if you dont mind, id like to show you something im trying to work on. it'd be very nice if you give it a chance.
it would be very nice to have your reblog in case you dont wanna read it
loving me takes patience
harry is a single dad, he and his daughter Cassandra, or better Cassie, are stuck like glue to each other. Until Harry met another woman, Rebecca, a beautiful and intelligent, and captivating human being. this story is about love, a fresh start, family, and much more
oc! x single dad harry
enjoy your reading
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
*
the one where I…
harry and y/n met under not-so-good circumstances, but if you call it love or destiny is up to you, they just think is bad luck.
they have to be together due to bigger circumstances. this is the story of how tragic and beautiful life can be
From me/warnings: mostly fluff, a bit angsty, some smutty situations referenced not in full detail. I thought this was cute to describe a little more of the town people hahaha
Summary: It's that time of year and Harry is a little sad. Fortunately Miss Peach almost always cheers her up.
Harry loved opening up the diner. It was quiet, the sun was coming up, and it just felt right. After so much time grieving and being unhappy, it was nice not feeling overwhelmed by sadness. It was nice to just nice to sit and enjoy the quiet.
Except the door opened with a creak, reminding Harry he needed to grease the hinges.
Harry liked quiet. But he loved the noise coming through the door more than anything. “Do you think the parents and kids will think I’m insane if I do a murder mystery—kid friendly, of course—at story hour?”
The door clicked shut as she settled her bag on a table and headed to the counter to start wiping it down. Talking, as if she was continuing a conversation they were already having. Even though Harry hadn’t spoken to her since before she fell asleep last night.
She was going to wipe down all the tables next, even though he told her, at least a million times, not to. She was wearing a trench coat and an old timey detective hat. He could see a magnifying glass poking out of the coat pocket and he was confident there would be a tape recorder in the other pocket—or maybe a little notebook to jot down clues.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Every day. Costume or not. “M’pretty sure they already think you’re insane, Peach,” he smirked.
She rolled her eyes and frowned so cutely. Harry hated when she was sad, but he could take her fake little pouts—she was adorable. “I don’t know… a lot of them have seen a lot of my outfits already, I don’t want to bore them with the same stories. I like to keep things interesting.”
That was an understatement. Since she came to town, life had been very interesting for everyone, not just Harry.
He shook his head, smirking to himself. It was an odd worry she had. He certainly didn’t mind telling her, but he reminded several times over that she could do her Cat in the Hat performance a thousand days in a row and no one would care in the slightest. Harry liked routine and so did the rest of the town; Christmas tree lighting on December 1st, Summer Solstice Party in June, and a Thanksgiving lunch at the diner. It was all very lovely. She changed every routine and made it better. People came to expect her wiffle ball tournament and waited anxiously for her to dress up as an elf alongside their mysterious Santa (how they hadn’t figured out it was Harry was beyond him). Harry still remembered the one year he had to force her to stay home when she was sick and couldn’t provide her homemade lemonade back when they weren’t dating. He tried to make it himself, but everyone complained it didn’t taste anything like hers.
So, no. The town wouldn’t think she was insane for doing a children’s mystery. But they wouldn’t have minded the same characters she performed every day either.
“You’re supposed to wake me up before you leave,” she reminded him with that pretty little pout on her pretty sweet lips.
He shook his head again. “Y’needed t’sleep, Peach,” he shrugged. He looked at her pointedly as she scrubbed along the counter where she would hopefully sit before heading to story time in a few hours. “Should I even bother telling you not t’wipe down the counters?”
She began humming a song. Loudly. Continued cleaning as if he hadn’t spoken at all. He chuckled to himself and headed to the back making sure he had cold coffee for her. He made sure the eggs were close to the griddle and that the pancake batter was ready to go too. There wouldn’t be peach and white chocolate chip ones this morning, just a muffin on the go instead since story hour still made her nervous.
Up front, when he returned, she was putting salt and pepper shakers out, making sure each table had a bottle of ketchup and hot sauce too.
“Peach,” he tutted.
But she was ready for his complaint before it started. “How come you’re allowed to repair my shop all the time. And my house. Why are you allowed to do all these things but me helping you open for the day is like the worst thing in the world?”
He smiled. “I jus’ like when y’sit on your stool and look pretty. I think s’the only time of day y’relax.”
She turned a pretty shade of pink and pursed her lips. “I was pretty relaxed last night,” she grumbled taking the rolled silverware and setting them out next. It was routine. Even if Harry didn’t want her to be part of the routine only because he didn’t want her to have to lift a finger.
Harry chuckled and he could feel half the blood in his body rush to his dick, and the other half to his cheeks. “M’very aware of that, kitten,” he strolled over to the table she was setting up. He stood behind her, his hands on her hips, and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “S’that the only way t’make you relax?” He knew he struck a chord because she shivered, his lips brushed against the shell of her ear as he spoke.
“Why? Are you going to make me relax right now?” She asked quietly, the smallest bit of hope in her voice.
He took off her hat and coat, leaving it on the counter close to her spot. Gently he guided her by the hips and pushed her toward the apartment behind the diner that they didn’t sleep at much anymore… but still found quite useful—especially for moments like these. “Think y’should relax before the day really begins, don’t you?”
*
Harry was extremely skillful at making her come when he wanted to. He was a terrible tease when he wanted to be, too, but he was great at making sure she finished as quickly as he could if there was a time crunch.
She was still blushing as he slid his pants back on. His stomach muscles still made her blush (even though moments ago he was literally inside her).
“Y’look at me like that, Peach, we won’t be going to work today,” he warned sliding his shirt over his head.
“Isn’t it a good thing I come by at the crack of dawn to help you get set up and then make sure you’re emotionally ready for the day by sucking your dick? I thought you liked routine.”
“Peach,” he chuckled, but his face turned a light shade of pink.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly. Even though she just practically cried with how good he made her feel, the kiss felt almost as orgasmic. His lips were so soft and gentle. The touch made her vibrate with electricity. Her toes curled inside her shoes, and she hoped that her hair still looked okay. At least she had the detective help cover anything out of sorts. “Will you please behave now?” He asked.
“No.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
*
It was possible that detective hour was a much bigger hit than she anticipated. It was very likely that she was going to have to launch a giant scavenger hunt across town.
At lunch, she shed the hat and coat and sat at her stool. She wondered if anyone ever sat on it or if Harry shooed them away whether she was nearby or not.
He was insane. A little anyway. The cutest thing in the world.
Before she was fully seated, her cup of cold coffee was in front of her and she reached for the cream behind the counter—he smacked her hand lightly and she smiled at him. “Give me a second, Peach,” he rolled his eyes.
But it was routine and she was a stickler for it as much as the man in front of her who didn’t like any surprises.
She took her laptop from her bag and set it beside her specially made coffee. She briefly thought how lucky and special she was to have such a lovely little life. But she couldn’t think about it for long because she would get all teary. “I have to research how to create a town-wide scavenger hunt,” she mumbled.
He smirked. “Sounds like murder-mystery went well,” he shook his head. “M’not being part of it,” he said knowingly.
Her eyes flicked from her screen up to him, gazed at him with a dead expression in her eyes, and then back to her computer without comment. “Can I have a peach pancake and a white chocolate chip pancake, please?”
“One or the other, Peach.”
She didn’t answer him, but also didn’t look at him either as she began researching. Harry sighed dramatically and headed back to the grill to make her one of each anyway.
It was simply routine.
*
Harry waved to Dave and Edith as he parked and headed up the front steps to her house that very much felt like his house as well. “Harry, could you take a look at our hot water heater tomorrow?” Edith called.
“Sure thing, Edith.”
“We can just call someone to look at it, Edith.”
“Miss Peach said Harry gets really annoyed when we don’t ask him first. Remember the gutters?”
“That’s only because you asked Miss Peach,” he reminded her.
Harry kept his smile hidden from the neighbors but headed inside.
“Peach?” He called.
“Back here!”
Her voice came from outside. A tiki torch, a book light, and the new and improved hammock he set up for her were all perfect. It was picturesque and Harry knew she would stay out in the hammock well into the cool fall and winter if she could. (But Harry usually had to drag her back inside with the promise of hot chocolate (and maybe an orgasm.)) But her book was closed on her stomach, and her phone was propped up against her thighs so she could FaceTime with her friend.
“Hi Harry!” Bailey chirped from the screen.
“Hi Bailey,” he smirked.
“How was work?” She asked.
“Thrilling. There was a murder mystery, didn’t you hear?” He asked knowingly. He kissed the top of her head while she smiled at Bailey. “Did y’eat dinner, Peach?”
“No, do you want to order pizza?”
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
He headed back in the house to order.
“Extra garlic knots!”
“I know, I know.”
“You look happy, babe,” he heard Bailey say quietly.
“I’ve never been happier,” she said without pause, without emphasis, it was common knowledge. This was what happiness felt like.
Harry smiled to himself.
*
Routine was great for Harry. He knew she liked it too, but sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t enough. Typically, around the anniversary that his mum passed. It was like the ides of March but wasn’t March.
The way she got frustrated made him nervous. But it was a busy time of year. Back to school, textbooks, AP classes, summer reading that students put off, all made her anxious. She missed her family and wanted to go see Bailey in the city.
Her fingers held the moon charm on her necklace, and she moved it back and forth along the chain. He set her pancakes in front of her while she listened to the person at the other end of the line with her phone pressed against her ear. “You understand that makes no sense, right?”
Harry loved—but simultaneously feared for the person at the other end of the line— when she spoke like that. “Amazon has no problem making deliveries here, so you have not a leg to stand on. I’ll call back later.”
Her delivery was behind and it was making her anxious. Something about how it’s out of the way on their route to other places. It would cost more to get a timelier delivery. There was a lot of expenses happening right now for her (the costly deliveries, there was a leak in the bathroom and since it happened in the middle of the night was looking like a big renovation was going to be needed, and she was on her next batch of window replacements at home now that the previous batch had been paid off) and it always made Harry nervous that being off the beaten path would make her miss the city life more.
In the city, she would have an apartment, not a house. Anything that went wrong would be fixed by the landlord. The book deliveries wouldn’t be as expensive. The help to fix the bathroom wouldn’t cost as much either. All that travel wouldn’t be the problem that often cropped up every time there was a problem.
She would be near friends; and her family would probably come visit her more often.
Her big ideas and extravagant planning… she was meant to live in a city.
Harry went to the grill and took a deep breath. He knew she would yell at him if he brought this up again. Not in a mean way. In a way that he needed to hear. Harry wanted to leave this place so many years ago it would have been the smarter decision, maybe. Then she could have left and if he ever decided to come back it wouldn’t have affected him. He wouldn’t have known her.
That seemed tragic in itself.
“Harry?” She called. “Sutton’s looking for you.”
She doesn’t want to leave. He repeated to himself. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. It was the time of year.
But Bailey was having her for a girl’s weekend next week and it was all aligning too well; and he really wasn’t sure why, but in his head, he worried that girl’s weekend would turn into forever.
*
What do you mean the diner’s closed? Is he okay? Did anyone check on him?
