Frankie Rhodes and Harry Styles are completely in love. With a fresh engagement, and plans for Frankie to move into Harry's apartment at the end of next month, they both feel as if this is truly the beginning of the rest of their lives together.
So, what happens after an incident causes Harry to end up in the hospital, and when he wakes, he has no recollection of the last two years of his life?
• A short story.
• First chapter coming June 20th.
• Told in Dual POV between both Harry and Frankie.
• Will have medical lingo throughout, but please remember, this is a work of fiction, so some things may be exaggerated to fit the plot.
• This story will touch on some triggering things: an incident resulting in injury, cheating (not between our main characters) and traumatic memories of said incident.
• This story will also contain some smut, so 18+ only, please!
• Please see below for faceclaims of the main characters of the story.
Okay! I need Harry to remember asap! I’m so sucked into this story! How many more chapters do you think that’s left?
Hehehe he’s making little steps of progress 🤭 And there’s three more chapters! Last Frankie POV will be next chapter, then we have a flashback chapter in Harry’s POV and the last chapter will be told in present time in Harry’s POV 🤸🏻♀️
Word Count: 3.7k (a little shorter than normal, but this chapter is just as important as the others!)
(Chapter five to “Oblivion”)
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
“Your scan looks great, Harry,” Dr. Lee, my neurologist, says with a smile. “No changes to the last one you had before you left the hospital, and that’s what we’re looking for. Your next scan should probably show a little bit of improvement in bruising, and then the one following that should show no bruising at all, but we’ll see. Even if that’s not the way your situation progresses, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. Everyone is different.”
Anya squeezes my hand upon hearing this information, and I look over to see her brows narrowed in worry. I look back to Dr. Lee. “Is it okay that I’m still not remembering anything?”
I want to confess that a memory did try to break through recently, but I also can’t really bring that up in front of Anya. I’ve decided to tuck it away for the time being. I’ll make sure to ask Dr. Wells at my next appointment. I’ve been keeping a journal, just like he asked me to, with things that I’ve been feeling, but that’s the only memory I’ve been able to document that feels like it’s tried to come through.
“Like I said, every patient is different. Don’t let it startle you that you’re not remembering anything yet. You’re only a month post injury, and I know it may be discouraging that it’s been that long, but I can assure you I’ve seen patients who remember things within weeks, and some patients don’t remember anything for months. The good news to focus on is that no part of your progress is regressing.”
Thinking about it taking months for my memories to come back causes my gut to churn, but I muster up the best smile I can and nod at Dr. Lee. “Understood. I guess I’ll be seeing you again after my next CT scan?”
“That’s right. We’ll see you then. They’ll make the CT appointment and the follow-up for you at check-out.”
Anya and I both stand, and once we finish up with the receptionist, we head back out to the car. I sigh as I buckle up my seatbelt as Anya starts it up, and then we pull out of the parking lot and head back towards the apartment.
“I’m sorry I’m not able to stay with you after your appointment,” she says after a few minutes of silence. “The event we’re planning right now is really big, so it’s all hands on deck until it’s over. I promise that I tried to get out of it.”
“That’s alright,” I assure her while reaching over to place my hand on her thigh. “I know what you do requires you to be busier than usual sometimes. I’ll be fine.”
“What do you plan to do with your afternoon?”
“Well, lunch almost had me falling asleep while waiting for Dr. Lee with how full I was, so maybe I’ll take a nap or something,” I say with a shrug. “Maybe pick out a book to read to try and stimulate my brain.”
“That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea,” she comments while dropping one of her hands to rest on top of mine.
Once she pulls up in front of our apartment building, she puts the car in park and turns on her hazards as I open the door to get out, but first, I turn towards her to place a kiss on her lips.
“I’ll see you later.” I peck her cheek this time. “Drive safely.”
“Will do. Let me know if you have any ideas for what you want me to make for dinner. I’m swinging by the store after work to pick up a few things.”
I make our way up to the apartment and lock the door behind me before heading into the bedroom. Once I’ve changed into some lounge clothes, I get under the covers of the bed and start to scroll through my phone. As I’m aimlessly flipping through my apps, I see one that shows a camera with a lock icon on the lens. When I click on it, it prompts me to put in a four digit code and I try and think of what that code could possibly be, and what the hell it’s going to unlock.
After trying a few different code combinations, one that I regularly use for security reasons at my job seems to work, and I’m immediately met with what has to be at least twenty photos. I click on the first one, and I sit up quickly, tossing my phone towards the foot of the bed. My chest heaves as I do my best to process what I just saw. I give myself a few seconds before picking up the phone again, and I’m met with an image of a topless woman, but her hands rest across her breasts to cover them. The image only shows her torso, so her face and lower half aren’t revealed.
When I scroll to the next image, it shows the same woman, but her forearm is draped across herself instead.
Maybe these are just photos of a woman that I’ve found online that I use to get myself off if Anya’s traveling for work? I can’t imagine any other reason for me to have these types of images on my phone, but that would be out of the ordinary, if it were the case.
Unfortunately, that thought appears to be completely false when I get to the next photo, and it shows my hand cradling one of the woman’s breasts while her own covers the other. I know that it’s my hand by the cross inked into the skin on the back of it.
This has to serve as confirmation that I was cheating on Anya, right? Or did we have a break at some point, and the memory of that woman giggling, as well as these images, are just a reminder of that? Have I just forgotten to get rid of this app in the midst of Anya and I reconciling?
Suddenly, the walls of this apartment feel way too suffocating, and there’s no way that I can remain here by myself until Anya gets home from work later. I peel my lounge clothes off and change back into the clothes that I had on for my appointment as I try and think of what to do to distract myself.
My mind lands on Frankie, and to be honest, I’ve been meaning to check in on her since the last dinner we all had together. Maybe she’ll be agreeable to meeting up for a coffee to not only catch up, but it’ll also let me know whether or not she does actually feel uncomfortable around me, or if it’s something else.
I scroll through my phone, which feels like a weight at this point, and swipe through until I find Frankie’s contact. Hitting the message button, I shoot her a quick text asking if she’s free to meet up at the coffee shop just a couple of blocks from Anya and I’s place. It takes a few minutes, but eventually she responds and says she’ll meet me there in 15.
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
Standing outside of the coffee shop, I have my hands tucked into the front pocket of my hoodie as I wait for Frankie to arrive as well. My fingers are locked together to keep them from shaking, something I haven’t stopped doing since I saw all those images on my phone. I don’t want to make this afternoon with Frankie all about me, considering I also want to make sure she’s okay, but I’m eager to get this off my chest. I know if I keep it in, it’s going to eat me alive, and with the progress I have to make with my recovery, that’s the last thing I need.
I hear the sound of someone approaching, and I look up from my feet to see Frankie heading towards me. Her hands are clutching to the strap of her purse that’s slung over her shoulder, and both of them are wringing around it as she stares at me.
“Hey,” I breathe, pushing myself off the wall to extend an arm out for her.
She smiles meekly as she walks forward, and she wraps both of her arms around my torso - her cheek smushed against my chest. “Hi, Harry.”
We remain like that for a moment, and the smell of the perfume that she wore last time she came over for dinner catches my attention again. Once we pull back, I open the door to the coffee shop and gesture for her to head inside first. I stand behind her as we wait in line to order, and once we do, we step to the side where the pickup counter is.
“So, how are you?” Frankie initiates the conversation first, which slightly surprises me, but somehow puts me more at ease. “I was a little surprised to receive your text.” Blowing the air out of my cheeks, I run my fingers through my hair, and I watch as Frankie looks at me with concern. “Harry, you’re shaking.”
She reaches out to take my hand, as if it’s instinct, and she gives it a squeeze.
“I…I have some questions that I need to get answered, and some things that I need to talk about with someone, but I don’t want to talk about it with Anya until I get it all figured out.”
“And you couldn’t talk to Peyton about this either?” She asks.
“I could’ve, but I’m not going to lie, I also wanted an excuse to check in with you and make sure you’re okay in all of this as well.” I realize she hasn’t dropped my hand, so I repeat the action she gave me earlier, and I give hers a squeeze. “I know you have your mom and Peyton, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else there for you, too.”
Frankie’s eyes slightly glaze over, but the sound of my name being called breaks us out of the moment. I walk over to the counter and grab both of our drinks, considering I paid for hers as well, and I pass it over to her. Once we prepare them the way we’d like, I look around at the tables that are vacant before I decide that I don’t really want to be confined inside right now.
“Do you want to walk to the park down the street? I haven’t been getting out much lately because I’m scared to do too much by myself.” I rub the back of my next anxiously, and Frankie’s expression softens.
“Of course. I’d like that a lot.”
We step outside of the coffee shop and start down the sidewalk in the direction of the closest park. The weather is a little warmer today than it has been, and the sun is shining down, so it actually makes for a nice day out. When we’re on the path that leads deeper into the park, we pick a spot that’s not entirely in the sun, but not exactly shaded either, and we lower ourselves onto the ground below us.
Frankie has her legs pulled up to her chest, where mine are criss-crossed, and I watch as she runs her palm back and forth over the grass while tilting her head back. Her eyes are closed as the sun reflects on her skin. As if she remembers she’s not alone, she blinks slowly and then looks over at me, a small blush rising to her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she giggles. “I actually haven’t been doing much outside my place either. Unless I’m going to therapy, or heading to my mom’s, I’ve been staying in.”
“Peyton said you’ve been going over to your mom’s often.” I watch her body slightly stiffen at that. “Are you sure you’re really doing okay, Frankie? Is something going on between you and Peyton? You can talk to me. I hope you know that.”
“I do know that, Harry, I do.” Her voice sounds strained, and she looks down before pulling a blade of grass from out of the ground, and she starts to wrap it around her finger - as if she’s distracting herself. “But Peyton is also your friend. I don’t want to get in the middle of your friendship.”
“If it comes to your wellbeing, I can very much separate my friendship with you from my friendship with him.”
Frankie’s throat bobs as she swallows, and then she looks back into my eyes. The tears that had disappeared in the coffee shop present themselves again. “It’s just been really hard since the accident. He tries to talk to me about it, but at the end of the day, it’s hard for him to understand. Sure, he and Anya were also there, but they came out after you were already…” She trails over for a moment as she shakes her head. “They didn’t hear the sounds I did, or the sights I saw. He can’t even understand how traumatizing it was for me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper while reaching out to rub her back, and she leans into my touch. “You don’t know how fucking bad I wish I could remember so I could be with you in all of this. I don’t want you to feel so alone, but I have to ask, you’re not uncomfortable being around me after everything, are you? Because if you are, I’ll stop pushing. The last thing I want to do is be a trigger for you, which means I keep delaying your progress by having us see each other.”
“Harry, no.” Her eyes widen as she reaches out for me, her hands cupping the side of my neck, and I feel that same tingle I felt in the hospital. The day that I woke up, and she touched my arm. “I could never want to separate myself from you like that. You’re one of my best friends. I couldn’t imagine not having you around. God, just thinking about that, what could’ve happened if things had been worse, I can’t…”
A gasp floods from her lungs, and I’m quick to pull her into me. Her arms fly around me this time, way less coordinated than when she hugged me just a few minutes ago outside of the coffee shop. I can feel her hands clutching to the back of my hoodie as she sobs into the side of my neck. My heart aches in my chest, and I have to wonder how many times she’s found herself like this since that night, or if this is pent up emotion that she’s been too afraid to let out.
“It’s okay, Frankie.” I press a kiss to the top of her head while cradling the back of it in my palm. My other hand rubs soothing circles into her back. “I’m right here. I’m not going to go anywhere. We’re going to be okay.”
“I was so scared. I’ve been so scared. This is all just so unfair.” Her cries are muffled as she keeps her face buried. “Why did this have to happen to you? You’re one of the best people I know. You don’t deserve this.”
“This is just temporary. We have to remain optimistic, remember? My memories are going to come back, and then everything will go back to the way it was.” Frankie’s chest continues to jump, but I can tell she’s slowly calming down. “That’s it. Just breathe for me, Frankie girl.”
Her body freezes for a moment, and it’s then I realize what I’ve said as well. Pulling back, she stares up at me with tear-stained cheeks. “W-What did you call me?”
“I don’t know where that…” I clear my throat before I continue. “I called you Frankie girl. Did I give you that nickname?”
“Uh, yeah,” she stammers while sitting up again and moving to where she had originally planted herself. She wipes underneath her eyes with her sweater-covered hands. “It’s pretty recent, though. You just said it one day, and it kind of stuck.”
Frankie reaches for her coffee, and she takes several long sips. Once again, she’s distracting herself during our conversation, which leads me to believe there’s something more happening than she’s telling me, but I’m grateful for the fact she did open up to me just now, even if it was only a little bit.
“Anyway,” she waves her hand in the air, as if to brush her concerns away, “what is it that you needed to talk about? I feel like we’ve talked about me enough.”
Now I’m the one looking for something to stall as I have a few sips of my coffee. “Do you know if Anya and I split up for any period of time?”
“Harry, I don’t know if I’m the one you should be-”
“Please, Frankie, I need to know. I had a memory try and to come through the day Anya and I got back from the appointment with my neuropsychiatrist. It never fully formed, but I could hear myself speaking to someone, and whoever was responding to me wasn’t Anya.” I contemplate whether or not to confess the next bit, but I know I can’t leave anything out if I want answers. “Today, I found an app on my phone, and….
“Fuck, you’re probably going to look at me differently after I say this, but the app was locked. I managed to unlock it, and it’s full of pictures of a woman. A woman who isn’t Anya. So, now I’ve convinced myself that either I was cheating on her, or there was a time where we separated, and I saw someone else, but eventually we got back together.”
Silence surrounds us for a bit, and I’m not sure if it’s Frankie trying to process what I’ve told her, or if it’s her trying to figure out how to tell me the truth. She turns to face me, so I do the same to her, and she rests her hand on my knee.
“I can almost guarantee that you were never cheating on Anya. I know the type of person that you are, and there’s no way you could betray her, or anyone, like that.” Frankie’s thumb runs along the material of my jeans. “If you guys did end up having some sort of break, Peyton and I didn’t know about it. I’m afraid the only person that you can get that answer from is Anya. Like we all said, we’ve been rather busy lately, so we haven’t seen each other like we once did. There could be a possibility that maybe you and Anya did separate for a bit, but it could’ve been in the time where Peyton and I didn’t have any plans with you guys, so we didn’t know the difference.”
