Hi, my name is Lisa. ♡
Welcome to my little corner of Tumblr, where you'll find Harry Styles stories, both short fics and full series. Here, you'll discover a mix of genres from angst that breaks your heart, to soft and comforting Harry, to love stories that make you smile.,And I know my girlies would love some freaky Harry!😉
Most of my writing focuses on romance, emotional connections, and mature themes.
Whether you're here for the tears, the butterflies, the drama, or the happy endings, I hope you find a story that stays with you long after you've finished reading.
Thank you for being here. Enjoy reading and fall in love with Harry all over again. ♡
Love you the most. -L.
Heyyy! 🤍You guys have been so sweet and welcoming, so I decided to try some angst for a change. I've been listening to Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? by Arctic Monkeys on repeat, and it gave me the inspiration for this.Let me know in the comments if you'd like this to become a series!
I love you more than you know.-L.
Summary:After eleven months apart, she's finally back. But she's not the same girl who left. While Harry desperately clings to hope, he's forced to confront a painful question: is his angel still hiding beneath the darkness, or has he already lost her forever?
The bar’s usual haze of smoke and dim amber light felt heavier tonight. I sat perched on a stool, the worn leather digging into my skin, but I barely noticed. The boys Niall, Louis, and Liam, were scattered nearby, nursing drinks, laughing quietly like nothing had changed. But I knew better. Nothing was the same without you.
I just miss my baby..
I glanced at Maeve behind the counter, her sharp eyes flicking between me and the door. “Still no sign of your angel, Harry?” she asked, her voice low and knowing.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring down at the half-empty glass in front of me. “She’s not an angel anymore, Ev.”
Maeve shook her head, wiping down a glass with a rag. “You sure about that? Maybe she’s just been hiding her wings.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I did. But after that fight after you after you tore apart everything we had built together like you were tearing us both to shreds..I didn’t know what to think anymore. All I had were memories. The way you used to laugh, the warmth of your hand in mine, the promise you whispered that night in New York forever.
“Harry,” Louis said, nudging me gently. “You alright, mate?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just… waiting.”
Waiting for you to come back.
The bell above the door jingled faintly. I looked up, breath catching as the silhouette filled the doorway tall, strong, but somehow fragile. You were standing there, luggage in hand, like a ghost from a past I’d never stopped chasing. The bar fell away, the chatter fading into silence. All I could see was you.
My heart hammered in my chest. I wanted to stand, to run to you, to say a thousand things I’d kept bottled up for months. But I stayed frozen, unable to believe you were really here.
Maeve's voice was barely a whisper. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the storm inside. “Angel…”
The word slipped out before I could stop it my secret, my lifeline. You didn’t say anything, just took a step forward, eyes unreadable but fierce.
The boys fell silent, sensing something sacred between us a fragile, dangerous hope.
I wanted to reach out, to pull you into my arms and never let go. But I held back, because I knew this moment wasn’t about me. It was about you.
And whatever you were now after eleven months of darkness, after all the pain I was ready.
"Angel... you are here, baby"
I couldn't stop looking at her.
Not because she was different.
Because she was still her.
Buried somewhere beneath the dark hair, the guarded expression, the walls she'd built so high I couldn't see over them anymore.For eleven months I'd imagined this moment.
I'd imagined her running back into my arms.I'd imagined tears, apologies, second chances.Instead, she sat on the opposite end of my couch, staring at the floor like she wasn't sure she belonged here.And somehow that hurt more.
"You can stop staring," she said quietly.I looked away immediately.
"Sorry."
"I'm not made of glass, Harry."My jaw tightened,I wanted to laugh.Because that was exactly the problem,she wasn't made of glass.She was made of steel now,and I didn't know how to reach her.
The silence stretched between us.
It used to be easy.We used to sit together for hours without saying a word.Now every quiet second felt like walking across broken glass.I rubbed my palms together.
"You hungry?"
Her eyes flicked up.
"No."
"Angel—"
"Don't."
"I don't want you calling me that."
For a moment I couldn't breathe,eleven months.Eleven bloody months of wondering where she was.If she was safe.If she was eating.Sleeping.Missing me.And now she was here.Close enough to touch.
And she didn't want to be my angel anymore.
I swallowed hard.
"Okay."
Her throat bobbed,neither of us liked that answer.
I could tell.
Because she looked almost disappointed that I didn't argue the old me would've pushed,the old us would've fought.I wasn't making that mistake again.
A few minutes passed before she spoke.
"You kept the apartment the same."
I glanced around.The same photographs.The same records.The same couch she'd spilled coffee on three years ago.The same blanket draped over the armrest.The one she'd bought.
I laughed bitterly.
"Couldn't really bring myself to change it."
Her eyes lingered on the blanket,then she looked away.I noticed,Of course I noticed.I noticed everything about her.
I always had.
"You don't have to stay," she whispered.
I frowned.
"What?"
She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"You don't have to sit here with me because you feel bad."
The words settled heavily in my chest,because she genuinely believed that.After everything.After all this time.She thought I was here out of obligation.
I leaned forward.
"Look at me."
She didn't.
"Please."
Slowly, her eyes met mine.
And God.
There she was,not the sunshine.Not the girl from before.Just her,looking tired.Lost.Hurting.Beautiful.And everything i've lost.
"I spent eleven months wishing you'd walk through that door," I said quietly.
Her expression cracked for the first time.
Just a little.
"I know."
"No," I whispered.
"You don't."
"You don't understand, angel."
My voice cracked,barely above a whisper.
"You don't understand how much I missed you."
I swallowed hard, my chest aching.
"How many times I looked for you in crowded streets. How many nights I stayed awake wondering if you were okay. How many mornings I reached for you before remembering you weren't there."
My eyes never left hers.
"I know you've changed.I know you're not the same girl who walked away eleven months ago."
I took a shaky breath.
"But I also know she's still there.I see her sometimes."
A sad smile tugged at my lips.
"In the way you look at Niall when he says something stupid. In the way you still pull your sleeves over your hands when you're nervous. In the way your eyes soften before you remember you're supposed to be angry."
My throat tightened.
"She's still in there, angel.I know she is."
My voice broke completely.
"Please let me help you find her.We can both feel it.She wants to come back."
Another breath.
Another crack in my heart.
"She needs me.And God..."
I laughed bitterly."I need her too."
My eyes found hers again,filled with every sleepless night,every unanswered message,every ounce of love I'd been carrying.
Summary: Harry grants his colleague her birthday wish.
CW: Smut (MDNI -p in v sex, protected sex, riding, face riding (oral f!rec), clitoral stimulation, praise, talks of sex, dirty talk, whining, sex outside of workplace, workplace relationship, causal hookup, sub!harry), strong language used, nicknames (baby, darling, angel, love, pretty, sunshine, good boy/good girl, no y/n), fluff (banter)
Word Count: 5.2k
Pairing: Sunshine Harry x colleague!fem reader
Location: London, UK
POV: Harry’s, third person
💌 A/N: Part two is here!! 🥳 thank you sooo much for all the love on the first part! I’m trying to decide if we should do one more (explore the going back to the workplace/aftermath more? Let me know!!) Hope you enjoy it, so much fun to write! I absolutely adore their dynamic, hope you do too. ❤️
The morning light beamed through her sheer white curtains, Harry scrunched his face in agony. Slowly his eyes opened, the light rudely interrupting his sleep. As his vision began to focus, his heart started to beat faster as his green eyes landed on a peaceful sleeping woman. A small smile crept to his lips as he heard her softly breathing, mouth slightly open and eyes still closed. He watched her for a few seconds until his eyes drifted around the space. The morning sun lighting up her room revealed her wooden dresser scattered with gold and silver jewelry, a bouquet of fake sunflowers and a few novels that he never read before. His eyes took in the art on her walls, colorful and bright.