Her call went ignored for the third time and she sat up straight on the sofa. Bailey would understand if she left in the middle of the night. Why didn’t he say anything about closing for the day? They texted all day and he was short, and quiet. But he was Harry and that was how he texted.
He asked her if she saw the moon before bed and it wasn’t that unexpected. But to see the Instagram story from one of the teens in town writing how am I supposed to get French fries NOW? From six hours ago, with the picture of the door with the closed for today sign up…
Why on earth wouldn’t he tell her?
She called again—which was also unlike Harry to leave her unanswered. Then she worried when he did wake up, he’d probably be terrified. So she just had to keep calling. “Pick up,” she mumbled tapping his name again.
On the seventh or eighth call, the phone stopped ringing. “’Lo,” he murmured.
“Harry,” she said softly.
“Oh,” he sighed; there was a thread of relief in his oh. Like he wasn’t expecting her. As if someone else would be calling him in the middle of the night. “Hi, Peach,” his voice was soft, warm, drenched in honey it seemed. “You okay?”
“Are you okay?”
“M’sleeping,” he mumbled.
“Mm…” she hummed. “So… have you been sleeping all day?”
“No,” she knew she was being a little unfair when he was this tired, but he scared her. So she was going to be a little miffed. “Y’can’t sleep?”
If she wasn’t so annoyed with him, she would have reminded him that it felt impossible to sleep without him anymore. The first time they slept (and just slept) together it made her realize how shitty her sleep had been for years.
But she was annoyed. So she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Maryam posted on Instagram that you were closed today.” There was silence at the other end of the line. She didn’t want to be the one to break it.
Eventually he sighed. “S’late, kitten. Y’should sleep.”
“You know I can’t sleep without you,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the dark ceiling. She could hear the traffic, the road construction, the late-night birds, and a distant siren outside Bailey’s apartment. It was nothing like home. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew you’d be mad or nervous.”
She huffed. “I’m not mad.”
He snorted. “Mm, y’don’t sound mad at all.”
“Harry.”
“I jus’ miss you when you’re gone, Peach. S’not that serious. S’a hard time of year,” he mumbled.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that. She knew exactly why. “I hate that I’m not there.”
“Also why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t go. M’not going to hold you back.”
She nearly groaned in frustration. “You don’t hold me back, Harry. Why—” She stopped herself and took another deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s late, we shouldn’t do this on the phone.”
“Sorry t’worry you, Peach. M’fine, I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She bit her lip, her heart aching to hold him even though she hadn’t been gone that long. It was a nice kind of feeling. She hoped he felt it too—that she missed him just as much. “I miss you, too, by the way.”
She could almost hear his sleepy smile. Eyes closed, dreamy look on his face, his lips curved up just for her, so that cute dimple dented into his cheek. “Yeah?”
It made her smile. “Yes, Harry. Of course I do.”
*
Bailey had a work emergency. She apologized about two hundred times, but she wasn’t upset in the slightest. Going home a little early to see her favorite guy was a dream come true and she still had a lot of fun with Bailey. After his rough day yesterday, she was hoping to surprise him and make up for how crummy he felt. Plus, even though it had only been a couple days, she’d grown very accustomed to having peach and white chocolate chip pancakes on a very set schedule and her time away had thrown her off and she had never craved anything more.
So to see that the diner was closed. Again. When she arrived, made her irritated, frustrated, and simply sad.
She pouted, holding the duffle bag on her shoulder (she didn’t even stop at home to drop it off. Wanted to see Harry and his grumpy face turn into that slight smile at the sight of her as he poured her cold coffee and told her she couldn’t have what she wanted (and still gave it to her anyway).
“You need to warn the rest of us when you leave, Miss Peach,” Alice winked at her as she stared at the little sign saying he wasn’t home.
She snorted. “Sorry,” she grumbled. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologize. We know how he gets. We love him and just want him to be happy. It’s lovely he has someone like you,” Alice gave her arm a squeeze. “Did you get that special edition I requested?” She asked as she walked away toward the bookstore.
“I think it should have delivered, check with Emmett and tell him I’ll be by this afternoon for me!” She called.
“Miss Peach,” Sutton approached her next. Her duffle bag was heavy and she wanted to set it down.
“Afternoon, Sutton. How are you?”
“Just dandy, can you please assure me you’ll be here for the Fall Harvest? I was hoping you could make that apple cider that you did last year.”
“Sutton, I’ve not missed it since I moved to town why on earth would—” but Sutton’s gaze flicked to the sign on the diner door, and she took a deep breath and composed herself. “We’ll be there,” she said and dug her keys out of her pocket and let herself in.
“Are you opening up, Miss Peach?” Caden was on his bike. “Harry said he would make me a chocolate milkshake if I read my summer reading book and—”
“Caden, sweetheart, she just got in. Let her breathe,” his mom smiled sheepishly at her as she held Lily’s hand while sauntering up after the little bike rider. Lily waved shyly.
She grinned sweetly. Tiredly. “I’ll make sure Harry opens up and makes it for you right away,” she winked and headed inside.
“Peach?” His voice called from the back
“No, just a burglar,” she rolled her eyes and locked the door behind her and headed for his apartment.
Harry rushed to the front as she made her way back, so they bumped into one another right in the little hallway. “Hi Peach, what are you doing home early?” He asked.
That sweet, bright, half smile that he didn’t let anyone see except for her bloomed on his lips and she couldn’t believe how much she missed him in such a short amount of time. He was so lovely it made her chest hurt. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then a soft brush of his lips against hers. It was too sweet. Sweeter than the syrupy pancake concoction he made him. It was almost too good. It should have been illegal to feel that good.
Without waiting for her to respond, he took the duffle bag off her shoulder and if it wasn’t for the fact she could barely contain how much she loved him from the get-go, she would have loved to profess she loved him for the first time right there. “Hi, I missed you. Bailey had a work emergency…” she didn’t care how good his lips tasted (okay she did. But.) “Harry, why is the diner still closed?”
Harry pressed his lips into a line, and he looked away from her. Anywhere but her.
“Harry,” she cooed.
“Peach,” he sighed. “I’m trying really hard, I promise. S’jus’ certain things… they make me sad.”
“I know, baby.”
He deflated a little more at the word baby. “You leaving… for any stretch of time… it’s one of them.”
“But why? I’m always going to come back, Harry. I promise.”
Harry dropped her duffle bag, and he ran a hand over his face, he leaned against the wall and sighed. “I don’t know, Peach… m’jus… sad.”
“But I don’t want you to be sad about me, baby,” she whispered. “I adore you. I couldn’t dream of leaving.”
“That’s the problem, Peach.”
“Harry—”
“No, Peach… you don’t get it… I think you deserve so much more. I see it in everything you do. Think of the parties you could plan. A bigger place you could have weddings for God’s sake. People would love a happily ever after themed venue. You could do so much more than this stupid little town and every time you go, I think this is going to be it. You’re going to realize it, you’re going to see it—”
She couldn’t stop it, her eyes welled with tears. “You’re being mean, Harry,” she croaked.
“I’m not being mean, Peach. I just want you to—”
“I don’t see that. I don’t see any of that.”
“Peach—”
“No, you said your mean piece. I’m saying mine.”
“But—”
“Harry, what you went through is one of the worst, most awful things a person can go through, but not every person is going to leave you. I’m not going to leave you. I love you and I love it here. It’s where I want our kids to grow up. It’s where I want to live for the rest of my life. There’s nothing more out there for me. You can’t see the stars in the city. The moon looks nothing like it does out here. You, Harry, you aren’t there in the city. So it has nothing to offer me anymore.”
Harry knew the sweet bookstore owner would be good with words the moment he met her. But he was still amazed by her every time she talked him down from his sad and scary feelings. He swallowed, his chest tightening for a new reason. “You want to have kids with me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Harry, who else am I going to have them with?”
He ignored that. It wasn’t that kind of question. “What if they’re grumpy like I am?”
She huffed, but the corners of her mouth tilted up just a little. “That’s okay, they’re going to be stubborn like me.”
“You’re really too pretty and lovely to have grumpy little kids and a grumpy boyfriend, Peach.”
“Aw Harry, won’t you be my grumpy husband if we’re having kids?”
He smiled, looked at her pretty sweet face, that he loved so much. “You still want to marry me?”
She smirked again. “What is wrong with you?” She shook her head.
“Peach.”
“Yes, Harry. I want to have grumpy little kids with you in this adorable little town in a leaky house with painted shut windows and a bookstore and a diner. I want to get married in the backyard and not tell anyone because I love it here. Because I love you even if you’re grumpy.”
He took a deep breath. “You just… you deserve so much more.”
“Harry,” her voice was soft and she closed the distance between them. She pressed her hands to either side of his face and gazed at him with the softest expression he’d ever seen. It felt like all his organs were melting inside him. He gently reached for her wrists and turned his head toward her palm to place a kiss there. “I have everything I need. I only want you. Everything else is a bonus.”
“Can I still think y’deserve more?”
She smiled. “You wouldn’t be my Harry if you didn’t.”
“Peach?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I thought you might,” she shrugged. “I love you too,” she pressed her lips against his and both of them sighed with a breath they both seemed to be holding together. “Now, you promised Caden a chocolate shake and there’s a cider recipe I need to perfect, and I don’t know if you know this, but I haven’t had a pancake in three days.”
He smiled, grabbed her bag off the floor to store away while they opened the diner. “Yeah, Peach. I know.”
--
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TO LOVE TO LET GO
pairing: current older boyfriend! Harry Styles x fem! reader
summary: At your friend’s wedding, you and Harry come to a conclusion that your relationship maybe can’t work the way you want it to
word count: 8.6K
contains: age gap (Harry is 32 & reader is 23), angst, sad emotional stuff, fluff, smut → soft dom! Harry, kissing, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected and rough-ish? sex (wrap it before you tap it!!!), size kink if you squint, aftercare, praise, talks about marriage and kids
a/n: After binge watching Friends a few months back, I got inspired by the Monica and Richard trope so here is mine ‘adaptation’. A little emotional piece. I wrote it mostly on my daily walks (girl needed to finish her apple fitness circles). Also kinda disclaimer, I’ve never been to a wedding so I was writing this with a google tab ‘how weddings work’ open the whole time hahaha
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ALL MY LOVE & TPWK, E
When Harry told you about the wedding invitation he got from his childhood friend, you were ecstatic. Handwritten in dark ink on creamy white cardstock with lovely illustrations, it went straight on the fridge in your shared home in London.
You loved Harry’s friends and family. And celebrating their love at such an intimate event together was a beautiful thing you couldn’t wait to be a part of. Especially when they directly invited you too, not just Harry and his plus-one.
He heartily laughed at you when he saw you getting so giddy every time you walked around the fridge. His eyes were full of amusement and love, just as his heart, and he never waited a second to join you in the silly obsessing.
You were it for Harry, that was very much certain. After two years of dating and one year of living together, he knew one day you’d be the woman in a beautiful white gown walking down the aisle to him. He knew that from the moment he laid his eyes on you already.
You planned your outfits, matching, of course, and fitted the dress code perfectly. You embraced a touch of boho and wore the requested light green for ladies, creating a perfect match with Harry’s dark pistachio suit jacket.