“You don’t think Anya would’ve reached out to you if that happened? I find it hard to believe that I wouldn’t have to try to confide in Peyton, or even you, if that were the case.” I groan as another ‘brain pain’ occurs, and I press my palm against the aching spot.
“Hey, are you okay?” Frankie moves a little closer, and she keeps her one hand on my knee, but the other comes around to rest on my upper back.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I sigh as the sensation starts to ease. “I get these little pains every now and then, but apparently they’re normal after a brain injury. They don’t happen as often as they did when I first got home, though, so that’s a bit of a relief. Some of the only progress I’ve managed to make.”
“Weren’t you the one telling me that we have to be optimistic not even five minutes ago?” I hear the playful tone in Frankie’s voice, and I open my eyes to see her smirking at me. “Where’s that optimism now, H?”
I can’t help but let out a little laugh at that, and she returns it. “No, you’re right. I should just be grateful that there haven’t been any setbacks. That was always a possibility, and so far, it hasn’t happened.”
“It’s not going to.” Frankie tightens the holds she has on me for just a moment before her touch completely fades away. “You’ve got this, just like you said. One step at a time.” She runs her palms over her thighs before sitting properly again. “But the thing with Anya, you’re just going to have to ask her, and be prepared for what she says. I know you’re thinking the worst, but don’t let that consume you before you’ve sought out the truth.”
Nodding, I take another sip of coffee. “Yeah, I know you’re right. I’m just a little scared of what the answer is going to be.”
“And that’s completely understandable.”
We spend the next half hour or so talking about less heavy things, and when I see the time, I know I should get home before Anya, or else she’ll worry. I walk Frankie back to where she parallel parked her car on the street near the coffee shop, and we give each other a comforting hug.
“If you need anything, anything at all, let me know,” I tell her.
“Same goes for you. I know you probably haven’t really wanted to drive after everything, but if you need to get away for a day or something, just tell me. I’m still on leave.”
Once we pull apart, I open Frankie’s car door for her, and when I see she’s securely inside, I shut the door. I stand on the sidewalk to make sure she joins traffic safely, and then I start on my trek back to the apartment.
As nice as this afternoon with Frankie was, it was also heavy, and I know we’re both going to be feeling the weight of that for the rest of the day, but hopefully it eases some of the trauma. I know I need to take her advice and ask Anya about what was going on with us, but I don’t think that I’m there yet. It might be selfish, but I can’t allow a bombshell to be dropped on my brain right now, not after everything it’s been through.
Maybe I’ll wait to get some answers from Dr. Wells before I approach the subject with Anya, so I’ll have more insight, but in the meantime, I’ll just have to continue on as normally as possible unless more memories start to reveal themselves.
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
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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."
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!
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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.
Holy heck I spent all day on my day off reading long way to go!
Glad I planned accordingly because the last few times I’ve read your books it’s been before bed and lead to all nighters and sleepy work days 🤣.
Loving this fic soo much for you! Thanks for giving me something to make today worthy ✨🩷
Oh my gosh, this is one of the sweetest messages I’ve ever received! 🥹❤️ I’m glad that you’re loving the story, and it’s so crazy to hear that you’ve taken the time to read my other work as well.
Thank you so much for these compliments, friend! 🫶🏻
● A Year and a Half Ago ●
A car blares their horn at me as I dart across the crosswalk that I definitely didn’t have the signal to cross right now. I lift up my hands in a half-assed apology before continuing on my way across the street. Glancing down at my watch, I know that I’m late. Almost an hour late, to be exact, and I feel like a piece of shit for it. I had a case that caused me to stay at work past my usual time, and it was my turn to supply the twelve-pack, so I also had to stop to pick it up, resulting in me running super far behind.
I nod at the doorman in the lobby of the apartment building as I step inside, and then I make my way into the elevator. My chest heaves as I press the button for the floor I need to get to, slumping against the back wall while trying to catch my breath. I close my eyes, tilt my chin up to the ceiling as the metal box ascends.
My eyes don’t open until the light ‘ding’ indicates that we’re at my destined floor, and I step out to quickly make my way down the hall. Once I get to the door, I rap my knuckles against it before taking a small step back. I switch the twelve-pack to my other hand right as the door opens.
Harry leans against the door frame with pursed lips, t-shirt expanding over his torso with sweatpants hanging on his hips, and I can tell he’s trying to cover up a smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re late.”
“I am,” I sigh while slouching my shoulders slightly. “I suck. Forgive me?”
His eyes drag down to the beer I chose tonight, and he lets out an exaggerated huff of breath before moving back into his apartment. “You picked a good beer tonight, so you’re forgiven.” He gestures his hand for me to come inside.
“Thank you.” I smirk as I pass by him, and I immediately head into the kitchen to put the beers away in his fridge. “I’m really sorry. A complicated case came across my desk not too long before I had to leave, and I got wrapped up in it.”
Grabbing two bottles from the box, I turn around, but I run directly into Harry’s chest with a soft ‘oof’, and then a slight yelp since I didn’t realize he was right behind me.
“Sorry.” He licks over his bottom lip as he takes the bottles from me, and he turns around to pop the caps off before handing mine back to me. “I was just going to say, don’t apologize for staying late at work. I know you love what you do.”
“Well, thanks.” We tap the necks of beers together, and then we each take a long sip. “I would’ve texted you, but by the time I actually thought about doing that, I was already at the store to get the twelve-pack.”
“Figured it would be more fun to just beg for my forgiveness instead?” Harry nudges his shoulder against mine.
“You wish.” I roll my eyes playfully as he moves towards the oven, and he pulls out a pizza box. “You didn’t have me beg in the slightest.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry pulls a couple of plates down from his cabinet before looking over his shoulder at me. His gaze runs over my body, and then he meets my eyes again. “Maybe I should’ve.”
My cheeks heat up once he turns back around, and I take another large pull of my beer.
Ever since Harry and I found out about Anya and Peyton’s affair, we’ve been trying to hang out almost every week with each other. It didn’t happen right away, it took a few weeks, but we figured that we used to have dinner every Friday night as couples, so why not just change that into us just hanging out instead? We weren’t the ones who did anything wrong, and we’ve been a part of each other's lives for so long - we didn’t want to lose each other in the chaos of everything.
We’ve leaned on each other so much these last couple of months. As much as what they did to us sucked, it was nice knowing neither of us had to go through it alone. Even if we weren’t hanging out right after it happened, Harry and I were texting each other every day to check in with one another. From the beginning, we made it very obvious we were there whenever the other needed to talk.
“What type of pizza this week?” I ask, pushing onto my tiptoes to try and see what he chose for us.
Every week we try something new from the pizza place that we deemed as ‘ours’, and we trade off when it comes to what we’re responsible to bring - one of us gets the pizza, one of us gets the beer.
“Don’t panic,” Harry starts, and I immediately groan, “but they had a pickle pizza on special, and-”
“Panic?” I exclaim before crossing over to the counter he was currently standing at, and I prop myself up on the empty space next to it. “I fucking love pickles, and I love pizza. Gimme.”
Shaking his head, Harry grabs one of the plates and throws two slices on it before handing it over to me. He does the same for himself, and he turns his body so he’s facing me, but leaning a hip against the counter, and we each pick up one of the slices.
“Cheers,” he says while lifting his up, and I do the same.
We each take a bite, and we let the flavor register for a moment before my eyebrows raise. “Oh my god.” I cover my mouth with my other hand while shaking my head. “This is fucking delicious.”
“I am pleasantly surprised,” he comments before taking a sip of his beer.
After working our way through three slices each, Harry puts the leftovers in the fridge and grabs us each another beer.
“Any shots tonight?” He asks while wiggling his eyebrows.
“You know we always have to do a couple.” I shrug while meeting him over by the bar cart in the corner of the kitchen.
“Poison of choice?”
“Tequila. What kind of question is that?” I scoff sarcastically considering Harry was already pouring the shots.
We each set our beers down so it’s easier for us to clink our shot glasses together before tapping the bottom of them on the counter, and then throwing the burning liquid back. Once I have my down, I make a small choking sound while slamming my fist against my chest.
“First one is always the hardest.” I shake my head while grabbing my beer to wash the taste away.
Harry chuckles as we make our way into his living room, and I sigh heavily as we drop onto his large couch. He turns something on the TV, but bumps down the volume so it just serves as background noise as he turns his body to face me a bit. There’s still a decent amount of distance between us - enough to where one of us could stretch out if we wanted to.
“So,” he takes a pull of his beer before continuing to speak, “any luck on finding a place?”
I’ve been living at my mom’s since my split with Peyton, and I’ve yet to narrow down the perfect place to move into. I’m trying to find somewhere that’s not too far from her house, but also not too far from work, but I’ve had no success so far.
“Not yet.” I scrape my thumbnail over the corner of the label on my bottle that’s peeling. “I looked at a couple more places this week, but one of them was smaller than what I’m looking for, and the other had the thinnest walls I’ve ever come across. Someone was making something in their blender in the apartment next door, and you would’ve thought they were standing with the realtor and I in the living room.”
“Well, hey, don’t get too discouraged. You’ll find the perfect place eventually.” Harry drapes his arm along the back of the couch, almost where his fingertips could brush my shoulder, but he doesn’t reach out to do so. “I know it’s probably irritating to hear me say that, considering I got to keep my place when everything blew up, but it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.”
“I know.” I nod as I send him a small smile. “It’s just been a hard transition. I adore my mom, so it’s nothing to do with having to live with her, but Peyton’s place literally came together because of me. Although he paid for most everything, which he did give me back what I paid for, I picked almost every piece of furniture out - every piece of art. It’s weird losing something you’ve put together like that.”
“I’m glad to hear that he gave you back everything that was rightfully yours. I would’ve reached out to him if he hadn’t.” His jaw ticks, and his hand holding his beer tightens for just a moment before I see his shoulders relax. “When’s the last time you heard from him?”
As I think, I take another sip from my bottle. “About a month ago? He found a few of my clothes buried in one of the dresser drawers. I didn’t see him when I went to go and pick them up though. He left them in a Trader Joe’s bag outside of the door.”
“Fucking coward,” Harry mumbles while shaking his head. “Acting as if you were the one who cheated.”
“It’s whatever,” I comment. “It’s probably for the best that we didn’t actually see each other. I feel like I'm finally getting to the point where I’m properly healing. Having to be face to face with him would more than likely just set me back.”
Harry hums while tilting his head from side to side. “I guess you’re right there. I think I’m finally at that stage, too. It’s been fucking rough, almost going on three months since everything, but I feel like I can talk about it now without just getting absolutely depressed after.”
“Same here. I had a whole conversation about it with my co-worker over lunch yesterday, and when I went back to my office, I was fine. I expected to shut my door and cry for at least an hour about it, but that didn’t happen.”
“Sounds to me like we’re both moving on.” He smirks over at me before standing. “Be right back.”
My stomach flutters, the same sensation I’ve gotten the past couple times Harry and I have hung out, and I try my best to will it away. I’ve always thought Harry was handsome, sure, but when we were both in relationships, I never saw him as anything more than Peyton and I’s friend, and Anya’s boyfriend. Now that we’re both single, and I see just how attentive he is to someone, considering how well he’s taken care of me during this whole thing, strange feelings have started to spark here and there.
I could never go there, though. I’m sure that I’m just lonely, and he’s the one person I’ve had the most contact with, other than my mom, over the last two and a half months. My body and my mind are drawn to the comfort he brings me, I’m sure that’s all it is.
Harry comes walking back into the living room with his beer still in one hand, and two shot glasses in the other. “Figured we each deserved a shot after dealing with that topic of conversation so well.”
“That’s a very good point,” I laugh as I push myself up just a little, so that I’m sitting up straighter, and I take one of the shots from him.
We take them swiftly, just as we did before, and then deposit the glasses on the coffee table. Leaning against the back of the couch again, I can feel the tingling of the alcohol in my cheeks. Harry sits back down while running a hand over one of his toned thighs, and then he’s looking back over at me.
“Not to continue to harp on the conversation, but when was the last time you heard from Anya?” I figure it’s only fair to know since he asked me about Peyton.
“Truthfully? Not since she came to get the last of her stuff, and that was a week after we found out about the two of them. I’m guessing she and Peyton are probably shacked up in his place together, getting to finally indulge without any sense of regret.”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes while almost polishing off my beer. “If you ask me, I don’t think either of them really felt guilty. With the way they acted when I caught them, to how they spoke when they were sitting right in front of us, I have this theory that they were just happy they didn’t have to sneak around anymore.”
“Either way,” Harry slides his eyes over to me, “fuck ‘em. We’re better off without them.”
“I can’t argue with you there,” I giggle.
I turn my attention to the TV for a moment, but I still feel Harry’s stare on me, so I look back over to him.
“What?” I furrow my brows as he licks over his lips and then lifts his beer to them.
“Nothing.”
With how busy work was today, I only had time to eat about half the lunch I packed, which means I’m feeling a little more tipsy than usual, but I still have a sound mind. That’s why when I ask my next question, I’m very much aware of what I’m saying.
“Have you been with anyone? Since Anya?”
Harry slowly pulls his bottle away from his mouth, and I watch his throat work down the sip he just took. The tip of his tongue peeks out to rest in the corner of his lips as we hold each other’s eyes before he shakes his head.
“Nope. I’ve been tempted, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. Considering you and I made the pact to delete our social media accounts, I’m not too big on signing up for any dating apps either, and the idea of going to a bar to pick someone up just…is so unlike me.” He runs his fingers through the front of his hair. “What about you? Anyone after Peyton?”
“Same answer as you,” I blow a raspberry with my lips, “and pretty much for all the same reasons.” Tapping my fingertips against the arm of the couch, an idea passes through my head, and I let out a loud laugh.
“What are you laughing about?” Harry asks with a chuckle, and I shake my head in an attempt not to answer him. “No, you can’t do that. You can’t laugh like that and then hold back. Tell me, Frankie.”
“I was thinking,” I shrug with a coy grin so that he knows I’m very unserious about what I’m about to say, “it’s only fair we fuck now, you know?”
His lips curl into a smirk, and he gulps down the rest of the beer before resting the empty bottle on the top of his knee. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mhmm. If they can dip a toe in each other's pool while still being with us, why can’t we be free to explore while actually being single?”
It goes quiet for a moment, and then Harry leans forward to place his beer bottle on the coffee table next to the discarded shot glasses. He looks over at me as he pops his chin up. “C’mere.”