Just as Harry shifted, desperately needing the loo, he felt the woman next to him stir in her sleep. Her arm reached out and wrapped around Harry’s bare torso, pulling him down as she muttered something unconsciously in her slumber. He smirked as her head nuzzled against his collarbone, into the crook of his neck.
“Don’t go,” she mumbled, still dangerously asleep and incredibly honest.
“Love,” Harry called out softly, his palm cupping the back of her head gently. He felt her soft, silky hair — brushing the unruly strands out of her bare face. “My bladder is very angry at me,” he whispered into her hair. His hand ran down the small of her back, to the spot where her underwear had rested against her hip. He gave her a little squeeze, hoping it would help draw her from her unconsciousness. “Baby,” he tried again, a little loud.
“Hm?” She finally stirred, peaking her eyes open, slightly startled. “What happened?”
“You were trying to cement me to the bed,” Harry joked, slowly undoing his grasp on her. “Need to use the loo, angel. Think y’can let me go for just this one time?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry,” she removed her arm and gently broke away from him. He watched her for a few seconds as she rubbed her eyes, all sleepy and confused. He leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead and whispered, “be right back,” before leaving the comfortable tangled sheets. Harry disappeared to the bathroom, did his business and came back after washing his hands.
When he walked through the doorframe, he saw his colleague sitting up in bed on her phone. The sweatpants he borrowed hung dangerously low on his hips, strings loose.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning,” she grumbled, setting her phone face down on her burgundy duvet. “How are you?” She asked, a cautious tone in her voice.
“Good, would’ve been better if you didn’t take all the covers last night.” He teased, a grin on his face. “Slept like a baby though.”
“Me too, we totally knocked out,” she yawned, stretching her arms over her head.
“Probably bored of all my nonsense about how breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” He recalled, stepping into her bedroom more.
“I just don’t understand why you need to eat yogurt everyday, Harry.”
“Well, you’re not eating it.” He shot back cheekily, “there’s something called preferences, love.”
That earned him an eye roll. He accepted it, joining her back on the bed.
“S’alright, no yogurt today. How about eggs? I can make a mean scramble or fried is my specialty.”
“Oh,” she nodded, pulling him close. “Fried sounds delicious.”
“With buttery toast?” He suggested.
“Yes, and coffee,” she added.
“Yes, but needs to be black.”
“Black coffee? Harry, are you okay?” She argued. “That’s disgusting.”
“I would say mature but sure, disgusting if you haven’t developed your palate.”
“Oh God,” she rolled her eyes again.
“You keep doing that,” Harry called out.
“Doing what?” She asked, a small smirk on her face.
“Y’ know what you’re doing,” Harry smirked back.
“Hm, don’t really recall doing anything.”
“Oh, yeah?” He scoffed, “typical.”
“Typical?” She laughed, “what on earth does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head with a dimpled grin. “Alright, team beans or no beans? You already know my take.”
“Make the beans, Harry.”
“Good girl,” he said cheerfully, satisfied with her answer. He leaned forward, pecking her lips. “Care to join me? Monitor and analyze my chef skills? It’s an important mating skill to have.” Harry teased, fully smiling now. His cheeks hurt but he was happy, so happy.
“Alright, sunshine. I suppose I can be convinced to get out of bed so you don’t burn my flat down.”
“Oh, I’m offended.” Harry placed his hand on his heart, shaking his head. “Thought you knew me better, love.”
“Harry, you eat yogurt everyday for breakfast.”
“Fair enough,” he outstretched his hand as he rose from the bed. “Come on,” he half demanded. “Could use a sous chef.”
As the pair entered the living-room, Harry let his eyes wander a bit before following her to the small kitchenette area. “Right so, eggs, beans, toast?”
“Yes, chef.”
“Oh,” Harry coo’d. “I like the sound of that.”
“‘Course you would,” she laughed, pulling out the eggs from the fridge. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
Harry moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets carefully to find what he needed. He grabbed a skillet pan that was tucked away and started the fire. They fell into a comfortable quiet, focusing on their own individual task while working together.
“Sunshine, huh?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. He was curious about the little nickname she mumbled to him in defense. He could guess why she said it but wanted to hear it from her lips. The eggs sizzled on the pan as his colleague tried to school her reaction.
“Oh, that… I just — well,” she let out a sigh. “You always seem so happy and bright, you’re warm to everyone like sunshine so… it’s fitting.” She explained, keeping her gaze away from him as she busied herself with scooping the coffee grounds into the pourover cup.
“’m not warm to everyone,” he argued. “The new intern is an absolute bloke,” Harry said, pointing the spatula in her direction. “And I’m certainly not always happy,” he admitted, over exaggerating as he turned the fire off, the eggs solidified in the pan.
“I’ve never seen you unhappy.”
“Well, that’s because ’m very good at masking it,” Harry regrettably argued back, wishing the words didn’t flow out of his mouth so honestly. The space felt a little too quiet as he moved the eggs from the pan to two matching decorative plates.
“You don’t have to do that around me,” Harry m’s eyes snapped towards her as she reached out and placed her hand on his forearm, halting his movements.
Harry smiled, it was small but genuine. “Okay,” he said simply. “You’ll get all the unsavory parts too, like that burnt toast,” he compared, eyeing the well done toast that popped up from the toaster oven.
“Good thing I don’t mind a little rough around the edges,” she said, taking a step back to watch him. He let her stare at him without mention for a few seconds before he spoke up again.
“Sous chef, we have a problem — we forgot the beans,” Harry noted, pointing to the unopened can sitting on top of the counter. Harry often used humor to cope, ease the tension and make everyone feel a bit more comfortable. It was his superpower almost except, great superpower came with responsibility and expectation.
So, yeah… He masked a little, it was easier being the fun, charming, go lucky guy then the one who has to stick to a routine and drowns in loneliness. If only she knew how much the last twelve hours had such an effect on him. Harry had never genuinely been this happy, not with anyone but her. She made it feel easy, warm and welcoming even when she hesitated and questioned him.
“Toast and eggs are enough,” she shrugged with a small smile. He watched as she did the pour over, sticking to his request and add no cream or sugar. Harry carried the plates of buttered toast and eggs her small table and sat down next to her.
“So, what are the plans today other than proper birthday sex?” He asked, not shying away from the idea of them being intimate together.
She must’ve been shy because she nearly choked on her coffee, Harry noticed that.
“Careful, darling.” He mumbled, getting her a napkin before taking a bite out of his bread.
“Are you… staying after that?”
“After what?” Harry asked, “the sex?”
“Yeah, I just figure you’d probably want some of your weekend to yourself.”
“Nope,” Harry popped the ‘p’, “I’m all yours, if you’ll have me that is.”
He earned a smile from her, he watched as her shoulders dropped and she began to properly eat.
“This is good,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
“Good,” Harry’s smile spreading wider as he watched her fill her tummy. “You’ll need the carbs,” he hinted, being a bit suggestive.
Harry and his partner ate in the morning calmly, indulging in conversation about themselves outside of work. Harry easily took control of the conversation, allowing it to flow smoothly.
“Ok, so what country is your must see?” Harry asked, sipping on his now cold black coffee. “If you were stuck, had to live there forever and only could pick one?” Harry asked, genuinely picking her brain.
“Oh,” Harry watched as she thought for a few seconds, pondering the question. He noticed how her lip pouted as she thought about her answer, the slight shift in her posture and the way her eyes looked up towards her ceiling. “Maybe….”
“Maybe? No, you gotta be more sure than that love.” Harry teased, smiling at her.
“Okay, okay. I would love to live in a small, tiny village in Italy. It would be warm and sunny, quiet and comfortable. Lots of fresh pasta and yummy pastries,” Harry nodded, listening to her as she spoke. “I don’t know, I think I’d just want a quiet life. What about you?”
“That’s a good answer until you think about learning Italian,” Harry posed, he tapped his fingers against his stubble, thinking for a second. “I would pick somewhere with a beach,” he said, “Jamaica!” He clapped his hands. “Definitely Jamaica,” Harry added.