“You look beautiful, love. I’m afraid you’re gonna steal the spotlight,” Harry pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder after he zipped up your dress and smoothed his palm over your back. He turned you slowly in his arms, holding you at arm’s length to take in your finished look.
“My prettiest girl,” He whispered and kissed you softly on your lips, careful of your lipstick.
As a wedding registry gift, you bought a coffee machine together. A classic, but with a vintage look, yet many high-tech features, it made the perfect gift for them, especially since your friends drank coffee a lot.
The venue was lively already when you arrived. People were catching up on their lives, hugging, soft music played in the background, and you walked snuggled under Harry’s arm through the crowd full of his old friends and the bride’s and groom’s relatives, sharing your greetings and brief life updates on the way.
There wasn’t a day when you weren’t feeling a little nervous about coming to a place full of strangers by Harry’s side. Your age gap was obvious, and so the judgment was expected. You gushed with young energy, while Harry, on the other hand, looked distinctly mature with the beard he started growing out.
Harry had reassured you so many times that no one minded or cared about this aspect of your relationship a single bit. His family loved you, you had a lot of support from yours and Harry’s friends, his fans envied you, and the rest of the world didn’t matter.
You smiled politely at everyone, shook hands with the people you didn’t know, and blushed when Harry started praising you in front of his friends.
“I swear she’s amazing, the best girl in the whole world! Teaches me something new every day, keeps me on my toes,” Harry grinned when one of his friends teased him about being able to keep up with you, and he tightened his grip around your waist before he pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek.
His friends laughed, and some of them even patted his back with proud smiles. It warmed their hearts that Harry had finally found someone who made him this happy.
You took your place on the chairs, ready to watch the ceremony, and intertwined your fingers, holding your hands in your lap with a soft smile as you witnessed the celebration of love happening.
The bride was beautiful. Dressed in a big white dress with lacy details, she walked down the aisle to a violin adaptation of one song from a romantic movie. You noticed how Harry’s eyes turned glassy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wiping away a few tears of your own.
“Look at them, they’re so happy,” He murmured in your ear as the bride and groom exchanged wedding rings.
He reluctantly pulled his hand away from yours to stand up and clap with others at the newly married couple walking up the aisle, whistling occasionally in excitement.
“That was beautiful,” You let out a dreamy sigh as you walked side by side to the reception, your arm hung in his.
“Wait for our wedding, baby,” Harry squeezed your hand gently and rubbed his thumb over your ring finger where a golden band symbolising your love could be one day.
“Shut up,” Your cheeks warmed up almost immediately, and you hid your face in his chest, making him wrap his arm around your shoulders to hold you close.
While the couple was taking photos in a beautiful garden with a small pond and many different kinds of flowers you took a glimpse of when you arrived, you and Harry found yourselves in a group of his friends from primary school and listened to the stories from their childhood, making Harry’s cheeks turn warm colours in embarrassment.
“Hey enough! Don’t y’all scare her off!” He wheezed mid-laugh and cradled you even closer in case the horrifying stories from your boyfriend’s childhood did really change your mind about dating him. Your back was pressed against his chest, his hands found their home on your stomach in a protective gesture, and thanks to your quite significant height difference, besides the age one, Harry comfortably rested his chin atop your head.
“When are you two gonna tie the knot, Harry?” One of Harry’s old friends called out teasingly and pointed with his raised glass full of champagne at you.
But to Harry, it wasn’t a joke. He was actively thinking about it. You were the love of his life, his future wife, a mother to his children. If he had the engagement ring on him, it would be on your finger by the end of the night.
“If this one says yes,” Harry said with the widest grin and squeezed your waist for good measure, “then hopefully soon,”
“We’re gonna wait for our invites then,” Everyone collectively laughed at his bubbly excitement.
“Oh, definitely,”
The conversation flowed easily and reached topics from a promotion at work, adoption of an older dog, or Harry’s plans in his music career to happy revelations that one of the bride’s friends recently had a baby.
“Oh my god, I have to send her a message! How’s she and the baby doing?” Harry’s face lit up at the news, and you felt his grip tighten around your waist as if you carried there a baby of your own that he suddenly had to protect.
The idea of someday having a baby with Harry made your stomach flutter with butterflies. Without debate, he would be the most loving father who would have tea parties with his daughter and play footie with his son.
“Peanut, please?” Harry murmured in your ear and nodded towards the small plate with appetisers on the table in front of you.
“I feel like I’m feeding a parrot and not my boyfriend,” You huffed out between giggles and fed him with a few pistachios which he accepted with an incoherent ‘thank you’ and didn’t forget to bite on your finger playfully to get a reaction from you.
As the day went on, you had a delicious chicken with potatoes and salad for late lunch and shared a piece of the wedding cake. Vanilla corpus with strawberry and lemon filling made you moan quietly, and Harry swallowed the sound from your lips with a chaste kiss. The newlyweds had their first dance as well as a dance with their parents right after, and you and Harry joined them with other couples later on to enjoy the dance floor on your own.
“Am I doing alright?” He asked you shyly while his eyes were fixed on his shoes, making sure he didn’t step on your toes.
“Yeah, why shouldn’t you?” You smiled and squeezed his biceps in encouragement.
“Been ages since I danced like that,” He shrugged and looked at you with not so shy grin anymore, “I promise I’m gonna take dance lessons before our wedding, wanna be good for you.”
“You’re silly,” You rolled your eyes at him talking about your future wedding again and rested your head against his shoulder with a happy sigh.
“Uh-huh, I’m serious, baby, there’s a difference,” He kissed your forehead with mock seriousness.
You swayed softly from side to side, wrapped up in each other, Harry’s hands rested on your lower back, keeping you close, and you were mindlessly playing with the growing curls at the nape of his neck.
“Hey, look at them,” Harry whispered in your ear after a moment and nudged his head toward two little kids dancing together. A little girl in a pretty pink dress, probably around the age of three, stood on a much older boy’s shoes while he led her carefully in an attempt to slow dance.
“Aww, they’re adorable,” You pouted at the sight.
“Imagine our little ones dancing like this, big brother leading his little sister.” Harry sighed dreamily, his eyes still focused on the children, before he slid his right hand from your back to the side of your stomach and rested his forehead against yours. If it was possible, he would have big red hearts instead of his eyes like a silly cartoon character. “You’re gonna look perfect, belly all rounded and swollen with our baby. Beautiful future momma for me.
But then he immediately remembered the conversation you had together not so long ago and looked down at your flat stomach with a small frown.
Kids and marriage. It was one of those big topics that needed to be discussed at your point of relationship. You were still young, and the thought of having a kid at that very moment or in the near future didn’t sit right with you. On the other hand, Harry’s biological clock started ticking faster than it used to. He didn’t want to run after his kids with hurting knees and backaches, nor have any problems in conception because of his age.
“Give me more time?” You looked up at him from his chest with a quiet sigh, worry gnawing at your whole body.
You both were sitting snuggled on the couch in your apartment, deep in thought after the hard conversations about would’ves and could’ves.
“Okay, sweetheart,” He gave you a sad smile and pressed a kiss in your hair. He loved you. He thought he could be okay waiting with this for a year or two for the love of his life.
“Harry,” You sigh with a pout when you noticed the disappointment itching on his face. You knew the outcome of the conversation wasn’t one you both were one hundred per cent happy with, but seeing how much it meant to Harry, and what it meant for you, you couldn’t do much but hold him tighter.
Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss, pouring every single emotion that was blooming in his chest into it. You whimpered, not expecting that, but leaned into him quickly and reciprocated the depth of the kiss in the same measure.
You kissed until the slow love song ended and everything went silent, until the thoughts about pregnancy and babies moved into the very back of your minds.
Every single girl who wasn’t married yet, including you, moved to the end of the dance floor and gathered in a small crowd. The bride, now changed into a shorter and much more comfortable but still white dress, stood a few meters away with her back facing you and swung her arm a few times before she threw her bouquet behind her into the pool of open palms.
You weren’t trying really, reaching after it and fighting your way through the crowd of ladies to get the bouquet, but it found its way to your hands anyway and the smell of lilies slapped you in the nose.
“She got it! My girl caught the bouquet!” Harry started jumping in the most unreal state of joy as if he was watching a football game and England had scored a goal and he threw himself at his friends who caught him with laughter.
For a moment, every single one of your worries left your head, and you basked in the unexpected moment of happiness. Flowers don’t lie.
“That’s my fucking girl,” He ran to you with open arms and the widest grin you’ve ever seen on him, looking like a madman, and hugged you so tight you couldn’t even breathe for a second. He spun around with you, you kicked your feet in the air and squealed in surprise in his ear, and everybody erupted into cheers and laughter.
“We’re getting engaged so soon,” Harry finally set you down and rested his forehead against yours, still smiling like an idiot.
“Please don’t tell me you have a ring here,” Your eyes widened in horror at his words, and you slipped your hand into the pocket of his suit jacket to look for a velvet box, while holding the flowers in your other hand.
“Here? God no! Would lose it,” He laughed and took your hand into both of his, blessing every knuckle with a kiss before he pressed it over his heart.
“Look,” You showed him the bouquet with a shy smile. It was quite a simple arrangement of lilies, dahlias and greenery, held together by a white ribbon.
“It’s beautiful. And you look perfect with it, my wife to be,” He smiled at you and pulled you back into his chest for another hug, still not over what happened.
You spent the rest of the night dancing, eating, talking to Harry’s friends and the newlyweds, and admiring your new flowers too. You noticed how Harry’s eyes found the couple of kids more than once, stopping mid-sip, while eating or even during dance to take in what they were doing. How the boy was reassuring his little sister when she was crying, or how they were sharing a chocolate cupcake and their mouths were covered in icing.
“Goodnight! And congratulations again, it was so nice seeing you!” Harry hugged the groom and the bride goodbye when you were standing by the door of the venue, ready to call it a night.
“Thanks, man. Can’t wait for your wedding guys, hope you’ll invite us!” Harry’s friend patted his back in a friendly man hug.
Driving home never felt longer even though you lived just 20 minutes away from the wedding venue. Both you and Harry were quiet. You usually talked his ears off or sang along with whatever was playing on the radio but this time it was turned off.
You toed off your heels as soon as you passed the threshold of your apartment and leaned down to rub the tension away from your feet. You weren’t used to wearing heels and after hours of dancing and standing around, you were more than happy to put your feet up.
“Hurting?” Harry frowned at the idea of you being in pain and immediately knelt down, inspecting the reddening skin.
“It’s not that bad,” You shook your head, trying to lighten up the situation, but your quiet wince when Harry put light pressure on growing bruises on your instep let him know otherwise.
“Gonna fetch you some cream for it, go sit on the couch” He straightened up and with a kiss on your cheek left quickly in the bathroom.
Soon you heard the sound of his sock-cladded feet thudding softly against the hardwood floor and he reappeared from around the corner in your open space living room. He took off his suit jacket on the way, undid a few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. With his tousled hair, he looked exactly like from your wet dreams.
“This should make it better,” He showed you the small tube of soothing cream he found in the bathroom cabinet. He took a place next to you in the soft cushion of your sofa and pulled your feet in his lap without a warning, making you whimper in surprise at the unexpected movement.