I feel my mouth run dry as I freeze, and we both sit there, just staring at each other for what feels like minutes, but is probably only a few seconds. Reaching over, Harry continues to hold my eyes while taking my beer from me, putting it on the table as well, and then he slips his fingers, ever so slightly, into the waistband of my pants.
“C’mere, Frankie.” He gives my pants a small tug, but not enough to actually have me move. It’s just enough to emphasize exactly what he wants from me.
Slowly, I begin to move toward his side of the couch, which causes him to move right along with me so that he’s sitting in the position he once was, but now I’m curled into his side. The tips of his fingers slide back and forth against the skin of my hip, to the skin right below my navel, and my body breaks out in goosebumps.
“D’you want me to touch you? Is that it?” He doesn’t let his eyes stray from mine, and I watch as his pupils dilate. “Because I’ll do whatever you want. You just have to tell me.”
“I-I…” I stammer before I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t want to make you do anything just because I’m lonely and neglected, Harry.”
“Frankie,” Harry moves his face just a bit so that the tip of his nose brushes against my own, and I catch the faintest scent of tequila and beer on his lips, “I want to touch you, but not if you don’t want me to. Not if you were really just joking around.”
My heart pounds against my chest before I reach down to wrap my fingers around his wrist. I move his hand from my hip until it’s right in line with my belly button, and then I flip it, so the pad of his thumb is pressed against the button of my pants - tips of his fingers grazing the inside of the zipper.
“You can touch me. I want you to.”
My words and movements cause something inside of him to snap, and without him speaking another word, his mouth covers mine as he pops open the button of my pants. Our kiss is hungry, his other hand coming up to cup my cheek and tilt my head back slightly so he can kiss me at a deeper angle. His tongue runs over the seam over my lips, which pulls a moan from me as I open up immediately.
I can feel his fingers trembling as he starts to pull down my zipper, and I’m quick to place my hand over his again. “Harry,” I whisper as I pull back. “We don’t have to. If you feel like you need to because-”
“I can assure you, this is not the first time I’ve thought about touching you like this.”
“When was the first time?” I ask before swallowing harshly.
“Two weeks ago.”
“But two weeks ago, I was-”
“On your period and in a fetal position on this couch? I know, but when you were taking your nap, and I was running my fingers through your hair, I realized that I liked taking care of you. It made me wonder what it would be like to care about you in other ways as well.” He nudges his nose against my jawline to have me tilting my head to the left, and he starts to kiss over the side of my neck.
“You probably just miss taking care of someone - not necessarily me, “ I gasp when his teeth scrape right below my ear.
“No.” Harry’s quick to snap his head up to look down into my eyes, and I see an emotion there that I’ve never seen before. “Not that I want to talk about her right now at this very moment, but Anya didn’t like coddling. She never did, so trust me when I say I wasn’t trying to put you in a previous position that she held. Please, just let me keep kissing you, and touching you, and know that it’s all I’ve thought about over the last two weeks.”
I’m out of arguments as to why we shouldn’t do this, considering I’ve been feeling the same pull towards him, so I grab him by the back of his neck and clash my lips against his once again as he lowers me down onto the couch. This time, our mouths part immediately so our tongues tangle together, and Harry finishes pulling down my zipper. As he lifts his body up to pull my pants down my legs, his lips detach from mine, and I can’t help the small whimper that escapes me.
The smirk on his lips is playful as he gets my pants off completely, and then he tosses them to the side. My pulse heightens as he pulls off one of my socks, dropping it with my pants, and when he goes to remove the other, he brings my foot up towards his face. Once that sock is discarded as well, he presses a kiss to the side of my foot, and then my ankle. His eyes are on mine the entire time, until he slowly starts to trail his lips up the inside of my leg.
My breath hitches in the back of my throat, and my eyes slip shut when I feel his mouth ghost over my clit through my underwear. The next time he comes in contact with it, he applies a little more pressure until the pad of his tongue is pressing against me through the material - soaking it even more.
“Harry,” I gasp while dropping one of my hands to thread through the back of his hair.
He hums in response before lifting up to pull his t-shirt over his head. It meets my clothes on the floor, and his sweatpants follow closely behind as I push onto my elbows. I throw off the sweater I had been wearing and that leaves me laying underneath him in just my bra and thong - him only in his briefs. Since I’m still sitting up, I take the opportunity to run my hand over his abs, and then I palm his heavy erection through his underwear.
“Frankie.” His fingers tangle in my hair, and he cradles the back of my head in his hand as he drops his chin down to kiss me once again.
I can feel his other hand slowly tracing up my spine until it reaches the clasp of my bra. With a single pinch, he manages to get the clasp undone, causing the garment to start sliding down my shoulders until the straps are in the creases of my arms. Harry keeps our lips connected, but two of his fingers hook to space between the cups of my bra, and he tugs it off my body.
He moves us around to where my back is flush to the couch cushions again, and he drapes one of my legs over the back of it while hooking the other up against his hip. My hands find his waist as he starts to grind himself against me - our underwear being the only thing separating us now.
“I need you,” I pant as my nails slightly dig into his pecs. “Please.”
Something sparks in Harry’s eyes upon me saying that, and his warmth leaves me as he pushes off the couch. “I’m going to grab a condom. I’ll be right back.”
As he goes to walk past me, I snag his wrist and lick over my bottom lip. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean. I got checked a couple of weeks after everything, but if you’d rather wear one, I understand.”
There’s a pause as he stares down at me, and I’m worried I’ve said the wrong thing until he speaks. “I’m clean, too. Had a complete physical last month. Are you sure about this?”
“I am, but again, only if you are. We don’t have to…I just…”
He doesn’t give me a chance to gather my words and finish my sentence as he pushes his briefs down. My eyes bounce all over his toned body, not knowing where to look with how absolutely stunning he is.
“Fuck,” I whisper before letting out a small laugh when I see just how big he is.
“Your turn. Let me see you,” he says as he wraps a hand around his hard length, and he starts to stroke himself.
My hands shake just a bit as I reach down and pull my thong off. Once I discard it with the rest of our clothes, I run my palm down my stomach until I come in contact with my wet cunt. My fingers swirl around my entrance, and then I bring them up to massage small circles against my clit. My one leg remains hooked over the couch where Harry placed it, and I drop the other so I’m completely spread open for him.
“I’ve tried doing this so many times over the last couple of months, and I haven’t been able to make it feel this good,” I tell him honestly before sinking my middle finger into myself, and then I drag my other hand down to keep giving my clit attention, “but right now when I’m looking at you while doing this? I feel the best I have in a long time.”
“Fuck, Frankie.” Harry’s hand speeds up, and when a drop of arousal starts to seep out of the tip, he drags his thumb over it and uses it to slick up his shaft. “I’m the same. I’ve been too in my head, but I’m the hardest I’ve been in months after getting my hands on you.”
“You…” I break off in a moan before continuing. “You guys were having issues too?”
“Yeah, we were, but now I obviously know why.”
We don’t continue to speak as we keep on pleasuring ourselves, but once I sink a second finger inside my pussy, I let out a whine that clearly sends Harry over the edge.
His body is back on me before I can thoroughly process it, and I gasp when he pulls my hands away.
“Don’t worry,” He presses a kiss above my brow bone until he’s pulling back to make eye contact with me, “I’m going to give you what you want.”
My eyes remain locked with his when I feel him nudging against my entrance before dragging his tip through my arousal. He does this a few times, bumping against my clit as he does, and then he’s positioned right back where he was. I suck in a deep breath as he starts to push in, and I reach out to grip his biceps.
“That’s it.” He nods at me with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Just relax for me, Frankie girl. I’ve got you.”
My body gives into his command, and I feel my muscles beginning to loosen as he works his hips back and forth to warm me up to his size. Once I open up for him enough, he allows himself to enter me even more until the bottom of my thighs rest against the tops of his.
“Holy….” I’m at a loss for words with how good I feel at this very moment.
“God, you feel so good,” Harry groans while nipping at my lips. “Feel how tight you are around me? I could barely fit.”
I shudder with pleasure as my walls pulse around him, and that causes him to moan. “I…I feel so full,” I whine. “Oh my god. Please move, Harry.”
He tilts his hips back to draw out of me just slightly before pushing forward so that he’s completely inside again. The groomed hair at the base of his cock rubs against my clit in the most delicious way, resulting in my toes curling while my nails dig into the muscles of his arms. My eyes slip shut from how overwhelming everything feels as he cups one of my breasts in his hand while running his thumb over my hard nipple.
“Is there anything I need to do differently? Do you need me to-”
“No, you’re perfect.” I gasp as he hits a spot inside of me that has my hips bucking up against his. “So perfect.”
He must take my words as a sign for him to really let go. Harry’s one hand remains on my breast, but the other journeys from my leg to right beside my head so he can grip onto the armrest. He pounds into me with a force I’ve never felt before, and I can already feel the heat starting to simmer in my lower abdomen.
Tugging my nipple between the tips of his fingers, Harry leans down to mouth over the side of my neck. He licks at my skin before closing his lips down around it, and something about that turns me on so much that I clench down around his length.
“You’ve gotta be careful squeezing me like that,” he warns, planting a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “You’ll have me come faster, and I’m definitely not finished with you yet.”
I’ve always known Harry to be a vocal person, but I can’t say that I would’ve pegged him as someone who could say such filthy things during sex. His personality is so soft and polite that I’d assume that would bleed into when he was intimate with someone, not that I’ve thought about it quite often, but knowing this is how he’s choosing to talk to me has me teetering right at the edge of my orgasm.
“I can’t help it.” I shake my head while dragging my nails down his chest. “It’s too good. I’m already about to come.”
His hand falls from my breast, and he starts to rub his fingertips against my aching clit. “Give it to me, Frankie. Let me feel you come for me.”
With only a few more swipes of his fingers, I plummet straight into my orgasm. I can feel myself pulsing around his shaft, and he doesn’t let up on my clit until he knows he’s worked me through it completely.
Just as I’m getting my bearings again, Harry pulls out of me, which causes me to slightly startle from how empty I feel suddenly. He grabs my hips and quickly flips me over onto my stomach where I push myself up onto my knees. I brace my hands against the armrest, and one of his falls right beside mine to hold himself steady.
“I told you I wasn’t ready to be finished with you.” He grazes his teeth along the top of my shoulder as he pushes back inside, and somehow, he feels even deeper from this angle.
My back arches as he sets up a brutal pace from the start, and I’m grateful I have something to hold onto, or else he’d have me falling off the couch with how hard his hips are snapping against my ass. His hand leaves the armrest so that he can hold onto my waist, using that to control the speed at which my body collides into his.
“You’re dripping all over me, baby.” I can hear how breathless Harry is becoming when he speaks. “Making it so easy to fuck you like this. You’re going to come one more time before this is over, got it?”
“Yes,” I moan while nodding my head and I take the risk of moving one of my hands to make contact with my slick clit. Biting down on my bottom lip, I rub in short, quick circles as Harry drapes his body over mine. “I won’t be much longer. My thighs are already shaking again.”
He chuckles against the nape of my neck before pressing a kiss to the hinge of my jaw. “I like hearing you say that. I like knowing I’m doing a good job at taking care of you.”
“You are.” I’m borderline babbling now as my brain grows foggy since I’m approaching another orgasm. “You’re taking such good care of me, Harry.”
“If you knew how much I thought about having you like this these last couple of weeks…” He trails off, and I want to ask him to elaborate on that, but he continues to speak. “It’s better than I could’ve imagined.”
When he bites at the area where my neck meets my shoulder, it’s apparent that I can’t hold off any longer, and I give into euphoria once again. “I-I’m coming.”
Harry groans against my skin as my body trembles beneath him, and once I’m through my high, I can’t help but slump a little lower on the couch underneath us. I whimper when Harry pulls out of me again, but then I make out the sound of skin rubbing against slick skin. My eyes flutter open and I look over my shoulder to see him stroking himself over my back.
Licking over my bottom lip, I flip myself over between his legs and I pull against the back of his thighs to have him move up my body even more. I tilt my chin up and part my lips, and I watch as Harry’s jaw drops - as if he’s in a state of awe.
“Fuck me,” he moans as he rests the tip of his cock against my bottom lip, and he starts to finish inside of my mouth. “Oh, fuck. Frankie.”
He pumps himself a few more times before he collapses onto my body. He snakes his arms around my torso and I wrap my arms around his neck while running my fingers through the back of his hair.
“We really just did that, didn’t we?” Harry pants out after a minute of silence.
I giggle while tightening my hold on him just slightly. “Yeah, we did.”
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
It’s a few weeks after Harry and I started hooking up that I find myself breathless in his bed once again. Our chests heave, and I look over at him as he sends me a toothy grin. I close my eyes for just a few seconds before pushing myself up. I drape my legs over the side of the bed and reach down to grab my bra, fastening it in the front before pulling it around so I can put it on properly. As I’m pulling the straps over my shoulders, I feel Harry moving in the bed behind me, and I glance over to him again. He moves closer to me and presses a kiss to my shoulder blade.
“You know, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” he whispers against my skin. “You could stay.”
Since we started this whole thing, I usually leave his place within a half hour of us finishing up. Up until today, he hasn’t said anything about me staying the night, but I can't deny that it causes butterflies to stir up in my stomach.
“Are you sure?” I ask while my eyes trace over his face. “I don’t want to impose.”
Harry shakes his head. “You won’t be imposing. Not in the slightest. I want you to stay, Frankie, but only if you feel comfortable.”
Dragging my bottom lip between my teeth, I give a small nod before unhooking my bra and discarding it on the floor again. Once I’m back under the covers, Harry hooks his foot around one of my ankles to pull me closer so I’m against his chest, and he sponges his lips to my hairline.
“I’ve also had something that I wanted to ask you. I actually wanted to ask you this after the first time we slept together, but I was a little too nervous.” His fingertips continue to run up and down my back. “I’d really like to take you out on a date. I love what we’re doing, but I also want to treat you in other ways, not just this.”
I process his words for a moment before I rest my chin against one of his pecs so I can look up at him. “So, by going on a date, are you meaning…”
“That I want to continue to go on dates with you after too? Yes. I know it may feel a little sudden, but my feelings for you have completely overwhelmed me in the best way. I think we could really have something wonderful here, if we allow ourselves to give into it.”
“I think you’re right,” I whisper, and I push myself up to land a kiss on his mouth. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Harry.”