“I could see you there,” she smiled, it was the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
“Yeah?” He smirked, “I’d have to come visit you in Italy. Invade your tiny village,” he joked, smiling back at her.
There was a few seconds of quiet, Harry let them sit. He pondered the important questions, questions regarding relationships, religion and sex. He was very curious but didn’t want to over step.
“Tell me what you like,” he demanded, his green eyes boring into her own.
“What do you mean?” She asked, “we just spent the whole morning—,” Harry smirked, a chuckle erupted deep from his core.
“No, darling. I’m talking about sex wise,” Harry clarified. “Tell me what you like during sex,” he asked more firmly but not unkindly. He was deeply curious and equally interested because he didn’t want to just satisfy her — he wanted to transcend her.
“Oh, uhm…” He loved the way her cheek heated up, putting on a little innocent act right in front of him. “I like… a lot of dirty talk,” she started, her gaze falling to her speckled table.
“Okay, dirty talk. I like that too,” he agreed. “What else?”
“I mean, last night…” she shifted in her seat, he wondered if she was squeezing her thighs together? Feeling all achy like he was starting too. “When you gave me head, it was really good — felt really good.” Harry smirked, licking his lips as he remembered her taste.
“I’m not shy when it comes to eating pussy, it’s one of my favorite things.” Harry said proudly, popping a blueberry in his mouth. “What else? Do y’like rough sex? Slow? Hard?” He threw out some words, gauging her reaction.
“I like… a mix of everything , rough and slow, faster and hard.”
“I can do that, I can do whatever y’like.” Harry smirked, “Do you like being more submissive or more dominant?” Harry asked carefully, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Oh, I — I guess, I’m not really sure. I don’t mind either,” she shrugged, biting her lip.
“Yeah?” Harry slowly stood up, pushing his chair back as he rounded the table to her side. “I really, really like being submissive,” he started, crouching over the back of her chair. “You telling me what to do makes me really, really fucking hard.”
“Yeah?” She questioned, her voice a little more breathless.
“Or, we could switch.” Harry suggested in her ear, his lips brushing against the curve.
“Switch?” She questioned, keeping her body so still for him.
“Mmhm,” he mumbled as he pressed a soft kiss against the side of her neck. “I’ll fuck you whatever way you’d like but you have to listen to me, be a good girl for daddy.” He let his fingers trail up the side of her arms, past her forearm and to her collarbone. “What do y’think, angel?”
The question was loaded, he was intrigued by what her answer would be. When she began to stutter out an answer, he listened.
“I — I don’t know,” she tried.
“No, baby. You know,” Harry encouraged her, his fingers reaching out to feel the smooth, cool speckled table. “I could bend you this table, fuck you senselessly with your hands behind your back…” he let the image settle, his voice like honey. “Or we could go to your sofa, you could ride my dick as I suck on your pretty breasts?”
Fuck, he was so hard but he cared more about her than himself. Harry pulled her chair out slightly, crouching down in front of her. He found her beautiful eyes, his softening when he looked up at her. The energy had shifted, after all that sexual tension and anticipation, he’d be blessed to have her again — to worship her.
“Come on, baby. Don’t keep me waiting down here on my knees,” Harry pleaded out, the whine in his voice had returned. “Are you gonna make me beg?” He asked a second later.
“I wanna ride you, can I, please?” She asked, choosing exactly how he’d picture her at his office desk too many times to count.
“Yes, baby. Of course you can,” Harry let his hands fall to her thighs, squeeze gently as his palms slipped under her oversized shirt. “So polite to ask, think you deserve a little reward. Can I eat this pretty pussy first? Please, baby. I’ve been thinking about it all morning,” His fingers brushed against her panties, just where a patch of hair rested under the cotton fabric.
“Please, Harry. I love your mouth,” she beamed out, lifting her hips to take off her underwear. Harry slid them down her ankles, off and forgotten. “Do — do you want to do it here or on the sofa?” Her nervous voice asked, abusing her bottom lip.
“Let’s go to the sofa, want my girl comfortable.”
As they maneuvered over to her green, plush sofa — Harry took it upon himself to lay across it. “Wanna ride my face, baby? Take what’s yours, I’m all yours.”
He watched her hesitate for a second before a flash of hunger swept over her eyes. “Is it okay?” She asked, stepping an inch closer to Harry’s laid out position.
“Hundred percent okay with me, baby.” He thought for a second, wondering which safety method would be best for her to utilize. “How about we try a tapping method if anything is ever too much?”
“Tapping method?” She questioned.
“Yeah angel,” Harry started to explain, “if we tap three times, we immediately stop and do a check in, see where we are at and if we want to continue, does that sound okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“And you can always say stop or ask if we can take a pause, anything my love, always want you comfortable.” Harry encouraged, “I’ll never do anything you don’t want, baby.”
“Same goes for you, Harry. I want you to enjoy it too,” she smiled as she leaned down and pecked his lips.
“I enjoy you very much, baby.” He rubbed some gentle circles on her thigh, patting his chest. “Take a seat, you won't hurt me, promise.”
“Okay,” she said a little breathless but cautiously moved over Harry, positioning herself over his mouth. Harry could look up and see her face, a perfect position for him. “Use the arm rest for leverage so you don’t get so tired, love.” Harry knew a thing or two about sex. He hadn’t had loads of partners but did his research and educated himself to know a little (or a lot) about how to make a person feel comfortable. He prided himself on safety inside and outside the bedroom. He wanted to create a safe place where the person he talked to, especially a partner, could fully enjoy themselves without judgment and that’s exactly what he planned on doing.
With her thighs settled around his head, not too tight and only hovering over him — his hands wrapped around her backside. “You’re sure this is okay?” She asked again, looking down at him.
“Yes, darling.” He gave her one last reassuring look, nodding his head in agreement. “Look at this pretty pussy,” Harry let one of his hands spread across the front of her navel, just by the small patch of hair that décorated her pubic area. His thumb rubbed against her coarse hair, eyeing her reaction. “Can I play with you, baby? Look so pretty and sweet,” he groaned out, shifting down a little so his face was directly in her pathway.
“Please, Harry. I’m all achy,” she admitted, still tentatively hesitant. Harry heard enough, eager to please since he got her consent. He used his hand on her backside to encourage her down onto his mouth. The first contact was all wet and warm, utterly intoxicating as he could smell and taste her arousal on her skin. His tongue flattened against her, flush against her clitoris as he began to flick the tip of his tongue for some friction.
As he heard a soft gasp echo through the room, it only spurred him on. The way her hips started to involuntarily move, desperately cautious but entirely needy — he didn’t know how to encourage her more than motorboating his face against her slick, achy vulva.
“Give it to me,” he begged, softly moaning out as his lips and nose were flush against her. He nudged his pointed nose against her wet arousal, breathing her in. “Shit baby, never gonna get enough.” He whined, wrapped his lips around her clitoris.
“Har— Harry,” she moaned out, grinding her hips against his mouth and nose. “Feels so good, baby. Don’t stop, please.”
“Never,” he muttered as she became more comfortable, dropping her hips a little and fully sitting down on her seat. “Mmmmhm,” Harry moaned out under her, fully enjoying the tangy, sweet taste of her arousal soaked up on his tongue. He didn’t want to waste any of it, too greedy to let any of her wetness go to waste.
“Oh fuck. you’re tongue is so, so good,” she moaned out. The arm rest creaked under her weight as she shifted tilting her pelvis out as she looked back over her shoulder at his pelvic area. “You like this, hm?” She questioned with a quiet confidence.
Harry was hard as a rock through his borrow sweatpants, all the blood flowing down to his shaft as she moaned out above him. Harry felt her hand reach back, spread across his tummy before her palm made contact with his clothed hardness. His hips jolted by the sudden friction.
“Ohh,” he moaned against her, it wasn’t even the feeling alone but the combination of her riding his face and taking initiative to touch him coursed through his veins like hot lava. Harry took the opportunity to push her down onto him more, munching away at her clit, swirling his tongue along her entrance— not wasting a drop.