You fell back into pillows but didn’t move your legs an inch, letting Harry take care of you just as he promised he would do.
“Does it hurt a lot?” He asked you as he started rubbing the cream softly into your skin with focused precision.
“No just- just like a regular bruise, it’s not that bad,” You hummed with closed eyes, enjoying the pampering through it wasn’t something unusual, Harry loved to spoil and take care of you anytime he could.
“Okay,” He nodded and continued massaging your foot, adding pressure when it felt right and dragging his fingers around the bruised spots lightly.
“Harry?” You whispered after he moved his focus to your other foot, and you finally blinked your eyes open to look at him.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do- do you really want to have kids uh soon?” You asked softly, not sure how to approach the topic that’s been weighing on your minds ever since the wedding.
Harry’s fingers stopped mid rub and he let out a long breath before he dared to look up at you. “I would love to. Ideally in about a year,”
You felt your heart drop in your stomach. In a year? That was too soon. That felt almost like tomorrow, and the current tomorrow was just a few hours away.
“That soon?” You whimpered.
“Yeah, I’m not the youngest anymore,” He let out a bitter laugh. “I still wanna be in good shape when we have kids.”
“Do you think I will be ready in a year?” Your voice wobbled as you spoke but you swallowed your tears and anxiety quickly.
“You’re gonna be an amazing mom, love,” Harry slid his hand up on your thigh with a small smile, the fabric of your dress bunching in your lap. He was completely sure about this.
“I don’t know,” You leaned back against the pillows and closed your eyes. You tried to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, your heart was beating wildly and you could feel your anxiety laughing at you. And before you could even notice it, a tear fell down your cheek.
“Hey, hey, what’s up with the tears? Why are you crying, baby?” Harry stopped massaging your feet completely, abandoning the task at hand, because an aching heart was worse than bruised feet.
“I don’t think I’m ready yet, Harry,” You hiccuped.
“Baby, don’t say that,” Harry was sure his heart stopped beating for a second. He knew this. He knew you were very hesitant about having a baby at this age, but he hoped you would change your mind.
He leaned over and gently cupped your cheek in his big palm. The coldness of the rest of the soothing cream on his fingers hit your skin and you could smell the herbs from it.
“I’m sorry,” You shook your head in protest and covered your face in your hands, not wanting Harry to see you like this. A crying mess because of the so stable future that suddenly started falling apart. He saw you crying a million times before, during a sad movie, from stress, happy tears of joy at the wedding, but nothing could beat this moment. You both were breaking. Harry just in a much quieter way.
“Shhh, come here, baby love,” Ever so gently Harry pulled your fragile limbs into his arms until your body curled in his lap and you broke down.
“I’m so sorry,” You repeated, your words muffled against his chest.
“Shhhhh, you don’t have to be sorry,” Harry tightened his hold on you and buried his face in your hair, he could feel tears of his own threatening to fall down.
“How can you love me?” You sobbed uncontrollably until your voice lost its sound and all your strength turned into quiet broken whimpers.
“I love you, baby. I love you so much. Could never stop loving you, not even because of… this.” He murmured in your ear while one of his hands petted your hair gently and the other rubbed your back, hoping it would soothe you even just a little bit. “Can you look at me, please? I need to see your eyes. Can you do that for me? Just a tiny peek?”
Slowly, you turned your head from the safety of his chest and spared your boyfriend a sad look. Your eyes were full of tears and every time you blinked a new one fell.
“I love you so fucking much, remember that. I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what happens, you will always be my forever.”
“I love you so much, Harry.”
You didn’t say anything more after. You didn’t even know what to say. Everything suddenly felt so right but so wrong at the same time. And nothing could save your hearts from breaking. You just held each other tightly and wiped every single tear that fell.
“You know,” Harry’s hoarse voice broke the silence after what felt like forever. “I already have the engagement ring. Got it made last time when we were in Italy. Remember that little jewellery store down the street where my house is?”
You nodded. You remembered that time vividly.
Harry took you on a surprise trip to his newly bought house in a small village near Rome. His love for Italy wasn't unknown and he wanted a beautiful place there, a summer house if you will, for the times when London would start being too full of rain and dark clouds.
The first night you “christened” every single place where sex could’ve been held in the house. The day after you walked funny and Harry was extra nice to you after the workout he put you through, but you survived the walk around the neighbourhood in the evening just fine and the memory of the nice old jeweller stayed in your mind.
“When you were napping, I went to Antonio and he made me the ring. Golden, with our birthstones,… Also, the great wine we had was from him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” You sniffled at the newly found information and snuggled back into him, hiding your face again. You wore a pout on your lips and your heart was beating fast again, but this time fear wasn't the reason.
“I- I don’t know.” Harry sighed and nuzzled his face in your hair once again. “I want to marry you, I so want to marry you,”
“What does this all mean for us, Harry?” You hiccuped and tightened your grip on his white button-up until your knuckles turned white and the fabric started wrinkling.
“I wish I knew, sweetheart, I wish I knew,”
“Can we still be together?” Your eyes turned glassy when you asked the question. “I- I don’t think I’m ready, I don’t think I will be anytime soon and- you want the baby now. How can you still want to be with me?”
“Because I love you,” Harry’s voice cracked at the last words and before he could change his mind he pressed his lips against yours.
Your hiccups were soothed by his harsh kisses, they swallowed every sound you made and cries that left your mouth until your lips started lazily moving against his.
“I don’t know what to do, love. And I hate it so much,” Harry cried in the kiss and tightened his grip on your hair to hold you as close as was humanly possible.
“Do we have to… break up?”
“I don’t want to, but- sweetheart, please, don’t do this to me,” Harry was on the verge of begging.
“I can’t lose you, Harry. I will change my mind, I will, I promise, I’m gonna do anything for you, please just give me more time,”
“Love, no,” Harry shook his head abruptly, stopping the empty promises he so wanted to believe.
“Please, Harry,” You fell into a fit of uncontrollable sobs and gently tug at his shirt once more. You couldn’t see through tears and your breathing was laboured to the point when you couldn't take a new one.
“Shhh baby, deep breaths, don’t need you to have a panic attack. Calm down for me,” Harry swallowed his own tears and took a few deep breaths for you to follow and regulate your system. “That’s a good girl. You’re doing good, just breathe,”
He cupped your face gently in his palms and started kissing your wet cheeks, nose, eyelids, anywhere he could reach to soothe your distress until his lips found yours in a lingering kiss. He kissed you slowly, showed his love for you through the simple act of love until you kissed him back. The kisses turned passionate in no time, your tongues danced a passionate tango and your moans overpowered your sobbing.
Harry gripped your hips and pulled you closer, rearranging you on his lap to his liking until your thighs were on each side of his. You sighed when his fingers slipped under the hem of your dress and bunched it around your waist, cupping your backside in his hands to push you into him and rub your core against his growing bulge.
“Harry,” You moaned loudly when you felt Harry harden in his pants and you buckled your hips into his to chase the friction that made you curl your toes. The zipper of his pants as well as his hard length pressed deliciously against your clit hidden under the thin barrier of your panties and you craved more.
“Shhhh baby,” He tutted quietly at your whines.
“Please Harry,” You tried again but the words died on your tongue when Harry pressed you with all his strength against his crotch and you tilted your head back in pleasure with more moans falling out of your lips.
Before you could register what was happening, Harry slid one arm under your thighs and the other around your waist, making you wrap your legs around his own, and stood up from his place on the couch. He held you in a tight hug against his sturdy chest as he walked into your bedroom all while kissing you deeply before he carefully sat you down on the edge of the bed.
He walked around the dark room blindly until he found a light switch and turned on a small lamp on your bedside table, covering the whole room in a soft yellow light. “Can I take this off?” He ran his hands over your sides gently.
“Yeah,” You nodded quickly, itching to get out of it, and stood up in front of him.
He unzipped the dress carefully, the expensive fabric slipping under his fingers from how much they trembled, before it pooled around your feet on the ground. Because of the style of the dress, you weren’t wearing any bra and Harry smiled softly when the sight of your bare back met his eyes.
He pulled you into his chest immediately when you were free of excessive clothing and buried his face in your neck. You felt him squeeze your hips tightly and his thumbs dip under the waistband of your thong, wanting it gone too.
In no time you were spread underneath his body on your king-sized bed, the white sheets that could’ve been your wedding dress were icy cold but at the same time burning your bare skin, your panties already forgotten somewhere on the floor as cold.
Harry kissed your neck, sucked at the tender skin until it bloomed with bruises in every shade of red and purple, something you usually hated but now you didn’t mind him marking you. This way he would stay with you longer.
Love bites were scattered all over your neck and collarbones and trailed down to your breasts where Harry buried his face for a moment before he took one of your nipples in his mouth and worshipped it with care and needy sucks.
“Oh,” You whimpered when he moved to your other breast to pay it a little bit of attention too and bit on the sensitive red bud lightly. He soothed the spot with his tongue immediately after and licked around the sensitive skin to get more moans out of your lungs.
“I love you so much,” He cried when his lips found your stomach. He rested his head there, body completely limp between your spread legs and his own stuck out of the bed, not that he cared.
There was silence. Neither of you spoke, nor moved. And then Harry completely broke down on top of you. His arms were holding you so close until he was barely hanging on his last breath while his body heaved with sobs.
“Harry,” You ran your fingers through his hair in an act of reassurance but you needed it just as much. Even your tears were unstoppable.
“I need you,” He mumbled against the skin of your stomach in a hoarse voice and when he looked up you saw how bloodshot his eyes were.
Harry tugged his shirt over his head quickly, not bothering to unbutton it fully or taking better care of the expensive kind of clothing than discarding it on the floor next to your underwear, and launched himself back at you like a caveman.
Grabbing at the back of your thighs, he spread your legs so wide your knees were almost at the level of your shoulders. Your pussy was on full display and Harry didn’t waste a second before he buried his face deep in your dripping core.
He wasn’t nice about it. He was rough. Starving. Craving everything you could’ve given him from soft whimpers and moans to your sweet juices dripping down his chin. He was savouring this moment, savouring you, as if you were his last meal, which in some sense you were.
“Harry please,” You writhed under his mercilessly moving tongue and buckled your hips up from the mattress, chasing after the delightful feeling of an orgasm. He alternated between teasing your clit with occasional sucks and bites and fucking deep into you with his tongue, but no matter what he did, you felt like you were seeing stars.
“Shhhh, don’t writhe baby,” He groaned, the buzz of his voice running through your whole body like a lighting. He added more pressure on the back of your thigh with his forearm to hold you open and spread your labia with his other hand so he could tickle spots with his tongue that he didn’t reach before, making your left leg fall limply on his shoulder.
“Such a pretty pussy, and all mine,” He cooed at the sight and slid his pointer and middle finger in your entrance, just past the first knuckle to tease before he filled you up completely.
“Fuck Harry!” You whimpered in shock and clenched around his long fingers as he moved them in and out in a slow yet steady rhythm to stretch you open and get you ready for himself.
