans include Harry. He doesn’t say much but he likes to be near her. So, when they watch tv, he’s pawing at her, pulling her under his arm, and breathing her in.

That was weird, at first. Having him grab her and snuggle her but look so frustrated about it at the same time. It threw her off. But she knows that he’s really only frustrated with the fact that his mate is human. And that she isn’t exactly returning his attention like another wolf would.

And he absolutely hates Joey. Which is to be expected. He’s in the way, technically. (Y/N) keeps holding onto him when she knows it’s not going to last much longer. She doesn’t know why she does, but she does. It will only end up hurting Joey in the long run but there’s just something that keeps her hanging onto him.

“Why do you keep making those noises?” His arm came over her shoulder and across her chest to grab onto her waist and pull her back against his chest. She sat up to reply back to Joey because she could feel how broody Harry was getting. But he pulled her right back.

“What noises?” She was barely paying attention when she leaned her head back against his shoulder, immediately being enveloped by his warmth. Her bed never got cold anymore. It was insane how much heat he put off, but it definitely wasn’t something she didn’t like.

“Laughing like that.”

“Like what?” She glanced over at him, seeing his brow furrowed and his face set like he wasn’t amused. He never seemed to be amused about anything actually. Ever.

“Like that. I don’t know, but it’s making my ears ring.”

(Y/N) could tell he was complaining just to complain. He didn’t like that she was texting Joey, so he had to make it into something it wasn’t. She doesn’t tell him he’s acting insane though. Because she tried that and he only got more insane. It wasn’t worth it to disrupt their quiet morning.

“Okay, well, I’ll stop then.” It was best to compromise with him because he'd get his way anyway. “I can’t believe she just sits with you like that.” She nodded towards Mittens who was sitting on the other side of him, nudging against his leg, demanding he scratch at her head. And he always did.

(Y/N) was once again dumbfounded. Because Harry is essentially a dog and as far she knew cats and dogs did not do well together. Mittens had never even been around a dog long enough to adjust to one so she was sure that she’d want nothing to do with Harry. And since she’s an animal, (Y/N) also assumed that she was well aware that Harry was nothing close to a normal person. But the opposite happened just like it always seemed to.

She was always beside him whenever they were on the couch. She followed him through the apartment. Rubbed all over him when she first allowed him over. He liked cats, he told her when he noticed the expression on her face. And cats liked him. So (Y/N) gave up on being surprised by anything. Stranger things have happened and do happen quite constantly now.

“She doesn’t mind me, I guess.” He gave in to her incessant nudging and scratched her head which in turn caused her to purr like he was the best thing that ever happened to her when (Y/N) pet her all the time. A totally normal amount but she acted like she was starved for attention.

“That makes one of us.” She commented with an eye roll that made him tug on the ends of her hair gently.

“That will change.” He tugged a pinch harder and pulled her back against him again while keeping Mittens happy with pets on the other side of him.

“Joey invited me out next weekend.” She felt him tense behind her and his hand clench around her tee shirt.

“Next weekend isn’t a good weekend. You know very well why.”

“But he wants to take me to the fair. You know they only have it up for a few weeks and this is the last weekend. I’ve never been before.” Her voice got a little whiny and she dropped her phone to turn and look at him. “Please.”

“That’s the full moon, (Y/N). I don’t think you’re understanding just how serious it is.” He kept his tone and expression stern. Yeah, she doesn’t know how serious it is because she hasn’t been preparing since birth for this moment like he has. He hasn’t told her much, just that he’ll have to leave a mark most likely. And while that sounded the least appealing of it all, a tiny part of her felt her skin buzzing whenever he even hinted at marking her.

“I’ll come home early. Before the moon rises. Please?” Her hands came together like she was begging him. It wasn’t like he was that much in control of what she does, she would probably end up going even if he did forbid her. But she wanted to at least ask so he felt like he was in charge. And because he’d track her down and drag her home himself.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You should be saying your goodbyes to him, not making more plans.”