Harry’s cheeks round out as he smiles at me, and he leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Then it’s settled, Frankie girl, next week when you come over, we’re going out to dinner.”
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
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on the eve of y/n’s wedding, she searches for one last thrill before giving herself up to a life she never wanted ✶ knight!harry x princess!reader
wordcount: 10k
cw: age gap (though it’s not explored at all) but fmc is of age, virgin fmc/experienced mmc, fingering, pinv, unprotected sex, light choking, arranged marriage, implied breeding kink, tiny mentions of pregnancy, violence (brief fist fighting), soft angst, no happy ending
like the rest of the world, house of the dragon (and daemon targaryen) has me in a chokehold and i was listening to hozier this morning which sparked this idea. this is completely different to anything i’ve written before, and i can’t comment on the accuracy of anything going on here but i can promise a damn good time reading it
happy reading 🎀 please let me know what you think!!! love u
masterlist
The silk of your wedding gown hung from the wardrobe, catching the pale, mocking beams of the moon. In a few short hours, the sun would rise, and with it, your life would bleed away into the arms of Lord Graves.
The silence of the night was suffocating, heavy with the weight of the morning. Your night had been as restless as the hundreds that had proceeded it. Your feet were almost numb from the pacing, your thoughts blank as you tried to shut out any of sorrow. Unable to bear the sight of the white lace a minute longer, you threw a dark cloak over your shoulders and hurried toward the arched stone window. You swung one leg over the sill, your hands gripping the rough masonry as you prepared to drop to the ledge below. One night with the world at your fingertips. That was all you wanted. A first, and last, foray into a world unknown to you, so close and yet so far out of your reach. You needed to know what lay beyond a horizon entirely covered by a husband's shadow.
The heavy oak door swung open as you glanced around your chamber one last time, and Harry stepped into the room. He had been standing watch in the corridor, as he always did, and he must have known you were plotting an escape, as he always did. His dark eyes locked onto your silhouette, halfway out the window. He didn't rush forward, make any heavy handed attempt to stop you. He just folded his arms, a broad, leather-clad shadow in the moonlight, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
“Need I remind you that you’re supposed to be sleeping?”
You pulled your leg back inside but didn’t step away from the ledge. “Would you sleep if you knew the rising sun meant the end of your life?”
Harry closed the distance between you, his footsteps heavy in the quiet of the night. “I’ve ridden into battle many times, never knowing if I’ll walk away.”
A bitter, humourless laugh escaped your throat. “Your life has never been in any danger, Ser Harry. Don’t pretend our situations are the same.”
“Your life is not in danger, princess,” he countered smoothly, his tone irritatingly level. “Once you’re wed, you will be safer than ever before.”
You stepped off the window sill then, anger flaring hot in your chest, burning away the cold fear of the night. You edged closer to him, looking up into his face. “Tell me, knight, all you know of the safety of marriage. The safety of childbirth after childbirth, the dagger against my neck if no heir is produced. Tell me of the safety in a life of boredom, things I assume you know much about?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “I know of the bounty over both our heads if you do not wed the Lord.”
“You cannot answer my question,” you snarled.
“It is your duty to wed, princess, and you and I both know this,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, his words a reminder of the fate you were trying to outrun. “Did you ever think it would be different? Your father will strip you of your titles if you protest. He would sooner see my head on a spike than for this union to fall through.”
You stared at him, hurt and betrayal twisting tight in your gut. “You are selfish.”
“A fact we both know.”
“You will hand me to Lord Graves only to protect yourself.”
Harry stepped even closer, until he was looking down at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
“I held no power in this match,” he said softly, the iron returning to his voice, absolute and unyielding. “My duty is to protect you. Seeing you wed is protecting you.”
You looked at him, the desperation of a lifetime condensed into a single, breathless plea. “So come with me, as my protector. Just offer me this one last night of freedom.”
Harry stared down at you, his expression unreadable in the moonlight, though a shadow of weariness passed over his features. “You know nothing of freedom. Your life has only existed within the walls of this castle. When the sun rises, you will exist within the same walls, only within a different castle.”
“Then show me, knight,” you pleaded, your cloak brushing against his clothes. “Show me freedom, if only until tomorrow’s first light.”
For a moment, the only sound was the wind howling outside the stone window. Then with a slow, deliberate sigh laced with defeat, Harry reached for the buckles of his coat.
Piece by piece, he pulled away his outerwear, gentle as he laid it onto the heavy velvet of your armchair. Dressed in only a light tunic and dark leather breeches, he looked smaller, and yet somehow more imposing. He pulled a matching heavy wool cloak over his shoulders, flipping the hood up until his face was swallowed by shadow.
He didn't say a word as he led you down an unused servant’s staircase and out through a low side gate.
The stench of the lower town hit you instantly. Thick with the smell of woodsmoke, roasted meats, and stale ale. It could have been miles away from the sterile, clean scented halls of the castle. Under the clouds of midnight, the cobbled streets were teeming with the kind of people you had only ever looked upon from afar, merchants packing away carts, labourers drowning their days in taverns, and travelers whispering in alleyways. Wrapped in your cloak, you were one of them, if only in appearance.
Harry kept a steady pace, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours to navigate the press of the crowd, keeping you anchored. Eventually, he slowed his stride, looking down at you from beneath his hood.
"Where to?" he asked, his voice low, stripped of its formal stiffness. "What is it you'd like to do, princess?"
You looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by the infinite choices of a world without rules. The town was unfamiliar, the paths unmapped in your mind. The weight of your sudden autonomy paralysed you. "I don't know," you admitted, the confession tasting sad on your tongue. You’d longed for this for so many years, and yet had no idea what to do with your freedom. You looked up at him, trusting the shadow of his profile. "Continue as you usually would on a night like this. I will simply follow.”
You pulled your cloak tighter against the damp air as Harry led you deeper into the labyrinth of the lower town.
He steered you down a set of stone steps into a tavern. The air inside threatened to turn your stomach, thick with the scent of roasted mutton fat, ale, and the unwashed wool of dozens of labourers. It was loud, a chaotic roar of coarse laughter and slamming tankards that made your heart skip a beat.
Harry claimed a scarred wooden bench in the darkest corner, keeping his back to the wall. He ordered two tankards of dark ale without a word to you.
The heavy wooden tankards hit the table with a dull thud. You looked down at yours. The wood was dark, stained by decades of spilled spirits, and a thick, yellowish foam spilled over the brim.
"Don't look at it so closely," Harry murmured, his voice cutting through the din of a nearby table of card players. "Just drink. If anyone looks over here, they need to see a man and his companion sharing a quiet drink, not a lady examining the crockery."
You pulled your hood lower, your hands not quite steady as they tugged at the coarse fabric of your cloak. You knew what he said was true, but you couldn’t help the hesitation as you wrapped both hands around the rough handle of the tankard. The wood felt sticky, warm from the heat of the room, the bodies crammed inside. You lifted it to your lips and took a small sip.
The liquid was thick, bitter, and tasted unlike anything you’d tasted before. It burned the back of your throat, forcing a small gasp from your lips. Harry watched you, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remained vigilant, constantly scanning the room over your shoulder.
"Not quite the sweet wine of the high court," he remarked dryly, taking a deep swallow from his own tankard.
"No. It isn’t," you replied, coughing slightly to clear your throat. You took another, larger gulp, determined not to let him see you falter. This time, the warmth spread quickly down your chest, a welcome contrast to the damp chill of uncertainty that had settled into your bones.
The initial revulsion passed, replaced by the strange, intoxicating thrum of invisibility. A group of rough-faced dockworkers at the center table burst into a roaring song, banging their fists against the wood. A serving maid with a grease stained apron navigated the crowd, dodging loose hands with practiced ease. Nobody looked at you. In the shadows, you weren’t a princess, a piece on your father's chessboard, and yet you still had nothing in common with the bodies that surrounded you.
The illusion of safety shattered the moment you stepped back out into the cool night air.
Harry took a shortcut through a narrow, unlit alleyway to avoid the rowdy crowd spilling out of a neighbouring brothel. Halfway through the darkness, three figures stepped out from the shadows of a recessed doorway. One of them held a rusted hunting knife, another carrying an ancient looking axe. Their weapons glinted in the scarce moonlight, their faces mostly hidden by the shadows, but their delighted snarls clear. How fortunate for them, to have stumbled upon an easy mark, for they only saw two cloaked figures, one much smaller than the other.
They weren’t aware of Harry’s skill, or his experience. He was tall and broad even without the armour, but so many men were. And so many would do as they asked, hand over whatever goods they ordered, in favour of fleeing with their lives. They didn’t know that Harry would sooner die than see you injured.
"Hand over the coin purses," the one with the knife hissed.
You instinctively took a step back, your breath catching, but Harry didn't flinch. He moved with a frightening, fluid speed you had never seen in him. Before the man with the knife could even lunge, Harry closed the distance, catching the man's wrist and twisting until the bones cracked between his fingers.
The knife clattered to the stones at his feet, but the thief’s cry was cut short as Harry drove a heavy knee straight into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him and sending him onto the mud splattered cobblestones.
Harry didn’t stop there. He was already pivoting towards the man with the axe before the first thug had fallen. The second thief’s weapon came swinging in desperation, clumsy as it cut through the air, but Harry didn't try to block it. He stepped into the swing, letting the ancient blade graze the top of his shoulder. He jammed the heel of his palm upward into the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. His head snapped back, his eyes rolling upwards as his knees buckled instantly, the heavy axe clanging uselessly alongside the discarded knife.
The third attacker, who had been lingering in the back unarmed, froze. The entire exchange had taken seconds. His two companions were incapacitated on the ground, one groaning and clutching his shattered wrist, the other completely unconscious.
Harry stood between you and the remaining thief, his broad shoulders back, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. He didn't have a weapon to draw, didn't even need one. In the dim light, the cold calmness in his eyes far more terrifying than any blade could be.
The last thief swallowed hard, took one last look at Harry, and scrambled backward, tripping over his own boots before turning and sprinting back out into the main street.
The alley fell silent again, save for the distant, muffled noise of the tavern crowd and the heavy groans of the man at Harry's feet. He didn't bother looking down at them. He turned back to you, the intensity vanishing from his face, replaced by brows furrowed in concern. He reached out, his large hand surprisingly gentle as he checked over you.
"Are you harmed?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
You shook your head, still trying to process how quickly the danger had come and then gone. Harry offered a small nod, then reached down to retrieve the fallen hunting knife, tossing it down a nearby storm drain with a sharp clink. “Come," he muttered, guiding you by the shoulder. "Let's not wait around for their friends."
He led you quickly through the remaining maze of side streets, his eyes scanning every dark alcove. As you neared the edge of the settlement where the buildings thinned out, Harry suddenly paused outside the shuttered window of a quiet alehouse. A couple of crates sat on the cobbles, left out for the morning carters. On top of one sat a stray, clay bottle of mead, likely forgotten by a drunkard or a distracted tavern hand.
Without breaking stride, Harry hooked two fingers through the bottle’s ceramic loop, lifting it smoothly into the folds of his cloak. A faint smirk touched his lips. "A tax for our trouble," he murmured.
Leaving the dirt roads behind, he guided you up a winding, grassy path that cut through the foothills. The noise of the town began to muffle, swallowed by the damp night air, until the only sounds left were the rhythmic crunch of your boots and the chirp of insects in the brush.
At the crest of the hill, the world opened up beneath you. The dark silhouette of the castle loomed imposing and silent just a half mile away, its high stone walls catching the pale moonlight. Below you, the town looked small, its lanterns twinkling like dying embers. Up there, the wind was clean and cool, completely free of the crowded streets stench.
Harry found a flat, dry stretch of grass and gestured for you to take a seat before settling down heavily beside you. His long legs stretched out in front of him, and he popped the wooden cork out of the mead bottle with his teeth, spitting it into the grass. He wiped the rim with his sleeve and extended it to you first.
You took a sip, nerves still on fire, before turning to face, your mind whirring under the quiet of the stars. You let your eyes gaze over Harry as he sat unmoving, perfectly composed, as controlled as he always was.
“Why is it that I know nothing of your life?” You asked, your question cut through the stillness, your voice louder than you had intended.
He didn't turn to you immediately, his gaze remaining fixed on the dark horizon as he reached out to take the bottle from your hand. When he finally did look at you, his expression held nothing.
“Have you ever cared to find out?”
His words had no venom. They were spoken with a flat, empty calmness. The silence that followed was heavier than before. It pressed into the space between you both, forcing you to look at the years behind you. Years where he had anticipated your every need, shielded your vulnerabilities, and carried your secrets, while you had never once even paused to ask where he went when he was dismissed for the night.
You opened your mouth to offer a defence, but the excuse died on your tongue. The burn of alcohol in your throat felt bitter, an unearned comfort provided by hands whos history you had ignored.
“It’s easy to forget that you are more than your service to me.”
His lips curved into a mocking smile as a cloud rolled away from the moon, the pale light pulling his face out of the shadows. “And yet you call me selfish.”
"I grew up in a village three days ride north of here," Harry continued quietly, his gaze fixed on the stars. "My mother died when I was young, and my father was a blacksmith. I thought I'd spend my life hammering horseshoes. I never dreamed I’d succeed as a knight, let alone live to see the end of the training." He let out a soft, humourless laugh. “They take boys from the dirt and break them until there's nothing left but compliance and callouses. I watched stronger boys than me bleed out on the training grounds or break under the winter frost before we were even old enough to hold a real broadsword."
You looked away from him, your fingers tight as they grasped the fabric of your cloak. His words left a cold, hollow ache in your chest. You knew his life would not have been easy, but he carried it so close to his chest. Your misery seemed small in comparison, and yet it still clawed at the very fibres of your being.
The sky wasn't turning grey yet, but you could feel the morning crouching just beyond the hills, waiting to spring.
"Harry," you said, your voice barely louder than the wind rustling the pines below you.
He didn't reply, but he turned to you, leaning back on palms pressed into the dirt behind him.
You swallowed hard, the words tasting like ash against your tongue. “What am I to expect from bedding the Lord?”
Harry’s profile hardened in the moonlight. You wondered if you had crossed a line, if the rigid boundaries of knight and princess would snap back into place as fast as you had broken them down.
When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its steadiness. It was rougher, grounded in honesty.