When it came to sex, foreplay and preparation were something Harry took very seriously in any situation. No matter if you were having angry sex after an argument or slow lovemaking by the end of a night, he spent a good amount of time between your legs. You were much smaller in comparison to him and he always tried his best to get you wet and stretched enough before pushing his dick into you. A part of him that he couldn't really be humble about.
“Are you close? I can feel it baby, clenching so hard around my fingers,”
“Close- so close!” You cried out loudly in the open space of your bedroom.
“Come on, baby, be a good girl and come on my tongue,” Harry praised you in that deep baritone until you were a crying mess in his arms. Your legs shook so hard he had to weigh them with his body to keep you still while he kept sucking on the small bundle of nerves to prolong your orgasm until you were pushing his head away from between your legs weakly.
“Good girl, my best girl,… Taste so sweet, god I love you so much,” Slowly he withdrew his finger back and stuck them in his mouth instead to clean them from your arousal, moaning quietly when your juices hit his tastebuds.
It took you a moment to come down from the orgasmic high. Slowly, your legs stopped shaking that much and your breath evened out. You watched Harry with wide eyes and blissful expressions. How he undid and pulled out his leather belt from the loops on his pants and slid them down his legs all at once with his boxers without a second thought or how he tried to take off his socks and almost tripped over his feet in the process.
His dick was hard, standing upright and hitting his belly button, twitching in need of release. “Shit,” He groaned when he tugged at his dick a few times to get himself even harder and watched how his angrily red tip made an appearance from beneath the foreskin, pre-cum leaked heavily from his slit given how turned on he was and he smeared it all over his length.
“Please, Harry, please I need you inside me!” You weakly reached after his free hand to pull him back at you and preferably also inside your aching pussy.
“I’m here, baby, shhhh, I’m right here with you,” He crawled over your tired body and gently cupped your cheek to wipe away another stray tear.
“I love you,” You hiccuped.
“I love you too baby, so much,” He whispered in your lips, sealing his words with a lingering kiss before he looked down between your bodies. Pulling your leg up around his hip, he reached down to grab his dick and ran it a few times between your pussy lips to lube it properly before he put just the tip in your opening.
“Harry,” You huffed out impatiently, you weren’t in the mood for teasing.
“Uhuh baby, I have to go slow, you know how it is with you, I don’t wanna hurt you,” He shook his head, the love for you only grew stronger in his heart and you could catch glimpses in his eyes too when you didn’t have your own closed.
Slower than he ever went in the history of your shenanigans, he pushed inside an inch by inch, not moving more than was necessary, you were overwhelmed enough.
You whimpered at the initial stretch, that feeling was always there. You felt so full and he was just a few inches in.
“Doing good, love?” He murmured in your ear when he was halfway in and slid his hand from his dick up to your clit to relax your muscles even more.
“So good, always with you,” You sniffled and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.
“That’s what I want to hear,” Harry groaned and pushed the rest of his dick inside you until you were filled up to the brim.
“Fuck,” You cried out loudly.
“Shhhhh it’s okay. My dick’s so big for your little pussy, I know,… But you’re doing okay, taking me so good,” He whispered soft praises in your ear until your cries turned into hiccups and hiccups into quiet whimpers. He brushed the wet hair away from your forehead, sticky from sweat, and stuck the strands behind your ear.
“You’re so deep,” You whimpered and took a peek down between your snuggled bodies. Harry started moving slowly and you watched as if it was the most mesmerising thing ever. His dick brushed against your inner walls deliciously and the tip hit your cervix with every thrust.
“I know, baby,” He pressed his palm against your lower tummy and groaned when he felt the tip of his dick poking at your insides. It felt like the closest he would ever get to your stomach in a different shape. “Look at that,”
You covered his hand with yours and intertwined your fingers, with every thrust you felt your stomach bulge ever so slightly and his dick nudging your palms from beneath your skin.
“Harry please!” You begged quietly but weren’t even sure for what. Your mind was empty, the only thought existing there was how good and deep was Harry fucking you.
The slow and careful lovemaking turned quickly into faster thrusts that shook with your whole body. Harry finally picked up a pace that wasn’t agonisingly slow but not fast either, and started fucking you with long deep thrusts, each of them making you clench around his big dick and dug your nails in his shoulders so deep you were sure the new manicure left painful marks and scratches behind.
You let out a gasp when he grabbed both of your legs and pulled them over his shoulders to get even better angle before he put his weight fully on your body to stay close to you.
“I love you so fucking much. You were made for me. Cum for me, baby, come on,” One word equalled one thrust. Harry started pounding into you so harshly that you were sure your backside would be bruised by the morning.
You opened your mouth to say something, to let your boyfriend know you were seconds away from falling apart in his arms but nothing came out, not even a sound. With rhythmic thrusts, he was hitting that exact spot that made your eyes roll back in your skull and you closer and closer to your orgasm.
Harry fucked so hard into your pussy until your moans hit a higher octave and your body shook against your will and completely at his mercy. He held you tightly in his arms, his chest against yours until your heartbeat turned into one and he came undone deep inside you with the wishful thinking of new life.
“Fuck,” He cursed between heavy breaths and pulled your limp legs down from his shoulders, you didnt even notice them cramping from how long they’ve been upright, and fell down at your body still buried inside you. He was barely holding himself up on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush you but after a moment he lowered himself down on you anyway, wanting to be as close as possible.
“I love you,” You whispered in his chest, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I love you too, baby. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He switched into the caring and protective mode quickly and pulled away just enough to see your face. Your eyes were closed, cheeks flushed and forehead covered in a light sheen of sweat but there was also a blissful smile that had been absent since you got home.
“I don’t feel my legs… and my pussy,” You pouted and looked up at him from underneath your eyelashes, eyes barely open.
Harry smiled at you. You had this way with words after sex that was utterly adorable to him and he couldn’t help himself but press a soft kiss on your lips.
“I’m sorry,” He apologised, but you could hear the smugness in his voice, signalling he wasn’t that sorry, but you didn’t mind. You were enjoying the post sex bliss, happy to be held and kissed on.
You closed your eyes again, too tired to use all your remaining energy for that and blindly reached for his hand. Harry intertwined your fingers immediately, not missing out on kissing your knuckles, before he rested your hands beside your head on the mattress.
You looked like an angel. A sweet creature that was deep down beneath her muscles and ribs hurting. There was the ache that couldn’t even a million I love you’s and orgasms make disappear. It didn’t matter that you were smiling now, Harry knew you’d be crying again later.
“We have to clean you up,”
“Five more minutes,” You pouted.
“Baby, you’re all sweaty and sticky. Just a quick pee and a shower? For me?” He tried to bribe you with more kisses on your cheeks and lips, anything to get you to agree. He knew how sniffly you could get when you were emotional and uncomfortable.
“Will you carry me? And wash me? Please?” You pouted as much as you could, knowing the puppy eyes always worked on him.
“Anything for you, sweetheart. Lemme just-“ Harry sat up on his knees and ever so slowly pulled his softening dick out of you, rubbing your inner thigh in the process to calm you down because your facial expression spoke for itself, it wasn't the most comfortable feeling. “Here you go, baby. Oh look at that, still dripping,”
Your mixed cum dripped out of your opening down your ass and on the bedsheets, making it cling to your skin. Harry was right, you were starting to feel uncomfortable.
Harry cradled your spent body carefully in his arms and walked with you in the ensuite bathroom. He set you down on the toilet and moved to turn on the water in the walk-in shower to get it warmed up.
He tried to make the shower as quick as possible, knowing how tired you were and that your legs would give up quickly after standing for too long. He shampooed your hair with care, washed all the suds of soap from your skin, massaged the lingering tension away from your muscles, all while kissing you softly to make the after-sex soreness better.
Wrapped in a warmed-up fuzzy towel like an adorable burrito, Harry took you back to the bedroom and set you down in an armchair in the corner. He didn’t bother much about putting clothes on, he was content with just a towel wrapped around his waist as he moved around the softly lit room with ease. He tugged the sweat-soaked sheets down and threw them in the hamper before he fished new ones from the bottom drawer in the closet, soft grey sheets with little flowers scattered all over.
You watched Harry quietly, how his muscles flexed when he spread the white bedsheets over the mattress, and how his calloused fingers carefully buttoned up the duvet cover and smoothed wrinkles away from the cotton fabric.
You wished it could be like this till your last days, maybe it was, the hot showers full of care and quiet bedding changes after midnight, but the more you thought about it, the more you were sure it was slipping through your fingers.
“All done,” Harry smiled proudly at his work and turned to you. You looked smaller than usual, maybe it was the position, maybe the feelings acting up on themselves, but you looked so fragile it was breaking his heart.
You stretched your arms up high in the air with a quiet groan, your muscles a little stiff again, making the towel slip from around your chest and pool around your waist, but you didn’t bother fixing it. Harry saw you already like this anyway.
“Come here,” Harry reached out to take your hands in his and helped you gently to your feet. Your movements were still a little slow and tired, but Harry was patient, he wasn't rushing anywhere. “There we go, and right under the sheets,”
You slipped under the duvet, and Harry followed the pattern closely after he threw his towel on the place where you were sitting a minute ago and wrapped himself around you like a vice. One arm under your head, the other thrown over your waist, his thigh snugged between yours, bare bodies pressed together. Sometimes you preferred sleeping naked when you were craving the closeness of the other, and tonight was one of those nights.
“Remember the first night you spent here?” Harry whispered with a small smile, going back in his memories to the start of your relationship.
“Yeah, we watched The Notebook, and you had to calm me down because I was crying so much.” You chuckled, a real smile spreading on your lips at the memory, “Still to this day, I don’t understand how you didn’t break up with me after that.”
The words echoed in both of your minds, but neither of you had the strength to address it. Yet.
“It was sweet,” Harry moved his face closer until you were sharing just one pillow and nuzzled his nose against yours.
“Embarrassing. I’ve never cried this much during a movie,” You shook your head but only gave Harry a good old eskimo kiss he used to give you before the real makeouts came on the scene in the first weeks of dating, and smiled widely.
“I loved coming home to you before you even moved in. It was the best idea I ever had, to give you a key,” He reminisced more. After you started being serious, you happened to be at his place a lot. Working in his study on your essays, enjoying his shower with all the special settings you’ve never really learned how to use till this day, sunbathing in his garden, lounging in his living room when you were feeling lonely because that space made you feel safe.
“I love this house,” You shrugged. “Been my home since the start.”
“And you are my home.” Harry whispered, “This heart?” He moved his hand from your back up to your chest to make his point, “This head?” He trailed his pointer finger over your collarbones, up to your neck and cheeks until he brushed your nose, “You whole are my home,”
The corners of your mouth twitched until they fell and your smile turned upside down and your bottom lip trembled. You closed your eyes, not sure what to say. Your chest felt heavy again.
“I’m gonna love you forever. You know that, right?” He rubbed your cheek gently, hoping he would pry your eyes open again, but he didn’t want to push. You both were going through a turmoil of emotions.
“Yeah,” You breathed out, “I know,”
“Good,” Harry swallowed the tears and pressed his lips against your forehead, pulling you in him again, trying to erase every free space between your bodies. “No matter what happens, wherever and who- whoever we end up with, you will always be the only one for me.”