True, but this would be the last, last time that they’d see each other and she wanted to leave on a good note. But he was right. It would be best to cut ties now and not give him more false hope. (Y/N) just wanted one more night before things changed forever.

“Harry.” Another pout. He looked away from her, his word final, but she scurried into his lap, latching onto him around the shoulders and squeezing. “It’s the last time, please. You know this won’t happen again, so you should just let me.”

“I should just let you? You’re not listening (Y/N).” He huffed like he was frustrated but then grabbed her up under the thighs to drag her closer.

“I want to go. I’m asking.” This time she toughened up her tone. Because if he didn’t say yes, she’d go anyway and she wanted that to be perfectly clear. It didn’t matter what he said because she would be seeing Joey that night, no matter what phase the moon is in.

“You’re impossible.” His eyes rolled and that’s how she knew she’s nearly got her way. “My one condition is I have to come. I can’t be away from you at a time like that and you know it.”

She scowled at him, dropping her head back on her shoulders.

“But Harry!”

“It’s the only way. You’d probably be sick to your stomach if you’re too far away at moonrise and come home anyway. So it’s either I come or your night gets cut short.”

She knew that he was right. It’s happened similarly before. She refused to let him in her bed and she literally felt ill when he was sleeping on the floor beside her bed instead of right next to her.

It came on like a fever. She got chills and felt nauseous. And she knew it wouldn’t go away until he was next to her but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It didn’t take long for her to be curled up on the floor right beside him. He told her off in the morning and ever since then he’s been in her bed.

“Fine. I guess. We’ll make it work.” She shrugged, not sure how she was going to explain their third wheel to Joey yet. He probably wouldn’t be ecstatic about it. “Thanks for letting me go. You have no idea how happy I am.” Her hands came up to hold his face. It was times like this that she felt outside of her body. Whenever she touched him by her own free will, it was always more intimate than she planned it to be.

Her smile dropped when she met his eyes. It was like they always set her into a trance. They were so green and it was hard to look away once you started. Whenever this happened, the only thing that cycled through her mind was pushing their mouths together. She knows it’s because they’re mates that she feels so inclined to be close to him but it’s moments like this that it really affects her. She could feel herself leaning while he just waited for her to get close enough.

Harry’s gorgeous. Striking even. When she met him in the woods, she thought she was seeing someone not human. Which he isn’t but his features were so perfect she was thinking he wasn’t real. And then he started lamenting about how disappointed he was that she was human and things took a turn.

So whenever they lock eyes, the seconds feel like hours and it takes a long time for her to come back to her senses.

She pushed at his shoulders just as she was a breath away from his lips and then shook her head.

“Sorry, I…sorry.” She rushed out, carefully moving herself from his lap and sitting a cushion away from him. She picked up her forgotten phone and tried to ignore how heavy his gaze felt.

****

Harry growled, like actually growled, when he saw the outfit she was wearing to go to the fair.

“How can you be mad at a jean skirt!” She threw her hands up. He made her change ten times now, lecturing her about how cool it was going to get once the sun was down and how a dress wasn’t appropriate to wear to a fair. She argued that there wasn’t a dress code to go to a fair and he argued back that she’d never been to one so how would she know?

“Don’t you have something more comfortable? Don’t you want to be warm?” He was sitting on the couch, but now his back was straight as he tried to get her to change her outfit for the millionth time. She thought they could compromise since she put tights on underneath, but (Y/N) isn’t sure that Harry would ever be happy with her outfit choice. Mittens perched on his lap giving her the same disapproving look he was didn’t help one bit.

“I’m wearing a skirt and a jacket. Get over yourself before I leave you here. I’d be late if I had to change again.” She rolled her eyes when she turned her back to him and grabbed her purse. She hurried to the mirror next to the door and checked herself over one last time. She looked cute. And cozy. She’d be plenty warm with the flannel jacket she was wearing so all Harry’s worrying is for nothing.