“Baby, baby,” she moaned, “jus’ wait please,” Harry instantly stopped the moment her voice laced with hesitation.
“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” His tone was serious, extremely alert and tentative to her halt.
“No, no baby,” she eased off his face, placing her foot on the floor to stand properly. “I just didn’t want to cum yet, I wanna try to orgasm with you,” she explained. Harry, who was propped up on his elbow instantly relaxed a fraction, his dimpled smile returning to his face.
“Jesus Christ love,” Harry placed his hand over his heart. “You worried me there for a second,” Harry regained his composure the second his partner leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Promise, everything is good. I just need to grab a condom,” she was gone and back seconds later. “Okay,” Harry watched her as she let out a breath, the metallic foil resting between her two fingers. “So uhm, are you okay… if I put it on?”
“Yeah, ‘course baby.” Harry sat up a little, tilting his hips enough to ease his borrowed sweatpants off of his frame. He was still semi-hard but a little flaccid from the loss of contact and worry that coursed through him at once. “Protection is always best, want us safe.”
Harry knew it would feel better without, not just for him but for her especially. He also knew the risks involved. He couldn’t possibly put her in harm's way or have an accidental pregnancy. But God, if he got the chance in the future with enough communication and consent, he’d easily take her raw. Before his brain could fantasize about that scenario, he heard the sound of the condom wrapper rip open. His hand instinctively went down to his shaft, pumping himself without shame. He easily got fully hard, the look of his colleague watching him curiously was enough to get him fully aroused. Not to mention, the taste of her still on his tongue and her scent that stayed on his face, he was practically in heaven of sorts.
“Okay, ready.” Harry said softly, letting her ease the condom down his shaft.
“I brought a little lube if that’s okay too,” she said, showing the clear, small body in her hand.
“Of course, want you most comfortable. Do y’have any toys?” Harry asked, half curious if she was into those types of things.
“Uh,” she thought for a second, “I just have a rose toy,” Harry nodded, offering a shrug. “Maybe we can use that next time,” he hoped he wasn’t being too forward by insinuating there was going to be a next time. Harry wanted to get to know her outside of sex too but he figured that if it was one time, there might be a second. Harry gave her a small smile, his hand trailing up and down the outside of her thigh.
“Come on,” Harry smirked, “get comfortable,” he mumbled as she straddled him once again, his waist this time. “Go as slow as y’want and if anything feels wrong, we’ll stop immediately.” He promised, half sitting up against some flattened throw pillows.
“Okay,” she smiled, biting her lip as she lowered her thighs so they were touching. He could see some nerves run through her face as he gently touched her thighs, encouraging her to settle completely.
“Hey,” he coo’d. “Are you okay? You can always change your mind, love. I won’t be upset at all,” Harry promised, serious as ever. His hand went to her chin, giving her a small smile.
“I’m okay, just a little nervous.”
“I’m nervous too,” he let out a breath, “let’s just go slow.”
“Okay,” she whispered into the air, nodding her head.
“Kissy?” He asked, his eyes adoring her own. She looked so gorgeous up close, no pretty… extremely, extra pretty. When their lips collided, he started slow — letting her lead. One hand stayed on her thigh and the other went to the crook of her neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue danced around her mouth, mixing their saliva before nipping at her bottom lip. “Mm, taste so good,” he whispered against her lips.
As they continued to kiss, his hand traveled down her chest, cupping her breast. He heard her moan softly, barely audible as his thumb brushed against the hardening nipple. Her hips began to rotate slowly as their lips stayed connected, the friction felt so intoxicating that Harry gripped her hip to encourage her to continue.
As her vulva and clitoris brushed against his shaft, Harry felt the air shift a little, the tension building close to penetration. “Oh, pretty girl,” Harry broke the kiss, “feel so perfect like this.”
“Yeah?” She moaned out, focusing her attention a little on her hip movements, the friction creating a soft wet sound that filled the air. “God, I need you inside me.”
“Yeah, baby? You need me?” Harry let his hands fall to her hips, his lips attached to her neck. He pressed an open-mouth kiss against her before nipping at her ear. “Take it, baby. It’s yours, all yours.”
They maneuvered a little, her hips rising to properly sink down on him. Harry grabbed the lube off the table and opened the cap. “Is that a good amount?” He asked, the clear liquid glossing over the top of the condom.
“Yes, think that should be good. We can always add more,” she mumbled before positioning herself to sink down onto his shaft. They had all the time in the world but god, this moment felt like ages. Harry wanted her to be the most comfortable and he understood that taking someone new for the first time could be an adjustment at first, especially since he was girthy.
“Go slow and breathe through it,” Harry reminded her as she slowly sunk down onto his cock. They both let out an audible gasp simultaneously. Harry kept his hands on her hips for support. “Fuck,” he cursed out as she took him fully. “H— how are you, good?” He checked, his cock throbbing already from the snug feeling.
“So good, you’re so big…”
“Big good or big… uncomfortable?” Harry dared to ask.
“No, like a good big… a good… stretch,” she giggled a little, “that’s such a funny word.”
Harry laughed along with her, “it’s definitely a little funny, I’m glad you’re feeling good baby.” Harry rubbed her thighs and the curve of her back with his thumb. “Remember, you can always tap out if you need,” he reminded her. Harry let his eyes fall over her breast, the way her stomach bunched up a little and her thighs wrapped around him. He smirked at her position, she looked so beautiful but he knew it was probably vulnerable for her — it was vulnerable for the both of them.
“I’m gonna move a little,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, her chest properly in his face as she shifted her position up to bounce on his cock slowly. “Oh shit,” she mumbled against his shoulder, Harry held her hips tighter — letting her control the pace.
“Oh, baby.” His eyes closed for a second as her hips rotated and she bounced — finding her rhythm. Harry’s lips pressed against her skin as his hands supported her, taking some of her weight. He smothered her with hot, open mouth kisses along her sternum and the curve of her breast before enclosing his mouth around her nipple. He watched her face, pure ecstasy as pleasure coursed through them both.
“Fuck, Har — Harry, it’s so good, your cock feels so good.” Her voice was thick like honey but sweet and warm.
“Yeah, baby? Feels so good for me too, it’s all yours baby, made for you.” Harry groaned out against her chest. As her pace increased, her breathing coming in more erratic, Harry began to thrust up — meeting her. “Pretty girl, fucking me so well,” Harry moaned, not holding back the amount of pleasure and adoration coursing through him. His eyes dropped to where they were connected, the picture only spurred him on.
“Use me baby,” he encouraged as he laid down more against the pillows. Her hand braced against his chest, taut against the palm of her hands as she rode him with ease. The room filled the sounds of their moans and shared breathing, beckoning on to one shared common goal.
Harry’s hand stayed on her hips as she continued at a steady pace. He tilted his pelvis up, his pubic area creating an addicting friction against her clit. “Oh Harry!” She moaned out, loudly.
“Jus’ like that baby,” Harry groaned, feeling a warm bubble build in his tummy.
“Oh, Harry, fuck me!” Her voice raised, coming out needy as ever. Harry took the opportunity to fully thrust up into her, angling his hips with firm precision.
“Good boy,” she praised, which caused Harry to curse out and nearly cum right there and then. He drove harder, feeling her beginning to clench around him.
“Oh fuck, say it again please,” he moaned out, his grip tightening.
“Such a good boy, sunshine.” She dragged out and moaned loudly. Her hands gripping his chest as her arousal sounded throughout the intimate space. Harry leaned up completely and kissed her hard, dominating her mouth for a few seconds before he pulled away to focus on his movements.
“I’m close, baby. So close,” she murmured, so focused that she looked even prettier.
“I know baby, I can feel you, you’re s’tight, squeeze me.” His voice was thick with desire, his accent more pronounced. Harry's two fingers reached between them and gently rubbed her clit, apply sweet pressure.