“Harry, please,” You sniffled and reached up to wipe your nose with the back of your nose.
“Shhh, baby, don’t make it even harder for me,”
“I can’t lose you,”
“You won’t lose me,”
“Then why are you saying all of this?” You blinked your eyes at him. full of him and hurt.
“Because this- it’s for the better. At least for now. I- I need some time too, we both do,… alone.” Harry whispered, his own tears now falling down his cheeks and on the newly changed pillowcase. He didn’t want to cry. He wanted to be strong for you, but he also felt too much to hold it together like the tough guy he thought he was.
You both cried quietly, held each other tightly, exchanged open-mouthed kisses because your sobs were inexorable and too hard to hold behind your teeth. You both were hurting and loving each other with bared hearts and heads full of wishful thoughts and the unthinkable would’ves and could’ves.
“This isn’t the end. I won’t let it happen,” Harry whimpered, his voice hoarse from all the crying, and pressed another kiss to your parted lips. You were so close to falling asleep, tired, emotionally ruined, with a body like a ragdoll, but you were grasping onto everything that would keep your eyes open for a moment longer. “We can stay in touch, just- maybe not for a while… It will be better like that,”
“I love you, Harry,” You whispered before your breathing evened out and your body turned limp in Harry’s arms.
But Harry stayed awake. Still with tears in his eyes and heart beating too fast, he watched your chest rise and fall, your eyelashes flutter, ran his fingers over your back lightly just to memorise the pattern of your birthmarks. He tried to remember you one last time. He didn’t want to fall asleep, because falling asleep would mean leaving you after he would open his eyes again in the morning and that was the last thing on earth he wanted, though deep down it was the only thing that was right in the moment, no matter how many little pieces it broke his heart into.
The morning came way faster than he would have wanted it to. Harry wasn’t sure if he slept or watched you for the whole night, but whatever he did, his body was hurting from heartache and both emotional and physical exhaustion. With a tight throat and trembling fingers, maybe from the lack of sleep, maybe from hurting, he untangled himself from you and tucked the blanket over your body, not wanting you to feel cold. He picked up his phone to check the time, but the sight of your face, all bright and smiley on his lock screen, your bubbly self he shattered with his differently timed wants and needs, it brought him back to tears again. It was four in the morning.
He moved around the space quietly and dressed himself up quickly in a pair of grey pants and a well-worn sweater, something he had worn the other day and brought him just enough comfort for the hard start of a day. He started putting whatever came under his hand in his two duffel bags - favourite pieces of clothing, all the underwear he could find, hygiene products, and all the essentials that he could think of with his fogged-up mind.
“Harry?” You mumbled sleepily. The sound of his socked feet moving around the bedroom and the opening and closing of the drawers in the closet woke you up.
“Baby, shhhh, go back to sleep,” He crouched by your side of the bed immediately when he heard your voice and rubbed your cheek in an attempt to lull you back to sleep. He cursed himself in his head for not being more careful.
“What are you doing?” You asked quietly but snuggled back into your pillow at his touch.
“Packing my bag, love, nothing for you to worry about, rest your eyes for a bit more,” He ran his fingers through your messy hair a few times and watched you quietly.
“I’m gonna be in my house in Italy, yeah? Just for a bit. I- It is better like this, it’s gonna be, baby. I- I love you so much. So fucking much,” Harry cried softly and leaned in to kiss your forehead for the last time.
“I love you, Harry.” You covered his hand in your hair weakly before he pulled it away. Before he could change his mind and crawl back under the sheets beside you. You were stuck somewhere between dreamland and reality, but you felt everything.
Harry grabbed his two duffel bags from the carpeted floor and stuck his phone in his pocket, your smiley face still there, and watched you from the doorway, sleeping so peacefully despite the situation. But before he walked out of the bedroom and out of your life, even if it was just for a month, he went back in the closet and opened a drawer with his shirts. He reached under the high pile of button-ups and pulled out a velvet box with the engagement ring he told you about.
Harry squeezed the box tightly in his fist until his knuckles turned white, at least something different hurt that time, and set it on your bedside table. Not as something he was leaving behind, but as a promise.
TAG LIST ✮⋆˙
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hello hello, here is the sixth part nobody asked for but its here anyway :DDD
read the previous parts here
**
The silence of a Saturday morning was usually Harry’s favourite form of luxury. With Cassie still at Karen’s, the flat was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the steady rhythm of rain tapping against his kitchen window.
He was standing by the counter, waiting for his coffee to brew, when his phone finally rang. The caller ID flashed with a word that instantly made him exhale: Mom.
"Hey, stranger," Anne’s warm, familiar voice echoed through the speaker. "I am so sorry I missed you on Monday, love. I saw your voicemail, but between my shift at the clinic and your sister’s chaotic schedule, my head has been all over the place. Is everything alright? You sounded... a bit panicked."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the counter. He felt like a teenager again, caught red-handed. "Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine, Mom. It’s just... did you listen to the whole message?"
"I did," she said, her tone softening into that gentle, knowing maternal cadence. "You met a girl. A very pretty, very smart girl at work."
"She’s a translator," Harry confessed, looking down at his slippers. "Her name is Rebecca. And Mom, she’s amazing. But I’m just... I’m terrified. You know how my brain works. I look at her, and then I look at my life, and the math just doesn't add up. Cassie is my entire world. My routine is built around her. I can’t just let someone in and risk getting hurt again. I can’t do that to Cassie."
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by a soft sigh from his mother. "Harry, look at me—well, listen to me. You’ve spent the last four years being the most responsible, dedicated father on this planet. You sacrificed your college timeline, your sleep, and your twenties to make sure that little girl has a perfect life. And she does. But loving someone else doesn’t take away from your love for Cassie."
"Mom, it’s complicated—"
"It’s only complicated because you are trying to calculate it like one of your computer programs," Anne interrupted gently. "You are 29 years old, Harry. You are allowed to have a life too. If this Rebecca makes you smile, if she makes you feel seen, then open the door a little bit. You don't have to marry her tomorrow. Just let yourself enjoy the moment."
Harry closed his eyes, a small, relieved smile breaking across his face. "Thanks, Mom."
"Always, love. Give my grandbaby a massive kiss when she gets back tomorrow, alright? Go get some breakfast."
As soon as the call ended, Harry stared at his phone screen. His mother’s words were still bouncing around his head when a notification banner popped up at the top of his screen.
Rebecca Rojas [9:15 AM]: Hey... Please tell me I didn't tone-deafly ruin your favorite song last night. My head is pounding, but my memory says we were brilliant. Thank you for the safe ride home in the taxi, Mr. Styles. x
Harry’s heart did a ridiculous little flip. He didn't even try to hide the massive grin on his face as he unlocked his phone and began typing.
Harry [9:18 AM]: Good morning. Honestly? The algorithm calculated our duet as a solid 10/10. No classic rock songs were harmed in the making of last night. Drink some water, Ms Rojas. How bad is the hangover?
He poured his coffee and walked over to the living room, setting his phone on the coffee table. He picked up a laundry basket full of Cassie’s tiny clothes and started folding them. A minute later, his phone buzzed again.
Rebecca Rojas [9:22 AM]: It is an 8/10 on the misery scale. Advil is currently my best friend. Cristina just sent a video of us singing the chorus... Oh god, Harry. I am officially mortified. Why did you let me hold the microphone like that?
Harry [9:25 AM]: Because you looked like a rockstar. And honestly, you were controlling the room with that tambourine. I wasn't about to stop you.
Rebecca Rojas [9:26 AM]: Shut up! 🙈 What are you up to today? Please tell me your Saturday morning is more glamorous than me hiding under a duvet, avoiding sunlight.
Harry looked at the pile of pink socks and denim overalls in front of him.
Harry [9:29 AM]: Not even close. I'm currently facing my greatest enemy: a mountain of laundry. Folding tiny socks is a geometric nightmare.
Rebecca Rojas [9:31 AM]: Aww, poor dad. 🧺 Well, I will let you conquer your laundry mountain in peace then. Thank you again for last night, Harry; it was really nice.
Harry [9:33 AM]: Anytime, Rebecca. Get some rest. Talk to you later.
Harry locked his phone and tossed it onto the sofa, a warm, lingering hum of happy energy rushing through him. He went back to folding Cassie's clothes, but for the first time in a very long time, his thoughts weren't just about his schedule—they were completely occupied by the memory of a girl under the colorful karaoke lights.
a/n: thats it for now beloveds, hope you like it. your feedback its very appreciated. hope to see you next time
Summary: meeting Harry Styles at Glastonbury and you have an unforgettable night together, only you wake up to videos of you two kissing everywhere
Warnings: smut, smut, smut, cursing, mentions of drinking, oral (f! and m! receiving), handjob, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), daddy kink, squirting (if you squint), overstimulation, dirty talk, size kink ( if you squint)
Authors note: yes i’m aware i’m a year late to writing about harry going glastonbury but here the story is, hope you enjoy it xx
word count: 2.5k
“C'mon it's gonna be fun, trust me.”
That's how you ended up here in Glastonbury. The air buzzing with music and laughter, Lola was forcing you to take shots of vodka, and the fields were alive with thousands of people singing in unison. Your group had insisted on matching face gems before heading into the crowd.
Now here you are dancing without care, completely lost in moment.
“This is the best weekend of my life!” your friend, amelia shouted over the music.
You laughed agreeing with her, throwing your hands in the air as the band reached the chorus. Everyone was jumping, strangers turning into friends for a few minutes beneath the blinding lights of the stage.
As the song was coming to an end, you spun around and collided straight into someone.
“Oh my god, I'm so sor-”
You froze.
The person in front of you smiled warmly, running his hands through his hair. “It’s alright, I think I bumped into you too.”
Your brain short circuited.
Harry Styles.
No like it was actually Harry styles.
He wasn't surrounded by security or a group of fans.
He was just here blending in being normal.
He was wearing an oversized jacket with red shorts that were so short you could see the tiger on his thigh peeking out and a pair of sunglasses. Somehow the blending in was working despite him being one of the most recognizable people in the world.
You blinked.
“...You’re harry styles.”
He grinned, “Guilty.”
Your friends had shock written all over their face, whispering between the three of them.
Harry looked between all of you before chuckling, introducing himself to all of you individually.
“I’m Harry.”
You laughed nervously, “I... know.”
This caused him to laugh even harder, “and you’re?”
“I’m y/n.”
“Lovely to meet you.”
His friends had now wandered over to you, wondering what had happened.
“You alright, mate? One had asked.
Harry nodded.
“Yeah. We nearly started a mosh pit.”
Everyone laughed.
Everyone introduced themselves naturally, your friends introducing themselves, Harry introduced the people he was with and somehow the conversation flowed like you had all known each other for years.
You and harry were now standing separately from both your groups talking about the performances, the best food stalls and laughed about how impossible it to find anyone with the lack of signal.
“So... Who are you excited to see next?” harry asked.
You answered, and his eyes lit up.
“No way, I was hoping to catch them too.”
The next set started and before you knew it, both groups had drifted together into the crowd dancing.