When she brought out her lip gloss to finish off her look, she heard Harry mumbling to himself again. He hated when she put in any effort to see Joey but this would be the last time, so she wanted to dress how she’d normally dress on a date.

“Let’s just go before I call the whole thing off.” He snatched his car keys from the coffee table and waited for her at the door.

(Y/N) told Joey it was best that they meet at the fair. And then she told him how her cousin from out of town was staying with her and she’d feel really bad to leave him alone after he came all this way to see her. Joey didn’t mind either one and she was grateful he didn’t. She didn’t want Harry to have to squeeze himself in the back of Joey’s car because he’d be huffy the whole way. And she was glad Joey didn’t mind her “cousin” tagging along because she wouldn’t have been able to go at all if Harry didn’t come. Joey didn’t know this was the last time he’d ever see her so he didn’t think it was a big deal that they wouldn’t be alone, but (Y/N) was going to try her best to be in a good mood and not pay much attention to Harry.

The fair was pretty from the parking lot. All the lights from the rides and the sun setting, it looked like the movies and she couldn’t be more excited.

“He said he’s at the tables by the fun house.” She said just as Harry parked the car. He shot her a look and sat back in his seat.

“When I say it’s time to go, it’s time. I don’t care what you have to tell him, we’re leaving.” She barely heard him because she was already out of the car and halfway to the entrance of the place.

He caught up quickly and grabbed her by the back of her jacket collar.

“And don’t run off again because you know I’ll find you.”

(Y/N) had to pry Harry’s hand from her waist when she caught sight of Joey sitting at one of the tables people watching. He didn’t see them yet, thankfully, and she made sure to shoot Harry a look before announcing herself.

“Hi, Joey!” He turned at the sound of her voice and immediately stood to hug her. She hugged him back over the shoulders, feeling him give her an extra squeeze that nearly pulled her feet from the ground.

“Hi, (Y/N). Nice to see you.”

There was small talk for maybe two minutes before Harry just had to insert himself into the conversation. He cleared his throat and stood right beside (Y/N), keeping his face neutral.

“I’m Harry.”

(Y/N) just blinked at him and then turned to see Joey’s reaction. He took the rude interruption in stride and reached to shake his hand.

“Right! The cousin. Nice to meet you, man.”

(Y/N) had to elbow Harry in the side to get him to reach out and shake his hand. He did but she knew Joey was probably really aware that he didn’t want to.

Joey bought them all tickets before they got there. For rides, games, and food. (Y/N) couldn’t help fawning over that, because it was nice and because she knew it would grate on Harry’s nerves.

He was trailing behind them as (Y/N) held onto Joey’s arm as they caught up on their week apart. It felt natural, even though she knew that this wasn’t supposed to happen, according to Harry. Maybe they’re not meant to date at all. Obviously, but she really does like Joey as a person.

They rode a few rides, like the Tilt-a-Whirl, bumper cars, and the carousel. Harry didn’t ride anything and instead stood at the gate and watched them with a very discontented look on his face. She almost felt bad, but she didn’t really know why.

Harry hasn’t been the nicest since she’s met him, but the pitiful expression he had made her heart hurt a fraction. It was probably the fact that they’re mates that she feels anything but irritation for him. The very idea of what the rest of tonight holds is keeping her in good spirits. And that has nothing at all to do with Joey surprisingly, but all to do with Harry.

Whatever happened to her in the last few months has now turned on its head. It’s like she almost wants Harry to snatch her away from the rest of her life. It didn’t sound appealing when he explained it to her then, but it doesn’t seem as bad when she thinks about it now.

They met back with Harry after the last ride and her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She wasn’t sure what Joey wanted to do yet and while she was going to suggest getting something to eat, she didn’t get the chance to. Harry already spoke up.

“I think it’s best if we eat now.” His eyes assessed her for a long moment before he turned to Joey. “She’s withering away.”

“Oh.” Joey blinked, looking down at her. “You’re hungry? You could’ve said something, let’s go.” He pulled at her hand, heading in the direction of the booths with food and treats. She met eyes with Harry before turning and she shot him a look.