"Lord Graves is a soldier's son, raised on duty and conquest," Harry said, his gaze remaining fixed on your face. "He will look at your marriage as a campaign to be won. Do not expect gentleness, princess. Men like him take what they believe is owed to them by right of law and blood."
You shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around your shoulders, though the chill was coming from inside of your body.
"But he is not a monster," Harry continued quietly, his features softening just slightly. "He is a man bound by the same cage you are. He needs an heir to secure his house, just as your father needs this alliance to secure his borders. It will be a transaction. Quick, most likely cold. But you will show him no fear. You must hold your ground as I know you can. You are far stronger than you think.”
You stared down at the distant, flickering torches of the town, his words settling over you. The cold of the earth seemed to seep right through your clothes, chilling you to the bone.
“It sounds as though I will never feel pleasure in the ways I’ve heard about,” you said, the confession slipping out quietly, a lament for a part of your life that was being given away before it could even begin.
Harry shifted beside you, sitting up fully to face you, honesty etched across his features. “Your union isn’t seated in love,” he replied, his voice flat, devoid of comfort but entirely earnest. “So few are.”
You turned your body then, looking at him fully, studying the sharp lines of his jaw and the shadow that hid his eyes. A sudden, daring curiosity sparked through your dread.
“You have never wed, Ser,” you whispered, a steely edge to your voice. “Yet something tells me that you have experienced that pleasure.”
He didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his calloused hands, flexing his fingers as if remembering the feel of something far away from the cold confines of the castle. The wind whipped a strand of hair across your face, but you didn't move your eyes from his profile.
“A man finds comfort where he can,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost swallowed by the valley breeze. “With people who expect nothing from you tomorrow, because neither of you is guaranteed to see it.”
“But that is not the pleasure you are mourning,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “You know little of what you speak of.”
“Do not mistake my lack of a ring for freedom,” he murmured, looking back out at the pale, bleeding edge of the sky. “We all serve someone. We all give up our bodies to a master. I give mine to your father’s wars. Tomorrow, you give yours to his peace.”
The distant torches flickered in the breeze like dying stars, while the town huddled in darkness, a vast world spread out beneath your feet. You could feel the minutes slipping away, courage rising in your chest as the morning drew ever closer. Turning your head away from the sprawling view, you fixed your eyes back on the dark profile of Harry’s face, the cold wind whipping around you.
“Your duty is to serve me, is it not?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper against the wind.
“It is,” Harry replied instantly, his gaze remaining fixed on you, though his posture stiffened.
“Your loyalty is to me?”
“It is.”
You shifted closer on the grass, the fabric of your heavy wool cloak brushing against his, swallowing the final inches of distance between you on the hilltop. “Then I order you to kiss me. Show me the passion you grant to those who will be gone in the morning light, seeing as I will wake in another’s body. Consider me a stranger, Ser.”
Harry’s entire body went rigid. The wind seemed to die in the trees below, leaving behind another suffocating silence. He didn't blink, didn't move away. He just stared at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the weight of your command hung between you.
"You play a perilous game, princess," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, rougher than you had ever heard it. He didn't move toward you, but the tension radiating from his frame bridged the inches between your bodies. "You command me as my sovereign, yet you ask me to treat you like a stranger. A common woman in a tavern. You cannot have both."
You didn't back down. You kept your chin tilted up, your eyes determined as they bore into his face. “I am bored of being told of things I cannot have.”
Slowly, Harry reached up. His calloused fingers, stained with the iron of his sword, brushed against the edge of your jaw. His touch was firm, almost bruising, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully. His eyes were dark, almost threatening in the way they searched your features.
"If I do this," he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth, "if I cross this line, there is no turning back. When the sun rises, it will rise with the images of tonight plaguing your mind. Can your pride bear that when you walk down the aisle?"
You stared at him, the desperation in your voice cutting through the damp air, leaving your heart bare between you.
“My pride will not be a part of me when I wed the Lord. I believe that after tonight, someone else entirely will inhabit my body.”
Harry’s hand tightened on your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against your skin, but his expression remained a mask of tortured restraint. “That is a poet's tragedy, princess, not an answer. You speak of tomorrow as a death, but you will still have to look me in the eye knowing that you have laid yourself before me.”
“Do I not deserve to feel passion, if only once?” you argued, moving into his touch, your breathing matching the ragged rhythm of his.
“You do not know yet what the Lord can give you,” Harry countered, his voice straining against its own bounds. “You may grow to love him, to feel the pleasure you seek.”
“But it isn’t sure,” you whispered, leaning into his space, your lips a breath away from his. “I may give myself to a life of emptiness.”
With a low, defeated growl, Harry closed the final fraction of an inch between you. He didn't kiss you with the gentle, reverent patience you expected from a knight doing an unfeeling favour for his princess. He kissed you exactly as you had commanded, like you were a stranger. His mouth was hard and hot, heavy with a pent up hunger.
His hands tangled themselves in the thick wool of your cloak, pulling you on top of his legs. Your knees fell either side of his hips, any other feeling ebbing away as he anchored you to him.
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, and the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, cutting through the chill of the night. It was a bruising collision of teeth and breath, tasting faintly of dark ale and the wild, open air. Your hands found the edges of his cloak, gripping the fabric tightly as his fingers pushed into the underneath of your hair, tilting your head upwards, giving him more space to slip his tongue between your lips.
You traced it with yours, curious and hesitant as you took whatever Harry would give you, copying his movements whenever he relented for a moment. You were dizzy, lost in the crushing grip of his arm around you, the rough friction of his calloused hands against the nape of your neck, intoxicated by the grip of a passion you never truly expected to feel.
Your cloaks had both been pushed off at one point, though you had no idea when. The soft linen of your chemise did little to hide your body from Harry, and his giant hand was tight against the curve of your waist, his heat searing through the thin layer of fabric.
His tunic hung open, the collar pulled towards one shoulder by the hold you had on the back of it, his chest heaving as his lips moved across your jaw, tracing a trail of fire down the column of your neck.
He pressed impossibly closer as a ragged breath escaped you, his calloused hand tracing the shape of your ass, fingers splayed across the curve.
And then it all stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Harry’s hands wrapped around your shoulders, pushing you away slightly as he stiffened, his lips pulling back from the gentle skin of your neck.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting in the quiet air, his hands still trembling slightly where they gripped you, your fingers still clutching at his tunic.
You looked up at him, the moonlight catching the sharp, tense lines of his face. He was a masterpiece, in a way you’d never noticed before. You should have heeded his warnings. A single kiss had not been enough, it had only lit a fire within you that would never be put out.
A panic coiled itself around your ribs, your heart hammering. You were overcome with a sudden, violent grief for the person you had been before your brush with freedom. You had spent the weeks leading up to tonight dreading what the morning would bring, but there, with the heat of Harry’s body still warming you, the taste of him still fresh on your tongue, you couldn’t breathe. You were in half a mind to ask him to fetch his sword, to end your life in one brutal blow just so that you never had to know what it felt like to try and go on, knowing the blazing fire of passion and yet never being free to feel it again.
He stared down at you, dark eyes simmering somewhere between fire and ice, passion and longing mixed with the weight of what you had made him do. You couldn’t take it. Your body felt much too fragile for the depths of your need, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Take me to my chamber,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands.
“Princess,” Harry murmured, a final, desperate plea for sanity in his tone.
“I know what I am asking of you, and I pray you will forgive me for it,” you continued, reaching up to brush a loose hair from his face. “But if the Gods are watching, they are already displeased. If punishment will come, it is better to feel that it is truly deserved, is it not?”
Harry stayed silent. His jaw was clenched tightly, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his eyes burning into yours, clouded in agony.
“If I am to mourn a life that was never mine, I will only get by with the memories of what you have given me tonight,” you pressed on, refusing to let the cold reality reclaim you just yet.
“You shouldn’t have to bear the image of another as you bed your husband,” he said, the words sounding heavy, like a sentence he was passing onto himself.
“I shouldn’t, and yet I will.”
Harry let out a ragged, defeated breath, looking up at the moon. “My oath is already broken. Punishment will seek me, as it often does.”
“Who will tell?” you countered, a fierce defiance rising within you. “Will you speak with my father in the morning, share with him that you defiled his daughter on the eve of her marriage? Do you expect me to share with the Lord that his bride is sullied?”
“We cannot count on the prayers that we haven’t been recognised tonight,” he reminded you grimly, though his gaze drifted down to your lips.
“So take me to my chamber, my Lord. There we will find no prying eyes.”
He looked at you for a long, breathless moment, his final defences crumbling to dust. “You are certain of what you ask of me?”
You nodded, your fingers steady as your thumb brushed across his cheek, tracing an old scar that wrapped around his jawline.
“I am certain.”
He wrapped his arms around you with a fierce tenderness, lifting you with him as he stood, placing you gently back on the grass. He reached for your fallen cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders, his fingers steady as he tied the leather laces at your collar. Before pulling the heavy hood up over your hair, he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
Harry pulled his own cloak on, snapping the hood up to hide his face in shadow. He paused then, giving you one last look in the moonlight, his dark eyes searching yours as if asking one final time if you had changed your mind. You hadn't. Your jaw remained set, your gaze unwavering.
Accepting your silent resolve, he took your hand in a grip that was tight enough to bruise the flesh, leading you back down the steep slope of the hill. The town below was nearly empty. The few still awake were either deep into their tankards inside the smoky taverns or long home and in bed, but Harry took no chances. He kept his large body positioned between you and the few stragglers who stumbled through the streets, his eyes constantly scanning the dark, careful not to lead you into danger again.
He pulled you along with a reckless speed, your legs barely keeping up with his long strides, only letting go of your hand when you reached the servant's gate at the base of the castle wall.
He paused, his eyes scanning the battlements above you, but the castle was still quiet. The guard shift wouldn't change for another hour. Slipping through the gate, he pulled you in front of him as you reached the bottom of the winding stone stairwell, letting you go ahead into the dark. As you neared the top, he moved close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured for you to check the hallway before stepping out.
You peered around the stone archway, heart pounding, but it was completely silent. No one ever came to this part of the castle at night, save for you and Harry. The torches were burning low as you crept along the corridor, casting long, flickering shadows across either wall.
Harry pushed open the heavy oak door of your room, stepping aside for you to enter first, then followed you closely into the dim, familiar space, the latch clicking shut as he closed the door.
You pulled off your cloak with shaking hands. Whether it was from fear or how badly you wanted this, you couldn’t tell. Harry turned away from you, his shoulders tense as he went to throw his heavy cloak over the armchair, still holding the outerwear he’d stripped out of before you left.
While his back was turned, you were struck with a fresh wave of courage. You didn’t have the time to hesitate, to wonder if you were making the right decision. You wanted him, you were sure of it. Your heart was flint and tinder, and Harry had struck it with his steel. You were burning from the inside out, thoughts hazy under the smoke of your desire. He had awoken something inside you that could not, and would not, ever leave you.
You grabbed the hem of your linen chemise with trembling fingers and pulled it over your head in a clumsy motion, letting the fabric fall from your hands onto the stone under your feet. You had to commit, and you could not go back once you had bared yourself to him.
Harry turned back around to face you, the room completely still as you stood bare before him.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his hands half raised as if he were still trying to smooth out his discarded cloak. In the dim, silver moonlight slicing through your window, his eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the curve of your waist, down to the fabric pooled by your feet.
"Princess," he breathed, desperation lacing the word. He tore his eyes away, forcing his gaze upward to the stone ceiling, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained. "It’s not too late to change your mind."
"You are trying your hardest to resist me," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the pulse roaring in your ears. You took a slow step forward, the cold biting at the soles of your bare feet. "And yet I stand bare before you, clearly having decided my fate."
A low, tortured sound escaped his throat. When he looked back down at you, the conflict in his eyes was almost frightening.
"You think you are breaking your chains," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register. He took a single, slow step toward you, almost the distance. "But you are only forging new ones for me. If I touch you like this, I will never be able to stand at the back of your court and watch his hands on you."
"Then don't watch," you whispered, reaching out to close the remaining space.
Your bare hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart. Beneath the thin linen of his tunic, it was thumping wildly, like a trapped bird desperately flapping its wings. Harry closed his eyes at the touch of your skin, his chest heaving as his hands came up, hovering just an inch away from your bare hips, trembling with the effort to restrain himself.
"Gods forgive me," he muttered.
His hands clamped down on your waist, his palms scorching against your bare skin. He pulled you flush against him, the rough linen of his shirt scraping beautifully against the sensitive peaks of your breasts as his mouth crashed down onto yours. He lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you both backward toward the heavy velvet hangings of your bed, his mouth never leaving your lips.
You stayed like that for a moment, the kiss less terrifying now that you had some grasp on what you ought to do, before Harry laid you atop the sheets. But instead of climbing over you as you’d expected, he stayed standing at the foot of your bed. He didn't move an inch. His dark eyes moved over every inch of your body, tracing your skin from your ankles, up the curve of your thighs, to your waist, and up to the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Up and down, up and down, over and over again, his gaze so intense and unblinking that the scrutiny began to feel torturous, sending a painful ache coiling through your lower stomach.
Only when your fingers curled into the blankets did he finally move. Harry reached down to pull his tunic over his head in one fluid, impatient motion, throwing it blindly to the floor and leaving only his dark breeches on.
The mattress shifted under his weight as he got onto the bed, his calloused hands on your body as he climbed over you. His fingers found your ankles first, and then they began to roam, sliding up your calves, tracing the backs of your thighs, and smoothing over your hips. He moved slow, as if he were memorising the shape of you, determined not to leave a single part of your body untouched.
"Not one word of this to anyone," he breathed, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rasp as his attention shifted toward your chest, his large hand dwarfing you as it cupped the curve of your breast.
All you could do was nod, your throat tight, suffocated by the fear that nothing coherent would come out if you parted your lips to speak.
Satisfied by your silent compliance, his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck again. His mouth was hungry, rough with pent up passion, yet he was careful, his teeth tracing your pulse point but never biting hard enough to leave a mark that would betray you both.
His fingers on the other hand, you were sure would leave bruises. He seemed to forget his own strength at the best of times, but his touch was firm, so firm as he groped at your breast.
Suddenly, he stilled. He pulled back from your neck, just enough to look you directly in the eye, his breathing ragged, heat simmering in his blown out pupils.
"You have to tell me," he commanded, his hand sliding up to frame your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek. "If it's too much, you must tell me."
You nodded again, a fierce certainty overtaking the panic in your chest, before leaning up and catching his lips in a deep, all consuming kiss.