He felt her take a big breath, her orgasm rocking through her so hard that she couldn’t even form words. She clenched around him, shaking and gripping his shoulders for support. She gasped into the crook of his neck, her breath warm against him. As she rode out her orgasm, Harry felt himself leak into the condom. He gripped her waist, holding her firm against him as he groaned out in pleasure. His voice was low and raspy, laced with utter surrender and exhaustion.
“Fuck,” he cursed, a grin appearing on his lips as she fully collapsed against him. “Utterly spent, hm?” He asked after a few seconds, kissing her shoulder. “You did such a good job, pretty girl.” He whispered praise into her ear, rubbing the small of her back gently.
“That was…” she paused, “the best birthday sex I’ve ever had, thank you.”
“Oh no, thank you.” Harry smirked, “that was also the best birthday sex I’ve ever had…” Harry chuckled, “think we almost should make it an annual thing,” he teased.
“Or bi annual,” she laughed.
“Oh, you’re right. Smart girl,” he grinned. “It would be bi annual if it was for us both.”
“When’s your birthday?” She asked curiously, her cheek resting against his chest. Harry smirked at the question, eager to answer.
“The first of February,” he answered, a smirk widening.
“Oh God, that’s ages away.”
“Proper,” he frowned, “think you can wait around for me?”
“‘Course, guess regular sex will do.” She pretended to be pout, a small smile spreading across her lips.
“Promise not to go boring on you, we can spice it up.”
“Oh yeah?” She whispered, a bit suggestive. “And how’d we do that?”
“I have my ways,” Harry smirked, “I’m in the business of keeping my customers satisfied.”
“Oh, so I’m a customer now?” She asked, cheekily.
“Far from it, love but I’ll do my best to always satisfy you.”
“I’m thoroughly satisfied, Harry. Thank you,” she beamed.
note: was literally obsessed with this request and had to get it out of me. Hope you love it.
The summer air hits you the moment you step out of the car at Southbank, thick and warm, pressing against your skin like a reminder that tonight is real. Harry’s hand finds the small of your back, steady and familiar, and you try not to think about how that gesture still makes you feel like you’re floating.
“You’re going to mess up your makeup if you keep doing that thing with your mouth,” he says, amusement wound through his voice alongside something gentler.
“What thing?” You know exactly what thing. It’s the thing you do when you’re nervous, a kind of half-smile that probably makes you look unhinged.
“That thing where you’re thinking too loud.” He guides you toward the entrance, and the evening light catches the side of his face. He’s wearing a floral collared shirt in soft greens and creams, tucked into dark slacks, and he looks impossibly gentle. Like he’s already somewhere else entirely. “He’s going to be fine, you know.”
You glance at him, and he’s not looking back at you. He’s watching the building ahead like he’s seeing it for the first time, which is ridiculous because he must have rehearsed here a hundred times this week.
“Who?” you ask, playing dumb.
“Harry,” he deadpans. “The bloke. Performing in forty minutes. The one you’ve been stress-eating about since breakfast.”
The thing is, you haven’t been stress-eating. You’ve been perfectly fine all week. But you let him think what he wants, because it’s easier than explaining the truth: that you’re nervous for him, and not the garden-variety kind. There’s something sitting too low in your chest to name. You’d feel this watching him do anything brave.
He pulls you closer as you walk, his fingers pressing gently into your back. The Royal Festival Hall rises up ahead, all clean lines and quiet purpose, and there’s already security waiting by the entrance. People with clipboards and earpieces give Harry a subtle nod. They know exactly who he is, even dressed like this. Even looking soft.
One of them gestures for you to follow, and Harry keeps his hand exactly where it is. It’s a small thing, but it steadies you. His steadiness is one of those things you’ve learned to lean on without ever planning to. He’s just there, and then you’re better.
The corridor backstage is all exposed brick and warm lighting. Your heels click against the floor, too loud in the quiet hallway. Harry’s shoes are silent. He moves like someone who’s done this a thousand times, even though you know he hasn’t. Not like this. Not with an orchestra. Not with his heart so openly on the line.
“Come on,” he says softly, already turning toward a door marked with a small star.
Inside, it’s smaller than you expected. A velvet couch the color of old wine sits against one wall. Large windows overlook the Thames, the light just beginning to turn golden as evening settles in. There’s a mirror surrounded by bulbs, a table with water bottles and tea, a few chairs. Nothing fancy. Nothing designed to make you feel like this matters more than it already does.
Harry releases you and runs a hand through his hair, and you watch the moment shift. The teasing drops away. What’s left is rawer, more unguarded. He looks very much like someone about to perform for two thousand people with nothing but an orchestra and his own voice. No backup dancers. No production. Just him.
“You okay?” you ask.
He turns to look at you properly now, his eyes soft but serious. “Better now.” He reaches for your hand and pulls you toward the couch. “Sit with me for a second.”
You do, and he doesn’t let go. His palm is slightly warm, slightly damp. Of course he’s nervous. He’s about to play songs he’s written, songs that mean something to so many people, stripped down to their bones with nothing to hide behind.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says quietly. He says it often, but it never stops landing. “I needed you here.”
“Where else would I be?” You squeeze his hand, and he looks at you like you’ve said something profound when really you’ve said something simple.
“Anywhere. Everywhere. You could be anywhere.” He shifts closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, and you’re breathing the same air, and this is the most intimate thing you’ve done all week even though you’re sitting fully clothed on a velvet couch. “But you’re here.”
“I’m here,” you confirm, and you feel him exhale like you’ve just given him permission he’s been waiting for all day.
“Are you nervous?” you ask, pulling back just enough to see his face. His eyes are closed. His jaw is tight, held together by whatever he uses when he needs to hold himself in place.
He opens his eyes slowly, like he’s deciding whether to lie to you. He doesn’t. “Terrified,” he says with a small huff of air “Absolutely terrified.”
You’ve seen him perform hundreds of times. You’ve watched him walk onto stages that hold tens of thousands of people, watched him command a room with nothing but his voice and the certainty of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. But this is different. This leaves him more exposed than any of those performances did.
“Why?” you ask, even though you think you know.
He stands up, still holding your hand, and walks to the window. You follow. Outside, London is turning golden, the Thames catching the last light like someone threw coins into it. He stares out for a long moment.
“Because there’s nowhere to hide,” he says finally. “With the orchestra, with the arrangements Jules did, it’s just the songs and me. You can’t hide behind production or noise or energy. It’s all…” He trails off, searching for the word. “It’s all there. Every choice I made when I wrote them, every feeling I was trying to capture. It’s all on display.”
You press his hand gently. “That’s the point though, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” He turns to look at you, and there’s something uncertain in his expression that you almost never see. Harry is usually so sure of things. So grounded. But tonight he’s caught between who he is on stage and who he is right now, in this room with you. “What if people don’t want that? What if they want the stadium version of me? The one with all the bells and whistles?”
“They’re here for you,” you say. “The real you. The one who cares enough about this to be terrified.”
He reaches up and touches your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. Such a quiet thing, and yet it settles somewhere deep.
“I want to play something for you tonight,” he says quietly. “Before we go out there. Will you listen?”
“Of course,” you say, and you mean it with every part of yourself.
He nods, like he needed to hear you say it, and then he’s moving toward the corner of the room where there’s a piano. You hadn’t noticed it before, tucked away near the wall. Of course there’s a piano. This is his greenroom. This is where he comes to think, to prepare, to remember who he is when everything else falls away.
He sits down on the bench and pats the space next to him. You settle beside him, your shoulder brushing his. The room feels different from this angle. Quieter. Like it’s been waiting for this.
He doesn’t say anything else. He just places his hands on the keys and starts to play. It’s not a song you recognize. It’s slower, more searching, something that sounds like it’s being born in real time. His fingers move with that certainty he has, born from muscle memory and feeling, from knowing exactly what he needs to say even when the words won’t come.