He always knew exactly how she was feeling or what she wanted to an extent that it was annoying. He heard her stomach growl through all the noise and just knew. If she cared for him, she might be endeared by it, but at the moment it just bothered her.

They got in line at one booth and (Y/N) felt really impatient all of a sudden. Standing in line seemed like such a drag and while she was hungry, she just simply didn’t want to stand here with Joey’s hand on her back. It might have only been his hand that was the problem and the more she became aware of the weight of his hand, the more she felt like crawling out of her skin.

She stood straight and turned to him instead of standing beside him.

“I, uh, think I have to go to the bathroom. Do you mind ordering?” She rushed to say, trying to ignore the confusion on his face that slowly turned to understanding.

“Sure. Hurry back.” He smiled so sweetly it almost made her want to swoon. Almost. She feels bad more than anything because he’d never know the truth, he’d just never hear from her again.

“Harry. Come with me?” She nudged his arm. He was already watching her intently when she looked at him to ask. He said nothing and just followed her away from Joey and between the booths to get to the portable toilets.

Which, she was not a fan of, but she still made sure they were out of sight before grabbing Harry by the collar of his jacket and bringing her nose to his neck. (Y/N) felt so out of sorts. Smelling him like an animal. Like she needed it. He stumbled slightly before reaching his arms around her and tugging her closer.

“I feel insane. This is too much.” She breathed, looking up at him now and feeling so utterly helpless. There was nothing she could do. She wanted to be close to him, needed to be. Joey’s hand on her back made her feel like her skin was melting. Not in the way that Harry made her feel like she was going melty. In a bad, bad way. In a way that made her cringe. Because it wasn’t right. This is what Harry meant. This is what he was talking about when he said they needed to be together tonight.

“It will only get worse.” He offered no consoling words, only facts. He held her back with the same ferocity, he was just better at hiding it.

“I don’t want him to touch me.” She shook her head. “It makes me want to drown myself.”

He cracked a smile, bringing his hand up to brush some of her hair behind her ear.

“Good. Are you decent? Can we go back? I’m actually hungry.” He dropped his hands and shifted back the tiniest bit and she came right after him, wrapping her arms around his middle and whining.

“Fine.”

She stood straight only after breathing him in one last time. When she looked over her shoulder, the moon had risen just over the tops of the trees.

It was only a matter of time before this got unbearable and (Y/N) really wasn’t sure how it could get worse than this. She already felt like she needed to be in his skin, she can’t imagine what will happen once the moon is higher in the sky.

Joey was out of line when they got back and sitting with the food order they gave him before disappearing. He didn’t seem weirded out, so he must not know what they were actually doing. There would be no sane way to explain it, Joey would just think she’s a little strange. And she’d really like to avoid that before she never sees him ever again.

(Y/N) focused on the food and let Joey do most of the talking. She kept on asking questions that she knew would get him talking as she started on her cheese fries. They were very filling but she still wasn’t completely satisfied and she knew why, she just didn’t want to actually let the thought flesh out in her mind because she probably wouldn’t be sitting here much longer.

She was up out of her seat when Joey reached to grab onto her hand. There was an awkward couple of seconds as she cradled her hand and took a step toward Harry who was watching very knowingly but saying nothing as he usually does.

“Uh, how about the ferris wheel? Those are my favorite.” She pointed, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth. Joey shrugged before nodding.

“Sure.”

It’s a shame that he’s such a good guy. She hopes that he gets everything he deserves after this.

Harry trailed after them to the ferris wheel. His hands were in his pockets and he looked almost casual for someone who was apparently feeling this just as badly as she was. She glanced back at him, secretly wishing that he was walking next to her instead. But she had to be polite. Only for a little while longer.

They got in line for the ferris wheel and while it was a little longer than she wanted it to be, she didn’t mind waiting. She couldn’t wait to be at the top so she could look down on the entire fair. And then after that, she supposed it would be time to go. Time to turn her life upside down.