Harry pulled back after a moment, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. One hand wedged itself between your thighs, coaxing them open for him. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb past your lips, wetting it with your spit before moving down the bed, seating himself between your legs.
A hint of amazement was etched into his features as he stared down at you, his lips slightly parted, watching your expression as he ran his thumb lightly over your clit.
Your hips jerked upwards, your body betraying your confident mask, and you felt your cheeks redden instantly. How silly and immature you must look to someone as experienced as him, unable to keep a hold of yourself after just one touch.
But he chuckled, a low, rumbling vibration against your thighs, clearly pleased in some way by your reaction.
Harry placed a firm hand on your stomach, holding you in place, before running his thumb over you again, his lips spreading into a grin as you body reacted exactly the same way, only slightly held back by his firm touch.
"You are magnificent, princess," he murmured, his voice thicker than before. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours so you had no choice but to drown in the heat of his gaze. "I’ve spent years watching men boast of their conquests, but I would wager that not one of them ever looked at a woman the way I am looking at you right now.”
As if to prove his words, he shifted his weight, removing his hand from your stomach and sliding it beneath your lower back, tilting your hips up to meet his touch more fully. He ran his fingertip through your slit, collecting your slick, eyes locked onto your face as he pushed his finger inside you. Slow and careful as your brows knitted together, your mouth falling open. Your sharp, breathless gasp cut through the quiet when he curled and twisted his finger, just once. Your hands flew up, nails digging into the muscle of his bare shoulders as the heat inside you began to feel unbearable.
He stilled for a moment, waiting for the tension in your features to relax slightly, before pulling his digit from you, then pushing it back in, picking up the pace as the hint of a smile grew on your lips, your eyes screwing shut.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, his own breathing fractured as he traced the inside of you with a precision that showed how many times he had done this before. “Don't hide your face. I want to see exactly what I am doing to you."
You forced your eyes open, blinking through a haze of sudden, overwhelming sensation. Harry’s grin had faded, replaced by a expression of pure concentration. His eyes flitted between your face, and his hand between your legs. Every tiny shudder of your frame, every catch in your throat, was reflected in the tightening of his jaw. He looked as completely undone as you felt.
He slid another finger inside, then another, the fullness stretching you open and drawing a sharp, high pitched whimper from your lips. Your hips rolled upward against his hand entirely on instinct, desperate for the pressure, your fingers clawing at his skin as the friction began to burn.
"Harry," you breathed, his name a broken plea.
"I have you," he rasped, his thumb slurring over your dripping centre in perfect rhythm with the deep, steady movements of his fingers. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath branding your skin as his pace quickened.
The heat inside you coiled tighter and tighter until it became an unbearable, unrelenting ache. You looked at him through a blurred gaze, seeing the way his teeth were gritted, his brow furrowed in what looked almost like pain. He was hanging onto his control by a single thread, driven mad by the tight, slick heat of you wrapping around his hand.
Then, his thumb pressed hard against your clit while his fingers hooked deep inside you, and your vision went dark around the edges, a pleasure and a pain so intense and so unlike anything you had ever felt before.
A violent wave of pleasure crashed over you, so pure and intense that your back arched completely off the mattress. You could feel your muscles clenching around him in tight, frantic pulses. You cried out, the sound muffled against his bare shoulder as you thrashed beneath him, completely unravelled by the rush of the release.
Harry let out a ragged groan as he felt you break, the tight clamping of your walls nearly driving him over the edge right then. He pulled his hand away, slick and glistening in the silver moonlight, pushing his fingers past his lips, collecting your juices on his tongue before instantly reaching for the fastening of his breeches. His breathing was entirely ruined, his chest heaving as he pushed the fabric down and hovered over you, the hot, heavy tip of his length leaking as it pressed against the throbbing pulse of your cunt.
Harry sank the tip of his cock into you, drawing a long, trembling cry from somewhere deep in your chest, your knuckles white as you gripped the blanket. He stilled, giving you time to adjust to the stretch of him, reaching up to pin your wrists to the bed, locking his fingers with yours. His eyes were hard and yet fiercely tender as he stared down at you, a low, pained groan escaping his throat.
"If we had forever," Harry rasped, "I would take my time. I would spend hours letting you get used to me. But we only have tonight."
He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscle jumped beneath his skin. His fingers tightened around yours, anchoring you to the mattress.
"I am going to ruin you for him, princess," he whispered, a fierce, possessive heat at the edges of his words. "You are going to wake up tomorrow sore and completely exhausted, and every single ache in your body is going to remind you of me. Tell me to stop now, or I swear to the gods I will not leave a single part of you unbroken."
Your response was a desperate arch of your hips against his, silently begging him for all he had to give.
With a low, animalistic growl, Harry began to move. As if he couldn’t hold himself back a second longer, he sank into you in one deep push, burying himself to the hilt.
Your legs tried to close around his body as the pain tore through you, his fingers having done nothing to prepare you for the size of his cock. Tears pricked at your eyes, your hands straining at their restraints.
He pressed a kiss to your cheek, his voice soft and laced with regret as he whispered apologies against your skin.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Is it too much?”
You shook your head, the searing pain in your core slowly giving way to something much more tolerable as your body reluctantly yielded to his size. The burning dulled into a deep, stretching ache that throbbed in perfect sync with the frantic hammering of your heart.
Harry let out a ragged breath against your temple, his forehead resting against yours as he stayed perfectly still inside you. He granted you every second you needed to adjust, though the violent trembling in his biceps showed exactly how much it cost him to hold back.
"Keep looking at me," he ordered, his voice thick and strained.
When you blinked away the tears, you found his dark eyes searching yours for any lingering trace of pain. "Tell me you're not hurt. I need to hear it."
"I can take it," you breathed, the words a little choked, but the desperate tilt of your pelvis up into his heavy warmth proved it. You untangled your fingers from his grip, reaching up instead to wrap your arms securely around his neck, pulling him down closer. "I don’t want to stop."
A twisted sound escaped his throat at your compliance, not unlike the wolves that howled in the distance.
He began to move again, pulling back slowly before driving deep into you once more, establishing a hard, relentless rhythm that threatened to make the heavy bed frame groan against the floor. Every thrust was deep, and punishingly thorough. He was a man possessed, his calloused hands sliding down to anchor your hips against him, guiding your body to meet his brutal, beautiful pace.
The heat inside the room grew stifling, the quiet of the night entirely swallowed by the slick sounds of skin against skin and the pained, needy cries escaping your parted lips. You were entirely undone beneath him, your mind fixed only on the absolute fullness of him breaking you apart, and the terrifying certainty that he was marking your body in ways that would never truly heal.
He kept his large hand splayed wide across the high curve of your hip, the weight of his palm anchoring you firmly against his rhythm, while his other hand roamed back up the flushed, sweat-slicked skin of your stomach and chest. It came to rest at the base of your throat, his long fingers stretching wide to squeeze lightly around your neck.
“You are a goddess,” he murmured against your skin, the words muffled and dark as he leaned down to take the aching peak of your breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled over your nipple with a slow, tormenting heat, tugging gently until the sensation set you completely alight, electricity sparking at the point of contact, shockwaves rippling through your core.
“You should not speak the Gods names in vain,” you breathed. The voice that came out of you sounded faint and distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. The thick haze of pleasure was clouding your mind, heavy and sweet, making the solid stone walls of your bedchamber feel like they were dissolving into the dark.
Harry paused for a single fraction of a second, his finger tightening just a fraction against your throat, his blown out eyes lifting to lock onto yours with a pure devotion that made your heart feel as though it had fallen off its perch.
“They could strike me down right now and I would not complain,” he whispered, his voice a rough rasp. He drove into you again, a deep, bruising stroke that filled you to your absolute limits and drew a broken whimper from your lips. “What more could there be in life than this?”
The question hung in the air between you, answered only by the frantic slapping sound of your bodies colliding. Harry’s pace turned fierce, every thrust growing deeper, harder, his gritted teeth catching the silver moonlight as his head tilted back, a low growl tearing from his chest with every punishing drive.
You were entirely blind to the rest of the world, anything but him in total darkness, your hands clawing wildly at the muscles of his back, your legs locked high around his waist to pull him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you. The coiling heat inside your stomach tangled into a violent knot. With a shattered cry of his name, your body fractured, your muscles clamping down around him.
That tight, pulsing squeeze was the final blow. Harry let out a ragged, strangled noise, and drove into you one last time. His body stiffening, his hand clamping tight around your throat, every muscle in his back locking like iron as he came inside you, a hot, heavy release that seemed to shudder through his entire frame. He collapsed over you, his chest heaving not unlike a dying man's, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck as he held you so tight it stole the air from your lungs.
But he didn't pull away. Even as the wild adrenaline began to cool and the heavy, aching reality settled back over your skin, Harry remained buried completely inside you. His weight comforting and solid, the pressure of his body against your front, his length still thick and nestled deep in your slick.
Minutes bled into the dark, and still, he didn't move. He simply shifted his arms, wrapping them securely around your waist to pull you flush against him, closing his eyes as if he could freeze time by sheer force of will. He savoured the heavy, melting sensation of being joined to you, feeling the faint, fading aftershocks of your pleasure pulsing gently around him.
"Harry," you whispered into the quiet, your voice small, your fingers idly tracing the line of his spine.
"Just a moment more," he rasped into your skin, his voice thick with a profound, aching sorrow. He nudged his face closer into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin, his fingers tightening against your hip. "Let me have just a moment more of pretending you belong to me."
When he finally pulled out, the sudden absence of his heat left a cold, hollow frost over your body. But he didn’t move away. He shifted his heavy frame onto the mattress beside you, his breathing slowly calming from ragged gasps into deep, steadier breaths.
For a few quiet moments, the space between you felt vast, as if the spell of it all had broken the second your bodies parted.
Until Harry reached out. His large, rough hand slid gently beneath your neck, lifting you slightly so he could tuck you into the warm curve of his chest. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers splaying flat against your lower back, pulling you in until your thighs tangled together and your forehead rested right against the hollow of his collarbone.
It was a quiet and unhurried, even with the threat of dawn just behind the clouds. It felt entirely more intimate than anything that had proceeded it.
He had been a man possessed, driven by a desperate need. But his movements then were tender and soft. You could hear the slow, rhythmic thudding of his heart right against your ear.
His thumb began to trace slow, soothing circles into the bare skin of your lower back, a gentle, repetitive motion that seemed designed to soothe the lingering tremors in your muscles. Every now and then, he would lean his head down just an inch, his lips brushing softly against the crown of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as if he were trying to anchor it deep into his memories.
You let your hand rest against his ribs, feeling the smooth rise and fall of his chest, craning your neck slightly to see his face, the reality of what you had done beginning to take shape.
"How can you know that I won’t be with child?" you whispered suddenly, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the silence.
Harry let out a low, wry laugh. "There is no way I can assure you of that, my sweet girl. Only time will tell."
“But the Lord-"
"The Lord would never know the babe wasn’t his," Harry interrupted, his voice rough and low. His arm tightened around your waist, his palm pressing flat against your stomach. "Only you and I would know that the swell of your body was holding our secret."
You watched the steady, unblinking focus in his eyes. "You’d like that?"
A dark, primitive spark flickered in his gaze. "If I wasn’t pleased by the idea of sowing my seed so deeply inside of you that it grew into a babe, I would not be a man."
You didn't reply. The sheer gravity of what he was admitting, the danger of the thrill, left you entirely speechless. You simply stared at him, your breath hitching in your throat.
Harry studied your silence, his thumb tracing a slow line over your cheekbone. "Does that frighten you?"
"I don’t believe you know what you’re saying," you whispered, shifting slightly against his chest.
"Have you ever known me to speak words I don’t mean?" he countered.
"No, my Lord."
"Then trust that I know what I’m saying."
After that, Harry’s breathing finally shifted into the heavy, rhythmic cadence of sleep. Even then, his body refused to fully let you go. His large arm remained draped securely over your waist, the heavy warmth of his palm anchoring you to his side as if he could keep the morning at bay by sheer force of will.
You stared at the dark canopy above you, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat against your shoulder. As desperately as you wanted to sink into sleep, to bury yourself in the rare, fragile tenderness of his embrace, that old, suffocating weight began to press down on your chest.
The night was an island. Tomorrow, when the castle woke, the wedding preparations would be finalised, the white silk gown would be laced up your spine, and you would be handed over to a Lord whos touch would hold none of the tenderness Harry had offered you. The future stretched out before you, bleak and devoid of the very warmth you were currently wrapped in. Remaining in his arms felt less like a comfort and more like a mocking rehearsal for a life that would never be yours. The walls of the bedchamber suddenly felt too close, the heavy velvet blankets too hot. You were suffocating underneath it all.
Carefully, breath by breath, you began to pull yourself out from Harry’s grip. You lifted his heavy forearm with trembling hands, easing out from beneath his weight so slowly that he merely murmured something incoherent in his sleep, his fingers twitching against the mattress as he rolled onto his side, searching for the lost warmth of you.
Shivering against the sudden chill of the room, you swung your legs over the side of the mattress. As your feet touched the cold stone of the floor, a sharp, deep ache flared through your stomach and thighs. Your body was sore, so sore, bruised and tender, a physical manifestation of the promise he had made to ruin you.
You drew a thin, discarded linen sheet around your bare shoulders, walking with stiff, careful steps to the heavy stone alcove of the window.
Sinking onto the wooden bench, you rested your chin against your knees and stared out into the darkness. The town below was still completely dead, wrapped in the thick, grey mist that rolled off the river before dawn. You sat perfectly still, watching the shadows slowly shift, the physical ache in your core acting as a constant reminder of what you had done. It would hurt so much more to let go of passion now that you had experienced it, more than you ever expected it to. The idea of never feeling the unbridled throes of pleasure had threatened to destroy you in the weeks leading up to that night, but you hadn’t realised how much harder it would be to leave it behind once you knew of the thrill.
You watched the horizon for hours, your mind completely blank yet entirely overwhelmed, until the very first, pale grey rays of the sun began to bleed through the mist, catching the tops of the trees below.
Behind you, the mattress shifted heavily. The low rustle of sheets broke the quiet, followed by the sound of a sharp, sudden intake of breath as Harry’s eyes opened to an empty bed that wasn’t his own.
"I cannot be found here," Harry murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp.