You listen, and you understand. This is what he needed. Not reassurance or advice or someone to tell him he’s going to be fine. He needed someone to sit with him in the fear. He needed you to witness this part of him before he goes out there and gives it to two thousand strangers in the most intimate setting he could be in.
When he stops, the silence that follows feels sacred. Neither of you moves.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and you don’t know if he’s thanking you for listening or for something bigger. For being here. For loving him. For understanding that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let someone see you when you’re afraid.
There’s a knock on the door. Soft but deliberate.
“That’s us,” Harry says quietly. He doesn’t move. Neither do you.
A second knock follows, firmer this time.
“Yeah, we’re ready,” he calls out. His voice has shifted. The uncertainty is still there, but it’s settled underneath now, beneath something he knows how to carry.
He stands first, and you follow. The room feels suddenly smaller with the door waiting to open. He turns to you, and his hands find your waist. Steady.
“Come here,” he says, and he’s pulling you into him before you can move, wrapping both arms around you. You press your face into his neck and hold on, breathing him in, trying to hold onto this version of him. The quiet one. The one that’s only yours.
He pulls back just enough to kiss you. Slow and careful, like a promise, like everything he needs to say without any words at all. When he breaks away, his forehead is still touching yours.
“Go find your seat,” he murmurs. “Next to Gemma and Mum. They’ll look after you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice yet. He’s still holding you, and you’re still holding him, and you’re not ready to let go even though you know you have to.
“I love you so much,” you say finally. The words come out small and fierce. “You’re going to kill it tonight. Absolutely kill it.”
He grins, that lopsided thing that still makes your chest tight even after all this time. “Yeah? You think so?”
“I know so,” you say.
“Because if I mess up, I’m blaming you,” he says. “I’m going to be out there thinking about you and completely forget the words to Matilda.”
You whack him lightly on the arm. “You’re such an ass.”
“Your ass though,” he says, catching your hand before you can pull it away. He brings it to his mouth and kisses your knuckles, and it’s so ridiculous and so sweet that you can’t help but laugh.
You turn back toward the door, trying to steady yourself, trying to let him go. But then you stop. You can’t leave it at that. You turn around and look at him, really look at him.
“I mean it,” you say. Your voice is serious now. “Harry, I love you. I really do.”
He watches you with those soft eyes, and the expression that crosses his face is so open and unguarded that it almost stops you.
He crosses the space between you in two steps and pulls you back into him, his hand cradling the back of your head.
“I love you too,” he says into your hair. “So much. Thank you for being here. For seeing me.”
You hold onto him for another moment. Then you let go. You step back. You straighten your dress and try to ignore the pounding in your chest.
“Go,” he says gently. “Before they send someone to find you.”
You nod, and you make yourself walk toward the door. Your hand is on the handle when he calls your name softly.
“Hey.” When you turn back, he’s smiling. “Watch me?”
“Always,” you say, and you mean it with everything you have.
The walk to your seat feels surreal. Your legs are slightly unsteady, and you know why. You just left him in that room and now you have to sit in a crowd and watch him perform and pretend your heart isn’t still back there with him. It feels exactly like dropping a kid off at preschool, that specific ache where you’re proud and terrified and so full of love you don’t know what to do with yourself, and you just have to let them go and trust they’ll be okay.
The Royal Festival Hall is nearly full. You navigate through the rows, past knees and purses, and find your seat. Gemma is already there, Anne beside her, and they both turn as you settle in. Gemma leans over immediately.
“How is he?” she asks.
You smile despite yourself. “Nervous. But he was cracking jokes, so he must be okay.”
Gemma laughs, a soft sound that carries relief. “That’s Harry. Falls apart in private, jokes in public. At least he’s got you to see the falling apart part.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod and turn your attention to the stage. The orchestra is already there, arranged in careful rows, instruments gleaming under the warm lights. The piano sits center stage, small and somehow infinite all at once. Waiting.
The minutes stretch. You’re hyperaware of everything. The buzzing anticipation of the audience. Anne reaching over and pressing your hand. Your own breathing.
Then the lights begin to dim.
The theater goes dark except for a single spotlight, and the audience quiets. Your hands grip the armrest. This is the moment where everything becomes real. Where he stops being the person you held in that greenroom and becomes the person who belongs to everyone.
The orchestra begins to play, soft and beautiful, and then he walks out.
He moves slowly, deliberately, and the audience reacts immediately. A swell of sound rises, a collective inhale, and then the applause begins. He’s wearing that floral shirt and those dark slacks, and he looks so vulnerable and so brave that tears prick your eyes before he’s even sung a single note.
He sits at the piano. Takes a breath. And then he begins to play.
The first notes of Boyfriends fill the hall, but they’re nothing like the recorded version. They’re stripped back, reimagined through the lens of the orchestra behind him, and hearing it like this, watching his hands move over the keys with such intention, is almost too much. You can see every emotion he was feeling when he wrote it. You can see him, the real him, the one that only exists when there’s nowhere left to hide.
Your eyes are wet. You don’t try to stop the tears. Gemma reaches over and takes your hand, and you notice she’s crying too.
This is what heaven looks like, you think. Watching someone you love be exactly who they are, with no apologies and no performance. Just truth. To see him up there, raw and honest and completely himself, is something you know you’ll carry for the rest of your life.
His voice fills the entire space, and you swear the whole building is holding its breath. The orchestra swells and falls with him, Jules Buckley conducting like he’s handling something precious. You squeeze Gemma’s hand and she squeezes back. No words needed. She understands.
He makes his way through the set with growing ease. By the time he reaches Matilda, he’s laughing between verses, throwing little quips at the audience that land perfectly. There’s a moment where he jokes about the orchestra being his backup singers, and Jules gives him a look that sends the whole hall into laughter. This is the Harry you know. The one who can be both open and playful, who lets people in and still keeps something sacred.
You watch him settle into himself as the night goes on, the fear quietly transforming into joy. Gemma is beaming. Anne has her hand pressed over her heart. The entire hall feels suspended in something shared and private all at once.
Then the lights shift.
The orchestra quiets. A pause that feels deliberate. And then he begins to play something different. Slower. The opening notes of Bridge Over Troubled Water fill the hall and every thought in your head exits at once.
Your entire body goes still.
It doesn’t just stop the world. It reverses it. Takes you somewhere else entirely, and suddenly you’re not in the Royal Festival Hall anymore. You’re somewhere smaller. Quieter. Somewhere that belongs only to the two of you.
You were in his car. Late, maybe midnight, driving back from somewhere that doesn’t matter. What mattered was that you were together, and the radio was on low, and his hand was resting on your thigh. He was driving with one hand, completely at ease.
This song came on, and you weren’t paying attention at first. You were watching the streetlights blur past, thinking about how much you liked him, how terrifying that felt. But then something in the music reached you. The strings building, the voices coming in, so pure and gentle and heartbreaking that you had to sit up straighter just to take it in properly.
“Oh my god,” you said. “This is so good.”
He glanced at you, briefly confused. “What?”
“This song,” you said. “It’s incredible.”
He laughed, actually laughed, like you’d just said something absolutely ridiculous. “You’ve never heard Bridge Over Troubled Water before?”
“No,” you said, genuinely bewildered. “Should I have?”
He reached over and turned up the volume, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “It’s Simon and Garfunkel. It’s a classic. How have you never heard this?”
You listened to it properly then, really listened, and something shifted inside your chest. It was one of those songs that feels like it was written specifically for you, even though it wasn’t. One of those songs that makes you understand why people write music in the first place. Beautiful and sad and hopeful all at once, and by the time it ended you were crying.
He pulled over. Right there, on the side of the road, he just pulled the car over and turned to look at you.
“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you said, wiping your eyes. “It’s just beautiful. It made me sad somehow. I don’t know.”
He reached over and took your hand. “Good sad or bad sad?”
You thought about it. “Good sad. Like I’m feeling something real.”
He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “That’s my favorite kind of sad.”