(Y/N) isn’t sure how she did it, but she managed to keep Joey occupied all the way up until they were at the front of the line, just waiting on an empty car to get into. She still seemed interested and she entertained all his thoughts and ideas when all she really wanted to do was bury her head into Harry’s chest and pathetically grind away in his lap. It was just a second that she thought about it and then she had to banish it from her mind because she wouldn’t be able to think straight if she thought about that.

Somehow, they got rearranged in line and when the teenager running the ride asked them how many, she said three, forgetting that the ride only fit two people. They were still ushered on and before she realized what was happening, she was buckling herself into the seat beside Harry while Joey was stuck waiting for the next car to come down.

“Sorry!” She called to him and he waved her off.

“Have fun!”

Sighing, she sat back in the seat, careful not to rock the car in any way. While she did like the ride, she wasn’t fond of the seat tilting back and forth too far, so she tried to be as still as possible.

“Is this everything you were hoping it’d be?” Harry spoke up. She jumped when the car moved up a spot so Joey was let on the seat in behind them. She waved when he looked back, smiling like he wasn’t bothered by the seating arrangement at all.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” Not a complete lie, but not that truth either. It was fun until the full moon made an appearance and was lingering in the background every second. She couldn’t think about anything else. She wasn’t sure how high in the sky it needed to be, but it was only getting higher as the minutes dragged by.

“This isn’t your last fair, you know that? You’ll still live a pretty normal life. You can keep your home and your job. It’s only me that will be much different.”

Like he hadn’t already shook things up just by finding her in the woods that day. She’s been doomed ever since then. And that fact that werewolves just exist, like that didn’t blow her mind. She still hasn’t seen him in wolf form but she really doesn’t know what it’ll do to her already fragile state of mind so she isn’t looking forward to it too much. But she knows it’ll come up eventually.

“Yeah. Somehow I don’t think that’s true.” Her hands tightened around the lap bar when the ride started. Taking them up and then over top of the wheel, just to bring them back down and around.

“You don’t see yourself being happy?”

“I mean, it’s a little weird, yeah. But I think if it’s meant to be then it won’t be after a while. I don’t know.” She shrugged, gasping when they reached the top again and she could look at all the lights down below. It was only a second because they were going back down and around again.

“It is meant to be. It won’t be weird in only a short while.” His hand shifted towards hers on the lap bar and just barely touched.

“Yeah, but what about you? You hate the fact that I’m human and pretty much rejected me as soon as you saw me.” Her eyes rolled and then she hurried to look over the scenery again. It hurt her feelings. They obviously had a strong connection despite knowing little to nothing about each other and that part excited her. But Harry didn’t seem to ever be excited about anything.

“What are you talking about?” He turned to her just as the ride jerked to a stop at almost the top, but not quite.

“You don’t like that I’m human. You’d rather be mated with someone in the pack, right? Isn’t that how it goes?”

“That’s not how it works.” He shook his head. “There aren’t many wolves that find mates within their own pack. That’s very rare.”

“Well, you seem so thrilled to be stuck with me.” Another eye roll.

“A mate at all is always a gift. Wolf or human, I couldn’t ask for anyone else to be my mate. This might be all new now, but soon you’ll understand just how grateful I am to have found you and so soon.”

“But I can tell—”

“No. You can’t. A mate is a gift.”

“Then why are you so…grumpy all the time?”

“I’m ready to fuck you. That’s why.” He said it so casually and tacked on a shrug that made her mouth twitch.

“It’s that bad that you have to be an asshole all the time?” That was almost more shocking than all the rest of it. “Wow.”

“It’s just the way it is right now. I’ve been nice enough to you I think.”

“Yeah but it never made me think you want to fuck me. It made me think you were annoyed with me.” She crossed her arms, getting a chill since they were still waiting for other people down below to load and unload. It would probably be a minute until they were able to get off.