The next couple of hours you danced side by side, shouting lyrics and laughing whenever someone bumped into your group.
You admired this about harry in this moment. He wasn’t trying to be centre of attention. He just seemed to be happy to be another person in a big crowd enjoying music.
When the set was over, he turned to look at you.
“We’re heading over to one of the VIP tents for a bit.”
He hesitated before smiling, “You and your friends should join us.”
You looked at your friends and they were nodding.
“Yeah sure, we’ll join you.”
-
The VIP tent was buzzing.
Music pulsed through the speakers while people chatted, danced and grabbed drinks from the bar.
Harry handed you a drink.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” you said clinking your glasses together.
The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. There was no pressure, no awkwardness, just music, dancing and easy conversation.
Harry was exactly the sort of person who made everyone around him feel included and comfortable.
As the two of you guys found yourselves in a conversation with more drinks flowing, harry pulled you into dance with him.
“I’m such a bad dancer,” you said while laughing.
“Perfect. Me too.”
People around you were singing lyrics they barely knew, jumping around with drinks in hand.
Harry spun you dramatically.
“I wasn’t prepared for choreography!”
“I’m improvising!”
“It shows!”
He laughed so hard he almost lost his balance.
-
Hours passed quickly, dancing until you were breathless, and talking between songs.
You were both now sweating and harry was leaning in closer to you, brushing your fallen hair behind your ear.
“You look very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you said while flicking your eyes from his to his lips.
He licks his lips before leaning closer to you and pulling you in for a kiss. Its gentle and slow at first before there's a switch in him. He pulls you closer by your waist, teasing his tongue at your bottom lip.
You place your hands into his hair, kissing him back just as passionately allowing him to insert his tongue into your mouth. He lets out a groan as you both stand there in the midst of the crowd making out.
He pulls away pupils dilated and slightly breathless, “you wanna get out of here?”
“Yeah, let's go.”
You say your goodbyes to your friends telling them you'll update them tomorrow while they grin widely at you.
Harry grabs your hand eagerly dragging you out and you're now entering the back of a black SUV.
He enters last telling the driver his address and closing the partition door.
One look at him and you're pouncing onto him, pulling his head closer to you. While he rests his hand on your waist moving your hips back and forth for you.
You moan into his mouth at the feel of him through his shorts. Both of you now heavy breathing and hands roaming.
“Fuck,” you whimpered as you feel his lips drag down your neck. Your hand now reaching into the middle of you both palming him through his shorts. He groaned against you, gripping his big hand against your tiny wrist encouraging you to keep doing what you were doing.
He throws his head back against the headrest letting out little whimpers into the car, “please, don't stop.”
You pull your hand into the waistband of his shorts, wrapping your hand around him, stroking him gently. “you’re so big,” you say as you pull your hand out to spit on it and continue your actions.
He smirks up at you, “don't worry, I'll make sure you can take it.”
You continue jerking him off in the back of this car, edging him closer to his orgasm. “I want you to come for me.”
“I'm so close,” he says while moaning.
He pulls you in for a messy kiss, tounges clashing and the stroking of your hand now moving faster, while brushing your thumb over his tip leaving him shuddering.
“I’m coming,” he says.
“I know baby, you're going to help me clean it up.”
A few more strokes and he's spilling himself into your hand. Your soaked hand continuing to stroke him through his orgasm causing him to jerk and pull your hand off.
Licking the rest of his cum off your palm groaning at the taste of him. After you shoved your fingers into his mouth letting him suck off the rest, continuing to suck on your fingers while whining.
The car now came to a halt signalling you had now made it to Harry's place.
-
You both stumbled through his door, kissing each other, ripping off clothes.
He carried you over his shoulder and into his bedroom tossing you onto his king-sized bed.
After you were both done undressing each other now completely naked in front of one another.
Harry hovered above you kissing from your neck down, his facial hair causing you to let out little squeals. His calloused hands squeezing your sides, “do you want this?”
“Yes, please.”
He kissed down your body, taking his time around your chest and pouring his attention onto your nipples individually. Sucking and nipping at them to get a reaction out of you.
He was now where you wanted him in-between your legs taking his time while peppering kisses on your thighs while looking up at you. Your pussy now soaking wet just waiting for him to devour you.
He let out a moan while running his thumb along your soaked folds before burying his tongue against your heat, diving and sucking. The feel of his moustache ruffing against your clit while thrusting his tongue in and out of you was driving you crazy. He continued to eat you out like he was dying for it.
You gripped onto his hair forcing his face closer and he gripped tighter onto your thighs. “H, I need your fingers.”
Now, he's smirking up at you “yeah, I'll give you what you want.” Wasting no time, he inserts two fingers into your pussy, roughly pounding while taking your clit into his mouth. The wetness of you echoes into the room.
“Fuck baby, you taste so fucking good.”
“Your pussy is so tight around my fingers, your soaking my face.”
His mouth was so filthy, uttering dirty words while devouring you like you were his last meal.
“H, I'm so close. Don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping till you've soaked me, sweetheart.”
Your moans increase in volume not caring who can hear, gripping his hair tighter. Harry gets the hint and pulls his face closer to your heat and keeps going.
A few more licks and thrusts of his fingers and you were gushing everywhere. It came hard and fast and didn’t stop and neither did harry. You could feel yourself dripping down to your asshole and the feeling of harry licking into you was becoming too much.
Harry lifts his head from you, gathering your arousal with a finger and places it to your mouth. Repeating what you did to him in the car, you keep sucking while looking up at him and he lets out a groan.
Now reaching into his bedside drawer he pulls out a condom.
“I want to feel you properly,” you say looking up at him while wrapping your legs around his waist.
He let a groan out at the sentence, “fuck, you’re going to kill me.”
He now pulls you in for a kiss, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You kiss him back earnestly, sucking on his bottom lip before letting it pull back to his mouth.
You wrap your hand around him smearing his tip with your arousal dragging him up and down you. Before you line him up with you entrance and he take over pushing into you slowly. The welcoming of your warm pussy and the stretch of his cock causes you to both let out a loud moan.
He continued to thrust into you, picking up his pace feeling your walls clench around him.
Your eyes flutter shut and let out little whimpers as he thrusts roughly into you. He grabs your face, “look at me baby.” you open your eyes, with a flushed face. “What a good fucking girl.”
“Yes daddy.”
He wraps a hand around your throat before pounding into your harder, “you wanna play like that tonight?” you nod up at him, causing him to squeeze your cheeks before harshly spitting into your mouth.
“Oh, fuck.”
“You like that?”
He looks down between you both seeing his cock drive in and out of you, creamy at the base and the way your pussy welcomes him in every time.
He can feel you getting closer as you clench around him, “you gonna come for me?”
“uh-huh. I'm close.”
Every thrust inside of you was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed, bodies smacking wetly together. One more thrust and you exploded everywhere, back arching, nails scraping down Harry's back and jaw dropping.
It was too much, harry kept on thrusting and you kept coming around him. Everything was wet, he kept slipping out due to your orgasm soaking his cock.
“Cum.” you demanded. “I want you to fill me up and make it stick daddy.”
He let out an animalistic groan and slammed into you one last time, cock throbbing while he filled you with his warm cum. He kept pounding his heavy load into your pussy. “Fuck, Ima make it stick baby.”
After he was done, he pulled out slowly watching it drip before he inserted a finger fucking his cum back into you.
The feeling it was too much.
“Give it to me baby”
“Harry, I can't.”
“Yes, you can, be a good girl and give me more.”
He inserted another into you, the squelching noise of him continuing to finger fuck you. It didn't take long before you reached your orgasm again, throwing your head back and closing your eyes, all you could see was stars.
You came around him for the third time that night.
Pulling his hand away before placing his fingers into his mouth moaning at the taste of you.
“That was memorable,” you said out of breath.
He chuckled before laying down next to you, “very.”
You got up to pee and do your bathroom antics before you came back and laid down on top of his chest, he was running his hand across your back which caused you to slowly drift into sleep.
-
You woke up the next morning with a hand draped across your waist.
You groaned and reached for your phone, before you saw texts from your friends.
LOLA (5 missed calls):
| ARE YOU AWAKE??
LOLA:
| TURN YOUR PHONE ON RIGHT NOW
You unlocked your phone and thats when your notifications exploded.
#harryandmysterygirl was trending on Instagram.
There were videos.
Hundreds of them.
One clip showed you and harry laughing as harry spun you. Another captured of you and harry in a group talking while his hand rested at the back of your neck.
Then it was the video.
It was blurry, shaky and filmed by someone in the crowd.
You remember it vividly in the VIP tent.
You and harry were dancing close to one another before he leaned in to kiss you. This video caught everything, the way his hands were resting on your hips and how you both kissed each other passionately before pulling away to continue dancing.
The internet had its opinions.
| “WHO IS SHE??”
| “HARRY LOOKS LIKE SUCH A BAD KISSER.
| “I WAS STANDING NEAR THEM!”
Your jaw dropped.
“Oh... no, no no.”
Harry stirred awake next to you.
“Please tell me that’s not the internet.”
Harry rubbed his eyes before gazing at your expressions.
“I’m guessing it is?”
You turned your phone towards him while he stared at the screen.
“.... Well.”
Another notification came through.
TMZ: fans react after videos of Harry Styles sharing a passionate kiss at Glastonbury with an unidentified girl.
Harry blinked once.
Then twice.
The let out a dramatic sigh.
“I was hoping we could at least make it to lunchtime.”
You let out a laugh, “Isn’t your manager going to kill you?”
“Yeah, but there's nothing we can do. It's okay don't worry.”
“So.. Do you remember what happened?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Do you regret it?”
He takes a pause, “Do you?”
“No.”
“Then I'm glad we are on the same page.”
The night came back to you piece by piece, remembering the girls forcing you to do shots, bumping into each other and the kiss you shared in the VIP tent, last night in his bedroom.
You let out a breath you’d been holding in.
“Well,” Harry said, “next year... We avoid cameras.”
You grinned at him.
“Or at least avoid making out where everyone has their cameras out.”
“Now that,” he laughed, “Might be impossible at Glastonbury.”
New York gets smaller in the rearview mirror, London is older and wetter than you expected, and Camille packed something in your suitcase that she absolutely should not have.
word count: 5.3k
authors note: cover photo by @zclhes
You wake up on Wednesday with nowhere to be.
That's the thing. You lie there waiting for the alarm. It doesn't come because you turned it off last night for the first time in six years. The morning just sits there, open and entirely yours. You stare at the ceiling and think: okay.
Okay.
You lie there longer than you normally would. Not because you're tired, just because you can. Nobody needs anything from you this morning. No piece waiting to be filed. No planning committee meeting on Thursday. No opening sentence to rewrite for the fourth time. You let the morning just be a morning.
Eventually you get up.
You make coffee slowly, actually waiting for the water to reach the right temperature, standing in your kitchen in your socks with your hair still doing whatever it wants. You think about how many mornings you've stood in this exact spot rushing. Six years of rushing through this kitchen, coffee in hand before you've even properly woken up, already thinking about the first thing on the list.
You are not thinking about a list this morning.