After that, the song became yours. He played it constantly, sent you clips of different versions, sang it in the shower or while making breakfast. It became shorthand for everything neither of you could say quite as well with your own words.
And now he’s playing it here, in front of two thousand people, with an orchestra behind him. Playing it like a reminder. Like a declaration only you can decode.
You’re not just crying anymore. You’re sobbing, real and undignified, muffling it with your hand, but Gemma just pulls you into her side and holds you there. She understands. She knows this isn’t just a concert.
His voice is achingly pure, like he was born to carry this melody, to stand on this stage in this exact moment.
Gemma leans close to your ear. “He loves you so much, sweet girl. So much.”
You nod. You can’t speak.
He sings on, his face lost in the music. There’s nothing between him and the song. Not the orchestra, not the audience, not the weight of the evening.
Then he hits the high note.
The song breaks open. His voice climbs higher and higher, pure and clear, and you stop breathing entirely. He reaches for something the rest of the room can feel but can’t name, and he grabs hold of it.
The note hangs in the air. Then falls away gently, like a feather drifting down.
The final piano chords fade out. The hall goes silent.
Then the entire audience erupts.
People are on their feet, clapping and cheering, some of them crying too. Two thousand people who understand exactly what they just witnessed. Not just a performance. A moment. A real, true, tender moment.
You’re standing too, though you don’t remember standing up. Your hands come together automatically. Gemma is beside you, her arm around your waist.
His eyes move slowly across the seats, searching, until they find you. They lock on and the rest of the room disappears. He smiles, small and private and devastating, and then he wiggles his fingers at you in a little wave. Just that. Just the smallest possible gesture, one that no one else would even notice.
But you do. You wave back, your hand trembling, fresh tears on your face. Gemma tightens her arm around you and you hear her say something, but you can’t make it out over the noise in your ears.
He holds your gaze for one more beat, then turns to acknowledge the applause, bowing slightly toward the orchestra. That moment, though, was yours alone.
The rest of the set passes differently now. You’re still present, still watching, but there’s a lightness in your chest that wasn’t there before. He performs the remaining songs with an ease that only comes when someone has finally let themselves off the hook. By the time he reaches the final notes of Hommage, the hall is completely his. The orchestra swells around him, Jules conducting with quiet authority, and you understand that Harry has done exactly what he came here to do. He gave everyone in this room the truth. And it was enough. More than enough.
The final song ends. The applause is thunderous. He stands, bows, turns to acknowledge Jules and the orchestra. Then he’s walking offstage, and the curtain falls, and it’s over.
Gemma grabs your hand. “Did you see him? Did you see how comfortable he got out there?”
“I saw,” you say softly.
Anne turns to you with tears in her eyes and pulls you into a hug without a word. After a moment she pulls back, smiling. “Come on, love. Let’s go find him.”
A member of the venue staff meets you at the end of your row and leads you backstage. The corridors are narrow and humming with post-show energy, people moving quickly, checking clipboards, breaking down gear. Your heart is already racing.
The green room door is open when you arrive. Harry is standing near the window, still in his floral shirt, hair damp with sweat. The moment he spots Anne, he breaks into a grin and crosses the room to pull her into a hug.
“Mum,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”
“Are you joking?” Her voice is thick. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen you do.”
Gemma goes in next, arms first, and you watch the three of them together for a moment before Harry looks over Gemma’s shoulder and finds you.
He untangles himself gently and walks toward you. The performer is gone now. What’s left is just him.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi yourself,” you reply, and then he’s got you, arms around you, and you press into him and let out a long slow breath. He smells like sweat and the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and holding him feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“I was thinking about you the whole time,” he murmurs. “Especially during that song. I kept going back to that night in the car.”
“I know,” you say. “I could tell.”
He pulls back to look at you, and his thumb catches a tear on your cheek before you can. He leans down and kisses you, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.
When he pulls back, Anne is watching you both with a quiet tenderness that you’ve always loved about her.
A knock at the door interrupts the moment. A venue staff member pokes their head in apologetically. “So sorry, Harry. Jules and a few of the festival organizers are wondering if you have a few minutes.”
Harry exhales, nodding. He keeps hold of your hand. “Give me twenty minutes?” he says to you. “I need to thank Jules properly. Say goodbye to a few people.”
“Of course,” you say. You know how this works.
“Why don’t we get some air?” Anne suggests, already reaching for her bag. “Give him a chance to finish up. We’ll be just outside, love.”
Harry kisses your forehead before letting you go. “I won’t be long. Wait for me?”
“We will,” Gemma says, already steering you toward the door.
You glance back one more time as you reach the corridor. Harry is already turning toward the people filing in, shifting back into the gracious, grateful version of himself, the one that belongs to the rest of the world. But his eyes catch yours just before you round the corner.
One more second. One more small, private thing.
Then you let yourself be pulled out into the warm evening air. The Thames is dark and glittering beyond the Southbank walkway, couples and tourists drifting past, none of them knowing what just happened inside that hall.
You lean against the railing and look out at the water, and you think about a car pulled over on the side of a road, and a man who stopped everything just to hold your hand while you cried over a song you’d never heard before.
Summary: On October 31st, Harry performs at Madison Square Garden while deeply missing his girlfriend. After texting her all day with no reply, he grows worried and longs to see her. After the show, he returns to his hotel room and is surprised to find her waiting there, all dressed up for him. They spend the evening together, happily sharing how much they missed each other.
The fingers of Harry started beating rapidly on the edge of his phone as he was sitting backstage at Madison Square Garden, where thousands of fans made noise from behind its thick walls. He could feel the energy getting built up right from behind the curtains, as the minutes went by, it only became more powerful. The usual smell of hairspray, expensive cologne, and heated up stage equipment was in the air. But today, it all didn't feel quite right.
He looked up at his phone for the hundredth time this day.
Still nothing from his baby.
No notifications.
Not even one single message.
Harry sighed and ran his hand through his curly hair. He unlocked his phone and opened the chat where he saw the whole bunch of texts he had sent her this morning.
Morning, Bunny. Hope you slept well. Wish you could wake up next to me.
I miss you so damn much baby..Just thinking when I’ll be able to see you again.
Baby,are you still sleeping?
Miss you.
Everything alright?
He keeps staring at his phone every minute, but still nothing. All he can think is, What did I do to not deserve a reply? Did he offend her? Was she mad at him because he didn’t call her yesterday? What if she’s seeing the texts but choosing to ignore him?For fuck’s sake, it was driving him insane. And the worst part was that he had a show in five minutes. He had to go out on that stage and act all happy, energetic, and carefree when the most important person in his entire world wasn’t giving him any attention.
In the last few minutes before going on stage, he types one final message to her:
Bunny, I don’t know what I did wrong for you not to reply. Maybe I’m overthinking again. I’m about to go on stage. Thinking about you. I love you and miss you so much. Please call me when you get this message.
Jeff was calling Harry’s name, telling him it was time to go on stage.
Thousands of voices screamed his name, the lights blinding as they swept across the arena. Normally, the energy would have lit a fire inside him. Normally, he’d be grinning from ear to ear, feeding off every cheer, every laugh, every sign held high in the crowd.
But tonight felt different.
His smile was there, his waves were there, his little jokes between songs were therebut his mind wasn’t.
It was with her.
The show moved on around him in a blur. Fans dressed in every Halloween costume imaginable filled the arena. He spotted witches, vampires, superheroes, skeletons, pirates, and even a few giant pumpkins dancing in the crowd. Usually, he would have spent half the night pointing them out and laughing about them.
Tonight, he barely noticed.
Every chance he got during the breaks, he found himself glancing toward the side of the stage where his phone was waiting.
Nothing.
No call.
No text.
No explanation.
The uncertainty sat heavily in his chest.
By the time he reached the middle of the set, sweat was dripping down his neck and soaking through his shirt. The heat from the stage lights felt relentless, and exhaustion was beginning to creep into his muscles. Still, he kept going, running from one side of the stage to the other, singing every lyric and giving the crowd everything he had.Because that’s what he did.No matter what was happening inside his head, he never wanted his fans to feel it.They had come to see a show.They deserved to see one.