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“No. If you want human girls to like you, you have to be sweet. Like Joey.” Harry scoffed, his arm coming up behind her shoulders. His hand squeezed the back of her neck.

“You’re my mate. We’ll love each other anyway.”

“Love you? I’ve only known you for like, three weeks.” He was talking about things she wasn’t even ready to consider. Love. That sounds like too much too soon.

“Time doesn’t mean much when you’re mates.”

That did little to console her. He did say things would happen fast just as soon as the moon touched the sky.

Her eyes shifted from his face to the moon behind him that seemed much larger than she’s ever seen it. It was bright, the sky was clear, and it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place. It also felt like a fire was starting somewhere deep in her belly. It wouldn’t be much longer now and she knew it.

“I want to kiss you.” It left her mouth before her brain could process the meaning of even saying it. Harry didn’t look surprised, he just shook his head.

“I don’t think your date would appreciate that.” He nodded ahead at Joey who wasn’t paying them any attention and instead looking at the scenery around him.

“He’s not going to look back. Please. I need it and you know it.” She pressed close to him again so their legs touched, their shoulders, their feet. Any way she could get close to him on this stupid ride, she would. At the slightest shake of his head, she was tugging at the collar of his jacket again and leaning her head into his chest.

“Please.”

Part of (Y/N) knows he’s only doing it to torture her. He wants to be right so badly that he would let himself suffer just to prove a point.

If the lap bar wasn’t in the way, she’s sure she’d be all over him. Smelling him and pressing herself as close as possible. She couldn’t wait to leave. She’d probably have to fake sick just to get back to the car. Joey would understand, wouldn’t he?

Her eyes flashed back to the moon. It felt eye level now. Like it was spotlighting right down onto her and transforming something within her now. And then, she felt what could only be described as a gushing. Through her underwear and onto the tights. She really hoped no one would be able to see that.

Harry’s hand on her neck tightened and he huffed.

“Great. You’re soaking yourself already and we’re stuck on this ride for who knows how long.” Like he was the one that was being inconvenienced.

“Shut up. It’s you that won’t let me kiss you.” Her thighs squeezed and she shifted even closer.

“He’s going to see and how are you going to explain to Joey that you kissed your cousin?” It sounded ridiculous when he said it like that. And Joey would certainly look at them like they were insane if he saw in the first place. But she really doubted he would. It’s too much work to turn himself around in that tiny car.

“I don’t care! He’s not going to see. Please,” She pried his hand from his lap and did her best to shove it between her legs. “Anything, please.”

He sighed as if he was being bothered before he pushed his fingers further under her skirt until they brushed the now wet tights.

“Jesus.”

“It’s all your fault.” She gripped his arm and pushed him closer.

“You wanted to come here.”

“You let me. You should’ve used that dumb little alpha voice and told me no.”

“You wouldn’t have listened.” The back of his hand added pressure to the front of her underwear finally.

“You should’ve made me,” Just the warmth of his hand was enough. For now. But she still wanted a kiss. “Kiss me now.” She leaned to nip at his neck and if she knew that was all it was going to take for his free hand to grip onto her jaw and press their mouths together, she would’ve done that weeks ago.

She hoped every single pathetic little whine that she let out into his mouth was muffled, at the very least. Her mouth moved fast, she didn’t want to feel anything slow. She wanted him now, but the very top of the ferris wheel wasn’t a great place to do that. Not with all these people around anyway.

(Y/N) had been too busy with his mouth to worry about his hand between her legs. But when her tights were ripped open at the center, she knew he was probably done playing around.

Then, he just stopped. Because of course he would.

“I’ll take care of you as soon as we’re home.”

“At least kiss me!” It was louder than she meant it to be but there was no part of her that cared.

“I did.”

“Not enough.

“Plenty actually.”

“But, I don’t think I can—” (Y/N) shut her mouth as soon as she glanced to her right and saw Joey in front of them, staring back. He looked confused and a pinch hurt. Before she could find anything to shout to him, some excuse, an apology, he turned right back around and didn’t face them again for the rest of the ride.