His steps were heavy as he crossed the floor. You didn't turn around, but you could hear the rushed, clumsy sounds of him dressing in the shadows, the slide of linen, the heavy pull of leather.
You knew it couldn’t last, that you only had until the sunrise, but you still couldn’t bear to watch Harry leave. To watch him to carry your heart and your virtue with him as he stole away before anyone realised where he had spent the night. You were foolish in brushing off his warnings, in insisting that you could handle having him in the corner of your eye, just out of reach, for however long he stayed at your side.
It wasn’t until he finally approached the window alcove, bringing a gentle breeze with him, that you felt the wetness coating your cheeks. You hadn’t realised you were crying.
Dropping his boots, Harry knelt at your feet. He reached up, his rough hands framing your face with a desperate, crushing gentleness, forcing your eyes away from the dawn breaking outside. When you looked down at him, his own eyes were dark, shadowed with an exhaustion that had little to do with his lack of sleep.
"I don't want to ever let go of what you have given me," you whispered.
"You must, sweet girl," he muttered, his thumbs coming up to wipe the tears from your cheekbones.
"Take me as your wife," you begged suddenly, the words tumbling out of you recklessly. "Run with me. We have time to leave before the castle wakes."
"You know that I can't," he replied softly, his jaw clenching. The kingdom, your family, his own sacred vows. The cage around you both was too strong, too suffocating, and both of you knew it.
“My heart will never be his.”
“It was never his to take,” Harry whispered, pushing a stray hair from your face. “It is mine, as is the entirety of you.”
You wanted him to kiss you. You felt entirely raw, empty and hollowed out from the inside. You had tried so hard to fight off the dread that had washed over you the moment he fell asleep, but it had consumed you anyway. The fire he had set aflame within you had burned itself out, leaving nothing but cold ashes and an emptiness behind. You needed him to spark it back to life, as much as you thought it could physically pain you to feel his mouth on yours for the final time.
And when his lips finally met yours, it did nothing to soothe the ache set deep in your bones.
His kiss wasn't anything like it had been in the dark. He was devastatingly soft, and kind. The weight of the pity he must have felt for you bled entirely into his movements. The eagerness of a lover’s touch had been replaced with a bleak, heartbreaking goodbye.
He pulled back, searching your empty eyes for a fraction of a second, and then he kissed you again. One final, lingering time, his lips pressing against yours with the quiet solemnity of a prayer.
Then without another word, he stepped back into the shadows of the room, pausing by the door to slip on and lace his boots. The clock across the room ticked loudly in the silence, a sharp death knell announcing the end. When the last buckle was fastened, he turned toward the heavy oak door.
"Harry," you called, the sound fractured and desperate as you turned to face him.
He paused, his hand gripping the iron latch of the door. His shoulders tensed beneath the weight of his leather coat, but he didn't turn back. The door opened and shut, taking him with it, leaving you entirely alone in the pale, unforgiving light of the dawn.
hope u enjoyed!!!!! please please please let me know what you think, and interact with this post if you’d like to join my taglist!!!! i have more ideas for this pairing and i will write them if even one person asks me to
omfg anya is pissing me off if you wanted to still be with him shouldn't have cheated on him with his friend smh stop trying to get in the way of his healing but its nice to see that its starting to coming back to him in pieces,although thats its own kind of torture because he's so close to remembering something but can't quite get there sigh.
She’s the absolute worst and, honestly, it’s really hard to write her lmao. But yes! Little pieces are breaking through, so hopefully that means progress 😏 I can promise the next chapter is going to be much lighter and pretty fun 🤸🏻♀️
Do you know how many parts Oblivion will have? I would really, really love to read it but sadly, I can’t handle unresolved angst at the moment.. So I’ll have to wait till all the parts are released.
Hi, friend! As of right now, I have it being eight chapters total. ❤️
Laying on a light green couch with my eyes on the ceiling, and my fingers laced together over my stomach, I see the neuropsychiatrist settling himself in the seat across from the couch out of my periphery. I can hear him shuffling some papers as well before he lets out a breath. We’ve already talked about what my goals are for these visits, what this journey could look like and the importance of relaxing as much as possible when I’m in this room.
“So, Harry, we’re going to try a few different exercises today. As I told you just a few minutes ago, we don’t want to force any of this. If you feel like you’re pushing yourself too hard, you tell me. The last thing we want to do is take progress away,” Dr. Wells states. “For now, I want you to close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths.”
“Okay.” I swallow harshly before letting my lids slip shut.
For a few seconds, I pull in deep breaths through my nose and let them out through my mouth. I’m grateful he had me do this, considering I managed to work myself up on the drive over here. I could tell Anya was trying to distract me once she noticed how quiet I had become, but it didn’t really help. I’ve been nervous about this first appointment since I made it. I have this fear that if I don’t end up having any improvement with my memories by doing this, I’ll feel as if I failed myself. There’s nothing I want more than to remember who I’ve become over the last two years that are currently missing.
“Very good. Now, keep your eyes closed. Have you experienced any inklings of you remembering anything? Even if it didn’t make sense to you, or something felt off, have you had any indication that a memory, or memories, were trying to break through?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. I’ve been trying to be hyperaware of everything, but I can’t recall feeling like something was attempting to come to the surface.” I shake my head.
“That’s not uncommon in these situations, so don’t feel like your progress is stunted by that.” I can make out the sound of his pen gliding across paper. “I’m sure you’ve had some people fill you in about the night of your incident. Tap into that for me. What were you told?”
“I was told that I was out with my girlfriend, Anya, and our friends Frankie and Peyton. Anya went to the bathroom while Peyton settled our tab, and Frankie and I stepped outside to wait for our Ubers. A guy tried snatching Frankie’s purse, and I fought him on it. He grabbed me and threw me into a brick wall.” The words feel heavy on my tongue.
“All right. I want you to try to picture the place Frankie told you that you were with all of them. It’s somewhere you all used to frequent, right?”
“Yeah, a bar that we tend to go to every week after having dinner together,” I tell him.
“Okay, so try and picture yourself there with the three of them. Nothing more than that.”
I think back to all the memories I have at that bar, and I picture Anya, Frankie, Peyton and myself there. As the environment of the bar, and the four of us, come into my mind, I feel my brows narrow when I’m unable to make Peyton and Anya out clearly. Frankie is the only one who remains in focus, but then the location of where we are changes. I no longer even see the silhouettes of Peyton and Anya, but Frankie stays. She’s drinking a martini with a big smile on her face, and she’s clearly laughing at something that was said.
“Are you seeing your friends and your girlfriend right now?” Dr. Wells asks me.
Pursing my lips, I squeeze my fingers together even harder. “No, I can only see Frankie. Peyton and Anya aren’t there, and…we’re not at the bar either. I don’t have any idea where we are.”
The sound of him writing something down fills the space again.
Just as the memory starts to take even more shape, it completely vanishes.
“Shit,” I whisper before I clear my throat. “Sorry, I just…it’s gone. The memory is gone.”
“That’s okay. It happens. Don’t get frustrated over it. Embrace what you did see. Was what you saw with Frankie something new for you? It’s not stemming from something that you already remember?”
“It’s new. Like I said, I don’t know where we were, and I’ve never had drinks with just Frankie and I. Is there a chance Anya and Peyton were there, but I was only getting part of the memory?” I blink my eyes open and look over at Dr. Wells.
“That could be the case. Unfortunately, I can’t be certain. Since you did remember part on your own, I don’t think it would be harmful to have someone give you more clarification on it.” He nods while glancing at the clock and then looking back at me. “It would probably be best for you to keep a journal with any memories that may come or go during your recovery. We can review them together at your visits, and we can try to build off of them.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I agree as I sit up since I know we’re close to the end of my appointment. “Any help or pointers you can give me, I’ll take.”
Dr. Wells sends me a smile as he closes up the folder he was writing in. “This was a good first visit, Harry. Some of my patients don’t even get what you did during their first session. I’ll see you again in two weeks, and make sure you bring that journal with you when you come.”
We both stand up, and I shake Dr. Wells’ hand before heading out to the receptionist desk where I schedule my next appointment. Once I step back into the waiting room, Anya looks up from her phone and sends me a soft smile. She’s quick to get up and walk over to me, taking my hand as we head out of the medical building and into the parking lot.
Although I’ve been cleared to drive, I haven’t really wanted to. It’s not that I think anything would happen, but I also don’t want to chance it. The last thing I need is to rattle my brain even more.
Once Anya and I are in the car, and she pulls out onto the road, I can see her glancing over at me every few minutes since I haven’t talked at all.
“Was…was it a lot?” She asks, and I can sense in her voice that she’s not sure if she’s asking the right question. She’s probably not sure which questions she is allowed to ask during this process.
“More so confusing than anything,” I sigh as I stare out the window. “The night of the incident, did Frankie and I have to wait for you and Peyton to meet up with us? And were we really at our usual spot?”
I watch as Anya’s brows narrow, and once she comes to a red light, she turns to face me a bit more. “We were all there together, Harry. The whole night. They showed up together. We showed up together. Same as always at the same spot.”
Speaking of Frankie, I’m not sure what came over at me when we were all at dinner recently. When she started talking about how passionate she was about her job as a social worker, I felt this tug towards her that I never have before. And when she went silent for the remainder of the dinner, I couldn’t leave without checking on her and making sure she was okay.
A sensation in the back of my head zaps to the front, and I groan as the pain puts pressure against my forehead. I lift my palm to press against it while giving a little shake of my head. These little pains have been coming here and there, but I was told that small ‘brain pains’ were normal within the first few months of recovery.
“I was just confused about a memory that was starting to form during my session, that’s all. It probably wasn’t anything. I’m sure a lot of wires are still getting crossed in here.” I tap my fingertips against my forehead a couple more times to soothe the ache before dropping my hand back into my lap.
“It’s your first session. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Anya reaches across at the light turns green, and she takes my hand in hers. She rubs the pad of her thumb over the back of my hand. “What do you want me to make for lunch?”
Anya had taken the day off work so she was able to be with me, and I’m more than grateful for that. I couldn’t imagine how much more nervous I would’ve been had I been facing this all by myself.
“Something simple. Whatever you’re in the mood for. You know I’m not picky.”
We carry on in simple conversation until we’re back at the apartment, and once we step inside, I slouch onto the couch while exhaling a heavy breath after I take my shoes off. Anya slips out of her shoes as well before standing between my legs. I stare up at her as she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and then she climbs up in my lap, straddling my thighs.
“Anya.” My tone has a bit of warning to it as I grip her hips to keep her stationary.
Since I’ve been home, the farthest Anya and I have gone has been a couple of make out sessions, other than that, it’s just soft kisses here and there throughout the day. I’m sure this is a change to our usual routine, which I can only imagine is difficult for her, but to be completely honest, sex has been the last thing on my mind during my recovery.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers as she trails her palms over my shoulders and then glides her fingers down to wrap around my wrists. “We’ll take it slow. You won’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work.”
Just as she goes to bring my hands up to her breasts, I snatch out of her hold. “You know we can’t do that until after my first appointment with the Neurologist.”
“I know.” She nods before leaning down to press a kiss to one of my cheekbones. “That’s why I said I can do all the work. Let me help you relax a little bit. I know you’re stressed.”
“You’re stressing me out even more, Anya!” I’m quick to gently lift her and place her on the couch cushion beside me. “I really don’t understand why every time I bring up something regarding my recovery, it’s like you want to do the opposite. Initially, you didn’t want me to make my appointment today until I saw how I was doing on my own. Now, you’re trying to do something that I’ve explicitly been told to avoid until I’m properly cleared. Help me understand why you’re reacting like this about these things.”
Anya swallows harshly, and I can see moisture pooling against her lash line before she shakes her head. “I-I’m sorry, Harry.” She sniffs as a couple of tears drop onto her cheeks, but she quickly wipes them away. “This has just…all of this has been heavy on me also. Our lives have completely changed, and I’ve been trying to handle my own struggles with this so I didn’t have to worry you, but I’m doing my best, okay?”
“Anya, I-” I go to reach for her, but she quickly pushes herself off the couch.
“I’ll get started on lunch.”
My eyes follow her as she walks into the kitchen, and then I close them while trying to pull in a calming breath. I’m sure all of this has been hard on her. That’s not something I doubt, but it doesn’t explain her lack of care when it comes to the steps I need to take to get better.
I get up as well, and yell over my shoulder as I head towards our bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Lately, showers have been where I’ve been trying to do most of my thinking. It’s quiet, and the sound of the water is soothing, along with the warmth against my skin. It helps me clear my head to a point where I feel like if any memories were going to come through, it would be during those times.
As I step into the bedroom, I grab a fresh pair of briefs from the dresser as well as a shirt and some lounge shorts, but when I turn around and catch a glimpse of my bed, I freeze.
I hear my voice. I’m talking to someone as I’m lowering their body onto the mattress, but I can’t make them out. A sweet giggle fills my ears, but it sounds so distant that I can’t place it, but I know it doesn’t belong to Anya. A perfume fills my senses, one I wouldn’t ever be able to say I’ve smelled in my bedroom before, but it sends a warmth through my chest. I continue to hear myself speaking, but it’s followed up by heavy breathing - borderline panting. A feminine moan breaks through.
Once again, just as the image starts to focus, it’s gone before I can fully see it. I stumble and reach out to brace myself against the mattress. My clothes are now on the floor as I bring my other hand up to rest against my chest while I try and catch my breath.
If that was a memory, then I wouldn’t be able to tell you when it was, or who it was with. Anya has been the only girl I’ve ever known to be in my bedroom here, but I’m certain that wasn’t her underneath me. And if that wasn’t her underneath me…
Holy fuck. Was I cheating on Anya?
Bile rises in my throat as I collect my clothes and quickly shuffle into the bathroom. I throw them on the counter, start up the water and then rid myself of my shirt, jeans and briefs. Once I’m inside and under the stream, I focus on trying to calm myself down.
There was no way I would cheat on Anya. I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life. I’ve never even felt the urge to look at another woman when I’ve been in a committed relationship with someone, so it just doesn’t make sense, but what else would cause the fuzzy recollection that I just had?
I pin both of my hands to the tiled wall, the coolness of it against my palms helping to ground me as the hot water hits my back.
The frustration of not being able to remember hits me tenfold now that I actually have seen something that I can’t explain. Could Anya have suspected that I was cheating, or did she find out that I was, and maybe that’s why she doesn’t want me to remember? She doesn’t want me to remember the person I was having an affair with so I won’t be tempted to stray again?