The audience sang so loudly during some songs that he could barely hear himself. Their voices echoed through Madison Square Garden like thunder, and for a few moments he almost forgot.
Almost.
Then there would be a pause between songs,his thoughts would rush right back to her.
Why won’t she answer?
Is she okay?
Did something happen?
Is she upset with me?
The questions kept repeating themselves over and over.
Near the end of the night, Harry stood at the front of the stage, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The crowd was glowing beneath thousands of tiny lights.He smiled softly.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice slightly rough from singing. “Seriously. Thank you for spending your night with me. Thank you for all the love you’ve given me over the years. I never, ever take it for granted.”
The audience erupted into cheers.Harry looked around the arena, trying to take it all in.
“You lot make this possible,” he continued. “I know I say it all the time, but I mean it every single time. Thank you for being here. I love you all very much.”More screaming.More applause.He smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.Because even while standing in front of thousands of people who adored him, there was only one person he wanted to hear from.
One person whose silence felt louder than the crowd itself.
He was playing “Toxic” by Britney Spears as his closing song.
The arena exploded.
Harry laughed and jogged back across the stage as the fans immediately started singing along. Purple and green lights flashed around him while the Halloween crowd lost their minds.He danced, spun, and sang every word, sweat glistening on his skin beneath the lights. The energy was electric. The crowd was unstoppable.It should have been enough.It usually was.
But even as he performed the final chorus, even as thousands of voices screamed the lyrics back at him, even as confetti began raining from the ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to the same place.
To her.
To the unanswered messages sitting in their chat.To the phone waiting backstage.To the hope that maybe, just maybe, when he got off stage, there would finally be a reply waiting for him.
The song ended.The crowd erupted into deafening cheers.Harry stood there breathing hard, smiling as he waved goodbye,and sending kisses.
The lights faded.And the very first thing he thought about wasn’t the sold-out show.It wasn’t the applause.It wasn’t the success.
It was whether his phone had finally lit up with her name. By the time Harry finally made it back to the hotel, every part of him ached.The adrenaline from the show had faded, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. His shirt was still slightly damp with sweat, his voice was hoarse, and all he wanted was a hot shower and a few hours of sleep.
Most of all, he wanted a message from her.
The ride back had been quiet. He’d checked his phone more times than he could count.Still nothing.
His chest felt heavy.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep.
Maybe her phone had died.
Maybe something had happened.
The possibilities had been driving him crazy all night.
Dragging his feet down the hallway, Harry finally reached his hotel room. He slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open.
The room was completely dark.
Only the faint glow from the city lights outside filtered through the curtains.Harry sighed and stepped inside, dropping his bag by the door.
“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Perfect end to the night.”
He kicked off his shoes and started toward the bed. But the moment the soft glow of the lamp hit his eyes, his breath caught sharp in his chest. There she was, Bunny, curled on the edge of the massive bed in nothing but dressed as a Bunny, the hem riding high on her thighs, her dark hair spilling loose and a shy, teasing smile curving her lips. Relief flooded him so fast it buckled his knees, a ragged laugh bursting out as he dropped his bag and crossed the room in three strides. "Bunny... fuck, baby, you—how?" He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck, inhaling the warm vanilla scent of her skin as laughter mixed with the sting of tears he hadn't expected.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, grounding him as the words tumbled out between kisses pressed to her temple. "I missed you so much it hurt," she whispered, voice thick with the same ache, her body pressing closer as if to prove she was real. "The show, the distance every night I watched clips and wished I was there, Harry. You looked so beautiful up there, but I needed this, needed you." He laughed again, softer now, the tension draining from his shoulders as he cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks while their foreheads touched. The air thickened between them, charged with the months apart, his cock already stirring against her hip as her hands slid down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. "I missed this too," he murmured”So fucking much baby..”
They lingered in that embrace, the laughter fading into murmured words that spilled out like confessions long held back. "I missed you so damn much," Harry whispered against her ear, his hands roaming her back possessively, feeling the curve of her waist beneath the fabric. "The show was insane, but texting you with no replies it killed me. Thought maybe you'd forgotten." She tilted her head up, her eyes sparkling with playful affection as she pressed closer, her breasts soft against his chest. "Never, Harry. I wanted to surprise you, make it special after all those lonely nights. I missed your voice, your hands... everything." Her fingers traced his jaw, and the emotional thread between them tightened, the separation's ache giving way to a tender urgency that made his pulse quicken.
You have no idea how much I've thought about this pussy," he growled softly, tugging the corset up to expose her breasts, nipples already pebbled, before sliding down to part her thighs and press his mouth to her slick folds. Bunny arched with a gasp, her hands threading through his hair as his tongue licked slow and deliberate over her clit, tasting her arousal while his fingers teased her entrance, the wet sounds mingling with her moans. "That's it, love let me hear you. Tell me how much you missed my cock," he murmured between strokes, his own erection straining against his pants as he savored her trembling response, the reconnection deepening with every shared breath and touch.
Her thighs quivered under his palms as he delved deeper, tongue thrusting into her wet heat with insistent strokes that matched the rhythm of her rising moans. "Harry oh god, I've missed this so much," Bunny gasped, her voice breaking on a whimper as she rocked against his mouth, fingers tightening in his curls to pull him closer. The taste of her flooded him, sweet and heady, and he groaned low in his throat, the vibration pulsing through her clit as he sucked it firmly between his lips, one finger sliding inside her tight pussy to curl against that spot that always made her unravel. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants, but he held back, savoring the way her body responded to his control the soft dominance in how he pinned her hips with his free hand, guiding her pleasure even as exhaustion from the show faded under the rush of having her here, real and trembling for him.”Mhmm,my little bunny dressed as one f’me hm?”Harry’s voice sending a shiver into her back.
Bunny's thighs trembled around his head as she moaned louder, her voice breaking on his name while her fingers tightened in his curls, urging him deeper. "Harry fuck, I missed your cock so much, missed feeling it stretch me open and fill me up until I can't think," she gasped, hips rocking against his mouth as his tongue flicked relentlessly over her swollen clit, two fingers sliding into her dripping pussy with a slick curl that had her walls clenching tight. The taste of her coated his tongue, sweet and musky, and the way she writhed beneath him sent a fresh surge of blood straight to his aching erection, pressing hard against the zipper of his pants. He groaned into her folds, the vibration making her cry out again, her breasts heaving as she arched higher, nipples brushing the cool air.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his lips glistening, voice rough with that soft command she always melted for. "Good girl keep talking, tell me how empty you've been without me." His free hand worked his belt open one-handed, freeing his thick cock to the cool room air, the head already slick with precome as he stroked himself slowly. Bunny's gaze dropped to it, her tongue darting out over her lips, but he didn't give her time to reach, instead leaning in to suck her clit harder while pumping his fingers faster, curling against that spot that made her whole body shake. The emotional weight of the reunion lingered in every touch the way his thumb stroked her hip soothingly even as he devoured her, the soft praises he murmured between licks blending with the raw hunger to reclaim every inch of her.
She came with a broken whimper, pussy pulsing around his fingers, thighs locking as pleasure crashed through her, and Harry worked her through it with gentle laps until she tugged him up by the hair. He rose over her then, cock nudging against her slick entrance as he kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "Since u have been a really bad girl keeping me worried about you,not caring about your boyfriend..I don’t think i should care about you getting off or not.Hm bunny does that annoys you?Too bad love.”he breathed against her mouth, pushing in slow and steady, the tight heat of her drawing a low groan from his chest as their bodies finally joined again after so many nights apart.
“Har-please no.I was trying to be good for you..”
“You beg so beautifully baby.Beside all i can’t leave my little bunny all worked up.Take off your underwear only leave the bunny ears and go on fours.Now.”