“You’ve done it now.” Harry pulled his hand from her skirt and wiped it over his pants leg. The glare she sent him was meant to be angry, but he just smiled at her and rested his arm behind her back again.

“This really isn’t going to plan.” She pulled her hands from Harry’s jacket and sat back in the seat. Everything simmered for a moment. She felt herself pout. It was never meant to be serious with Joey but she knows that he’s still not going to be the slightest bit happy about what he just saw. There’s nothing she can even say that will make an ounce of sense. She might as well just keep quiet and let him say whatever he needs to say, if anything at all.

“He’ll be alright.” Harry brought his other hand to her cheek and gently ran the back of his hand over it. It was probably the most tender touch he’s ever offered to her. She leaned into it without thought and didn’t move until they were getting ushered off the ride.

It’s just her luck that Joey stuck around. She almost hoped he’d ditch them as soon as he got off, but it just goes to show that he really is a good guy. He looked between the two of them with a neutral expression and shook his head.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t want to go.”

Harry hung back and let her have the space to say goodbye to Joey. (Y/N) really didn’t know what would make it better, she wouldn’t still be here if she were him. She’d be halfway to the parking lot.

“That wasn’t meant to happen like that…” She trailed off, watching him shift uncomfortably and then cross his arms. “I’ve never…kissed him before. I don’t….I’m sorry.”

It was unbelievable to her as well. She really thought she’d be able to resist what Harry claimed to be fate. She tried but it didn’t take long for her to relent as soon as the moon was high enough in the sky. She should’ve listened to Harry and stayed in. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. Bye (Y/N).” He turned on his heel and started walking away from them. Harry took his place back beside her and wound his arm around her waist.

“Want me to rip his throat out?” He offered casually, pulling her to face him.

“No. He gets to be a little upset. I mean, we were on a date! Imagine if you saw me kissing him, you’d die!” She doesn’t want to know what he’d really do. It would probably be much worse than that. He tugged her impossibly closer until she was pretty much forced to reciprocate the hold around his shoulders.

“No. He would. Because I’d kill him,” He stared over her shoulder at what she assumed to be Joey. “Now. I think we have somewhere to be.”

Both of their gazes shifted to the moon looming high over their heads and then back to each other.

Harry kept his hand tightly woven with hers as they tried to refrain from running to the car. Rushing, yes, but not running because that sounded ridiculous when she thought about what exactly they were rushing for.

But then he looked down at her with this heated stare as they were waiting for a line of people to cross in front of them on their way out to the parking lot. It burned all the way to her core and she remembered exactly why running was probably a great idea and made the most sense.

Once they both reached the car, as soon as the doors were shut, (Y/N) was halfway over the center console to kiss him again.

“Do you think we’ll be able to leave the park lot?” She said between breaths, only taking as long as it took to say that before pressing her mouth back to his. He didn’t even answer her before dragging her over the middle console and sitting her in his lap.

“I think I have to mark you now.”

Two weeks ago, that would’ve freaked (Y/N) out. She would have been stressing about pain or about what happens after he sinks his teeth into her, if that’s even what marking means.

But right now, nothing sounds better.

“Do it.”

tags: @c0mfortablesilences @brisworld12 @whateverali28 @thisandsomehole @loverofhsandallthings1d @sarahs-house @taraijbharper @bucketofsalmon @alaskansky007 @toosarcastic03 @outofthisworl-d @everyscarisahealingplace @forgetdelaney @laceystyles @dxnycast @stylesftcher @slutstachrry @angeldavis777 @caynonmoondreams @mema10 @in-omn1a-paratus @esposa-do-harry @harrystyleshotwife @pleasantearthquakecowboy @rhiannonworld24 @superbnightlove @caitrose88 @unabashegirl @harrystylesconcepts @sassamanda77 @witch-rry @triski73 @run-for-the-hills @harrystylesconcepts @contra-mondu @osorto