All I know is that I can’t just flat out ask her, not until I have more answers, because the last thing I want to do is upset her if there’s a true explanation behind what just hit me.
Shaking my head, I push off the wall and tilt my chin to my chest underneath the water, wishing it would flood the lost memories back into my head.
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
A week later, a knock on the door knocks me out of the trance I’m in. I know Anya can tell I’ve been acting off, even more so than I already was, since my appointment with Dr. Wells, but I can’t help it. I’m still not grasping what I saw in my bedroom that same afternoon, and I know it’s caused me to be a little distant. There’s a part of me that’s still so anxious that I truly was seeing someone behind Anya’s back. I’m conflicted because every time I think back to that faint memory, I feel drawn to whoever was there with me, but I know it’s wrong. If I was with Anya, and I was seeing someone else? Then I’d be an entirely different person than the man I thought I was.
“I’ve got it,” I announce as I push myself off the couch, considering Anya is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner.
Once I approach the door, I open it to reveal both Peyton and Frankie. Peyton immediately engulfs me in a large hug before eventually moving around me to head further into the apartment. Frankie stands there with a box in her hands, which I assume is a dessert, and there’s a soft smile on her lips.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into my chest. I catch a quick whiff of the scent she has on, and I immediately pull back. “What kind of perfume are you wearing?”
“Oh,” Frankie’s eyes widen, showing clear surprise by my question, “it’s a scent I’ve had for a while. Has a little bit of Jasmine in it. It’s good for calming so I’ve been wearing it for the past couple of years whenever I feel stressed, but I also just wear it because I like the way it smells.”
“It’s nice.” I tell her while leading her in before shutting the door behind her.
The smell of her perfume smells faintly familiar, like something I’ve smelled recently, but with my appointments and my hospital stay, I wouldn’t be surprised if it falls into that category.
When Frankie and I make our way into the kitchen, Anya is turned around, facing Peyton with a frown and a tight grip on the spatula in her hand. My eyes dart between the two of them before they realize we’re standing here, and Peyton clears his throat as he approaches Frankie.
“Let me take your coat,” he says while peeling it off her shoulders.
My eyes hold Anya’s once Peyton walks into the living room to drape both his and Frankie’s coats over one of the armchairs, and I can see the tension rippling through her. I roll my lips as I turn to face Frankie, who’s still holding the dessert.
“Cheesecake?” I assume by the box. I vaguely remember it from a bakery a few blocks away.
“Yeah.” Frankie nods and passes the box over once I splay my palms out for it. “Just the fridge will be fine to store it until it’s time. They had it in the freezer for me since I pre-ordered it.”
“Thanks for bringing this. You didn’t have to, considering you're our guests, but I’ll never turn down a good cheesecake.”
Something gleams in her features for just a minute as Frankie takes a deep breath before she licks over her bottom lip. “It would be wrong to show up empty-handed, I think.”
The slam of a utensil against a pan catches my attention, and I turn to see Anya battling with the chicken breasts that she’s trying to plate. “Sorry, my hand slipped a little. This one seems to be stuck.”
Walking over to the fridge, I put the dessert inside before standing next to Anya. “Need my help?”
“Oh, no, Harry. I’ve got it.” She pushes onto her tiptoes to peck my lips. “How about you just get Frankie and Peyton some drinks? I’ll take a glass of wine, too.”
When I turn around to ask Frankie and Peyton what they’d like, I see that same expression on Frankie’s face that she had at our last dinner. She’s staring at the space that Anya and I were just standing in together, not even noticing that I’m now facing her.
“Frankie,” I say softly while reaching out to place my hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She seems to startle at my presence, her eyes rapidly blinking, and almost glossy, before she nods. “Yeah, sorry. Long week. I’ll try not to be so out of it.”
“You’re fine,” I assure her while giving her shoulder a small squeeze, and then I drop my hand as Peyton comes back into the kitchen. “Can I fix you guys something to drink?” I glance back over to Frankie. “Maybe a martini?”
“Sure.” The smile that curls on her lips seems genuine. “That’ll be nice.”
“Peyton?” I ask while walking over to the bar cart in the corner of the kitchen.
“I’ll just do whatever bourbon you have. On the rocks.”
Nodding, I grab a glass and put some ice in it before pouring the bourbon over it for Peyton, and then I hand it over to him. Frankie shuffles up beside me as I start to make her martini - grabbing all the things I need. Once I pour all the liquids into the shaker, and some ice, I begin to shake it. The noise echos around the kitchen, and for a moment, Frankie and I just stare at each other.
I don’t know what it is about her lately, but I’ve never felt more inclined to check in with her. Maybe it’s the incident we went through, the trauma we both share, even though I don’t fully remember, but whatever it is, it makes me feel like I need to really be there for her.
“So, are you still not working?” I ask once I stop shaking, and I start to pour her drink into a martini glass. Grabbing a toothpick, I pluck three olives from the jar I had gathered the brine from, and drop it into her drink before passing it over.
“Thanks.” Frankie takes the glass from me with both hands - balancing it carefully. “And no, not yet. Therapy is helping a lot with everything that happened, but I still just feel a bit on edge. It’s starting to go away though.”
“You know,” I move over to the fridge to pull out the bottle of white wine Anya had bought for tonight, “sometimes I feel bad for not remembering.”
I grab a wine glass from the cabinet, and once I have the bottle uncorked, I begin to pour.
“Harry,” Frankie sighs softly with a shake of her head. “Don’t feel bad. Not remembering is completely out of your control. What happened that night…it was terrifying, and I-”
“Is that my wine?” Anya pops her chin up on my shoulder since my back is facing her, and I turn so I can see her a little better.
“Uh, yeah.” Turning around, Anya takes the glass from me and pulls a long sip from it as I put the cork back in the bottle.
“Thanks, lovey.” I can feel Anya staring at Frankie over my shoulder. “Do you mind if I ask a favor of you?”
“No, not at all.” Frankie sets her drink down and wipes her palms over her long skirt. “How can I help?”
“Set the table? I’m sure you remember where everything is.”
Frankie’s lips part as Anya separates herself from me, and I can hear that she’s going back to finishing up the last of our meal that she’s still cooking.
“I could you help you, if you-”
“No, I’ve got it,” Frankie whispers as she moves past me, and she immediately opens the cabinet that stores my dishes.
Peyton comes up beside me and nudges me softly. “How’s it going, man? Anya’s trash at giving us updates.”
Anya partially turns around to send a glare in Peyton’s direction, but he laughs it off as he tilts his glass back against his lips. When Peyton looks back to me, I tilt my head towards the living room, and when I walk in that direction, he follows me.
“Have you guys been asking and she hasn’t been responding?” I keep my voice low as I cross my arms over my chest.
“No, Harry, nothing like that.” Peyton glances into the kitchen with a shake of his head before looking back at me. “She just doesn’t keep us in the loop really, and honestly? I mostly said something for Frankie’s sake. This whole thing shook her up a lot, and I think knowing how you’re doing, with your progress and your appointments, would help ease her mind a little bit.”
Nodding, I look past Peyton where I can see Frankie setting the table in the small dining room that branches off both the kitchen and the living room. Her lips are turned down in a frown, and her eyes look distant as she places silverware next to each of our plates. “How is she really doing, Peyton?” I turn my gaze back so I can make direct eye contact with him. “Don’t bullshit me on it.”
Peyton’s shoulders rise as he takes in a breath. Before he answers me, he takes two long sips from his glass. “I don’t think she’s sleeping much. Other than us meeting up with you guys, she’s not really getting out. She’s been spending a lot of time at her mom’s, which I’m cool with because I know she needs that comfort, but I’m definitely worried about her. Therapy seems to be helping. I know that can take some time, and it’s not like I’m expecting her to get back to who she was before all of this overnight, but there really hasn’t been much improvement.”
A large ache blossoms right over my heart, causing me to bring my hand up to rub my palm in circles over it. My face pulls with emotion when I think of what Frankie could be going through. If Peyton, the man she’s going to marry, doesn’t know exactly what’s going on and how she’s feeling, then it must be really bad.
I meant what I told Frankie when I said sometimes I feel bad for not remembering the incident. If she were able to lean on me a little more because I never forgot the terror we both went through, then maybe she’d be making more progress. Maybe she wouldn’t be so distraught. Part of me wants her to explain to me, in extreme detail, just so I know exactly what happened, and I can be there for her more, but I know I can’t push. Not pushing goes for both of us. I can’t push my mind, and I don’t want to push her into reliving that night again.
I have to wonder if she’s actually talked about it all with someone other than the officer she had to recount the night to. It wouldn’t shock me if she hasn’t talked to anyone else about it - even her therapist.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Peyton’s voice bleeds back in and I realize I’ve been staring at Frankie again as she finishes up the table. I swallow harshly as I meet Peyton’s eyes once more.
“You didn’t,” I assure him with a weak smile. “Just feel awful that I can’t help her more considering I’m the only other person who was actually there.”
“Anya and I were there too. Yeah, we didn’t see exactly what happened, but we were there for Frankie in the aftermath of it.”
The way Peyton says that has something twisting inside my gut. It’s not that I don’t believe him, but it was the tone in which he said it. It was so casual - almost as if the whole thing didn’t phase him as much as it did Frankie. Hearing him be so neutral has me reflecting on how Anya’s been talking about that night as well. She hardly ever brings it up, and I haven’t asked much about it, but she also seems a bit unaffected by it all.
“Right.” I finally speak when I notice I’ve been zoning out again for too long. “Doesn’t change the fact that I wish I was able to remember it for her.”
“Okay, guys!” Anya peers around the kitchen wall at us with a smile. “Time to take a seat. Dinner’s ready.”
As I walk over to the table, Frankie is heading back towards it from the kitchen, and she places her martini next to one plate and then reaches across the table to set a glass of water by the other plate. Peyton pulls her seat out to have her sit, and he takes the spot beside her, and that’s when I see Anya’s glass of wine is already by the plate across from Peyton - which means that Frankie was bringing that glass over here for me.
Once I sit as well, I keep my gaze on her as she looks down to put her napkin in her lap, but when she looks up, her eyes immediately lock with mine.
“Thank you,” I say, and a large pause expands as we just stare at each other before I shake myself out of it. “For the water, I mean.”
Frankie takes another second before a half smile perches on her lips. “Oh, it was nothing, but you’re welcome.”
Just as Anya walks into the kitchen with the serving dish of parmesan crusted chicken breasts she had made, I see Peyton sling his arm over Frankie’s shoulders, and I visibly watch her body shudder at the contact. The feeling of uneasiness, that didn’t vanish after my conversation with Peyton in the living room, grows larger.
I know I got my shit rocked a month ago now, but there’s no mistaking what I’m seeing in front of me. Frankie is clearly on edge. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s around me after what’s happened, considering she was also very distant at our last dinner as well, but if that’s the case, it’s going to crush me. The last thing I would ever want to do is make her uncomfortable.
Anya brings me back to the present moment when she presses a kiss to my temple while balancing a salad bowl in her hands. I didn’t even notice she had gone back into the kitchen. Looking over at her as she takes her seat, I can see that her eyes are on Frankie. When I look over at Frankie again, she’s just staring at her empty plate.
“Well, everyone eat up,” Anya giggles while clapping her hands together. “I hope everything came out okay.”
“I’m sure it did.” I force the negative feelings I have away for the time being. There’s a very good chance I’m just reading too much into everything, and I need to focus on the fact that I’m lucky enough to sit at my dining table and eat dinner with the people who mean the most to me. “You’ve never made a bad meal.”
I reach out to grab her hand, and I give it a squeeze before I retrieve the spatula that’s beside the dish of chicken, and I scoop one of the breasts up. I place that one on Anya’s plate before doing the same for myself, and then I also give Anya and I both a good portion of the greek salad she had made. Peyton fills his plate as well, and both he and Anya dig into their food immediately.
Frankie hasn’t moved an inch in the last few minutes that have gone by, and I’m not going to just sit here and act like everything’s okay, much like my girlfriend and Peyton are doing, when she’s like this.
Extending my hand forward, I take her plate from in front of her, and that seems to capture her attention as her head immediately snaps up. I put a piece of chicken on it, but when I go to serve her some salad as well, I make sure to put it on the opposite side of the plate so the two dishes aren’t touching. When I put her plate back down, Frankie examines it, and she looks at me in awe.
“What?” I ask with a small chuckle before her mouth curls up into an actual smile. “You don’t like your food to touch.”
Peyton looks over at the both of us with narrowed brows and a mouthful of salad. “Huh?”
The look I give him must also match the confusion that he’s feeling. “You’ve never noticed that? She always makes sure her portions of different food are separated.”
“Uhm,” Anya murmurs beside me before stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork, “I think you’re the only person who’s noticed that.”
An awkward tension looms over the table, but Frankie is quick to sit up in her seat and roll her shoulders back as she picks up her fork. “Thank you, Harry. That was very kind of you.”
The rest of dinner goes by without a lull in conversation. I tell Frankie and Peyton about how I had my CT scan this week and that I have an appointment with my Neurologist next week to go over the results. Anya talks about this large pageant event that she’s in charge of at the end of the month, and how much it’s exhausting her. Peyton and I shoot the shit about sports.
But not a peep out of Frankie unless she’s talked to first, again, just like last dinner.
Once they leave for the night, and Anya and I are cleaning the kitchen, I can’t help but say what’s on my mind. “Has Frankie said anything to you about her and Peyton having issues? I feel like she’s been acting differently. Tonight, she squirmed practically every time Peyton touched her, and they hardly acknowledged each other.”
Anya just shrugs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned that something’s going on. Maybe she’s just really stressed out with the early stages of wedding planning. Sometimes they can be the most overwhelming for a bride.”
“Hmm,” I hum softly, but I’m not convinced. “Maybe you’re right.”
After showering and laying down in bed, like Anya and I do every night, she falls asleep quickly, but I remain awake. Between the unexplainable memory last week, to Frankie’s behavior tonight, and Peyton’s nonchalance about what happened a month ago, my mind is spinning more than it has since I’ve gotten home from the hospital. The sensation of wanting to crawl out of my skin is extremely prevalent with how out of control I feel over everything. Was everyone really acting so different tonight, or is it because my brain is still super fucked? There is one thing though that doesn’t stop nagging at me, and I’m sure it’ll be the first thing that pops into my mind when I wake up tomorrow.
Something is being hidden from me.
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