You take your coffee to the couch, pull the blanket up, turn the television on. Something comfortable, something you've seen before. You sit there and drink your coffee and let the morning happen around you.
It's nice.
It's also a little strange.
Not bad strange. Just the strangeness of a life that has changed shape overnight. You keep waiting for the thing you're supposed to be doing. It keeps not appearing. Which should feel like relief and mostly does, but occasionally feels like standing in a room where the furniture has been moved and your body hasn't learned the new layout yet.
You finish the coffee, make toast, eat it at the counter looking out the window at the street below. People with their bags, their coats, their places to be. Yesterday you were one of those people. Today you're just someone watching them from a window.
You go back to the couch.
You watch the rest of the episode. Then another one. Then you switch to something you haven't seen before, a film you've had on your list for two years, and you get about twenty minutes in before you realize you're not really watching it, just looking at it, your brain drifting when it has too much space and not enough direction.
You switch to something easier. A reality show about people renovating houses, which is not something you would normally watch but which turns out to be exactly the right amount of engaging for a Wednesday when your life has just changed shape and your brain hasn't quite caught up.
You watch three episodes.
You make more coffee.
You think about the about page. The three paragraphs you wrote yesterday in the corner café, the ones that felt true when you wrote them and still feel true when you think about them now. You think about what comes next, where the first proper post comes from, what the first person looks like. You think about Manchester and whether there's a story there, in the market or the pub or the streets he grew up on.
You think about February.
You check the time. Not even noon.
You look at the ceiling.
You are going to need to find a routine. Not today, today is a decompression day, today is for the blanket and the reality show and the toast, but at some point the open unstructured expanse of a life without a desk is going to require some kind of shape or you are going to spend a lot of time lying on this couch watching people argue about kitchen backsplashes.
Which is fine actually. For today.
You reach for your phone to check your work email and get halfway through opening the app before you remember. You close it. You sit there with the phone in your hand and feel the absence of it. The shape of a thing you did every morning that you are not doing anymore. Relief and vertigo at the same time. That's probably just what this is supposed to feel like.
You put the phone face down on the couch cushion.
You watch another episode.
Someone on the television is crying about a kitchen backsplash. You find this oddly comforting.
You get up and make lunch, something simple, eggs again because you are apparently a person who eats a lot of eggs during significant life transitions, and you eat at the kitchen table instead of the couch, which feels like a reasonable concession to not completely dissolving into the furniture. You look at your laptop on the counter. You think about opening it.
You don't open it.
Today is not a laptop day. Today is a blanket day. The laptop can wait until tomorrow when you have had one full day of doing absolutely nothing and feel sufficiently restored to do something again.
You go back to the couch.
You are halfway through another episode, the one where they're arguing about whether to do an open plan kitchen, and you have opinions about this actually, open plan is not always the answer, sometimes you want a wall, sometimes a wall is the whole point, when your phone buzzes on the cushion beside you.
Harry: are you busy? can I call?
You look at the message. You look at the television. The couple is still arguing about the kitchen wall.
You: of course
Your phone rings almost immediately.
You pick up on the first ring.
"Hey," he says. Warm and a little amused already. "How's the free woman life."
You laugh. "Rotting," you say.
A pause. "I'm sorry?"
"On my couch. I've been rotting on my couch all day."
"Rotting," he repeats slowly, like he's trying to work out if this is an American expression he should know about.
"It's a thing," you say. "It means doing nothing. Intentionally. Horizontal."
"Right," he says. "And is the rotting going well."
"Really well actually. I watched four episodes of a show about people renovating houses and I have opinions about open plan kitchens now."
"Do you?"
"Sometimes you want a wall, Harry. A wall is not a failure."
"I'll keep that in mind," he says, and you can hear him trying not to laugh. A pause. "Okay. So. I was thinking."
You pull the blanket up slightly. "About what."
"We said Manchester in February," he says. "Which is the plan. That's still the plan." Another pause, shorter. "But you're free now. You have nothing keeping you there. And I'm in London for the next few weeks and I was thinking." He stops. Starts again. "Why don't you come here. This week. I'll fly you out and we can spend some time together before the whole big move happens. Properly. Just the two of us."
You sit very still on your couch.
"This week," you say.
"If you want to. I know it's fast. But I keep thinking about you sitting in your apartment rotting—"
"It's a good rot—"
"I know it's a good rot," he says patiently. "I just think it might be a better rot in London. With me."
You look around your apartment. At the blanket. At the television, paused now on the couple and their unresolved kitchen wall situation. At the laptop on the counter you didn't open today. At the life that is currently in the process of changing shape and hasn't quite filled in yet.
"This week," you say again.
"Thursday if you can manage it," he says. "Or Friday. Whatever works."
You think about your apartment, fully paid up for the month. You think about Cami, who already knows you're leaving and will be insufferably smug about how fast it's happening. You think about the about page saved on your laptop, the first post that doesn't exist yet, the sofrito woman in all her counterparts in cities you haven't been to.
You think about London.
"Okay," you say.
A beat. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you say. "Thursday."
"Send me the price of the flight once you book it," you say.
"No."
"Harry."
"Absolutely not."
"I just want to know what it costs so I can—"
"So you can what," he says. "Transfer me money I don't need for a flight I want to buy you?"
"You're crazy," you say.
"You're crazy," he says back, pleasantly. "You just quit your job. Keep your money."
You sigh. Long and pointed.
"I just feel a little bad," you say. "That's all. I just feel a little bit bad about it."
"Stop," he says simply. "You're fine. Literally fine."
"I know I'm fine."
"You know you're fine."
"I just." You pull the blanket tighter. "Part of me feels bad."
"That part of you is wrong," he says. "That part of you can take the week off."
You laugh despite yourself. "Okay."
"Okay," he says. A pause, shorter than the others, the kind that means he's about to say something. "Also. When you're here."
"Yeah."
"I'd like you to meet my mum."
You go very still.
"Oh," you say.
"Obviously," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he isn't saying something enormous in the most understated way possible, which is of course exactly how he does everything.
"I would love that," you say quietly. And you mean it completely.
"She already knows about you," he says. "She's been asking." A pause. "She's going to love you."
"You don't know that."
"I do actually. I wouldn't bring anyone home to mum that she wouldn't like," he says. Simply. Completely certain.
You sit there on your couch in your blanket, apartment paid up for the month, thinking about meeting his mother in London in three days. Something warm and slightly enormous moving through your chest.
"Okay," you say. "London. Thursday. Your mum."
"Thursday," he confirms. And then something shifts in his voice, lighter now, properly happy. "I'm going to pick you up from the airport."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to," he says, and you can hear the smile in it. "I want to. I've been thinking about it actually. You coming through arrivals. Me being there." A beat. "It's my turn."
You think about JFK. About standing near the arrivals exit with your hands in your coat pockets trying to look like someone who was just casually in the neighbourhood. About him stopping when he saw you. About the smile.
"Your turn," you say softly.
"My turn," he says. "I'm going to be there with a sign and everything."
"Do not bring a sign."
"A big one," he says. "Very embarrassing."
"Harry."
"With your name on it in large letters."
"I will turn around and get back on the plane."
He laughs, properly, the full one, and you smile at your blanket. Thursday and London and a man standing in an arrivals hall with a sign he absolutely should not bring and probably will anyway.
"Listen," he says, and his voice shifts slightly when he's about to wrap something up but wants to make sure it lands first. "I have a meeting in a few minutes."
"Go," you say.
"But I love you," he says. "Truly. And I don't want you to feel bad about any of this. Not the flight, not the move, not any of it." A pause. "This is going to be so great. I genuinely think this is going to be so great."
Something in your chest does that thing it does.
"I love you too," you say.
"I love you," he says again. Just once more. Like he wanted to say it twice.
"Go to your meeting," you say.
"I'm going." A beat. "I'll book the flight tonight and send everything over. All the details."
"Okay."
"Okay," he says. "Thursday."
"Thursday," you say.
He hangs up.
You sit there with the phone in your hand, blanket around your shoulders, the television still paused on the couple and their kitchen wall. You think about Thursday. An arrivals hall somewhere in London. A man who wants to be there with a sign.
You pick up the remote.
You unpause the television.
"Open plan is a mistake," you tell the couple on the screen.
They don't listen. They never listen.
You watch anyway.
The text comes through just after nine.
You're back on the couch, different show now, something with a lot of dramatic pauses and people staring meaningfully at each other across rooms, and your phone lights up on the cushion beside you.
Harry: okay. here's everything.
And then the itinerary. All of it. Flight details, times, terminal, the confirmation number. Thursday morning, early, Heathrow arrival just after nine pm London time. One week.
You stare at it for a long moment.
One week.
You read it again. The flight number. The departure time. The seat. Not economy, and it makes something complicated happen in your chest that you choose not to examine too closely right now.
Thursday.
Two days away.
You put the phone down and look at the television, at someone staring meaningfully across a room, and think about the fact that in two days you are getting on a plane to London. Meeting Harry's mother. Seeing the city that is about to become your city. Taking the first real concrete step into the life you decided to have on Camille's floor in free Selena Gomez pyjamas approximately forty eight hours ago.
You pick the phone back up.
You are nervous. Properly nervous, the kind that sits in your sternum and doesn't have a clean explanation. Not about Harry. Not about London specifically. Just a general low hum of something you can't quite pin down, which is almost more unsettling than if it were about something specific.
Maybe it's this, you think. Maybe this is just what the first big step feels like. The difference between deciding something and actually doing it, between Cami's floor and the departure gate, between a plan and a plane ticket with your name on it leaving in forty eight hours.
You've been making decisions for weeks. Quiet internal ones, the kind that happen in the back of your chest while you're doing other things. But this is different. This is a confirmation number. This is real.
You open Cami's thread.
You: he sent the itinerary. I'm going to London Thursday. one week.
You put the phone down.
It buzzes almost immediately.
Cami: OMG
Cami: YOU'RE GOING
Cami: THURSDAY????
Cami: babe
Cami: you're going to love it
Cami: like genuinely you are going to absolutely love it
You smile at your phone.
You: I'm nervous
Cami: of course you are. it's the first big thing
Cami: but like. in the best way nervous right?
You think about it. You look at the itinerary still open in Harry's thread. The flight number. The seat. Thursday morning.
You: yeah. in the best way nervous.
Cami: exactly
Cami: now go pack. you have two days and I know you're going to repack at least three times
You look at your suitcase in the corner of your bedroom, visible through the open door.
She's not wrong.
You: goodnight cami
Cami: goodnight babe 🫶🏼
You put the phone down and look at the television, at the people staring meaningfully at each other, and think about Thursday and London and a man who is going to be standing in arrivals possibly with a sign.
You get up.
You go to the bedroom.
You start to pack. Cami comes a day later to pack all the things you forgot.
Thursday arrives all at once.
You wake up before your alarm. You lie there in the dark and listen to the city outside. A garbage truck somewhere down the block. A cab. Someone's dog. All the ordinary noise of a place that doesn't know today is significant.
You get up.
Your suitcase is by the door where you left it last night after the third repack, which Camille predicted and you will never admit to her. It's not a big suitcase. You thought about that, about how much to bring for a week that is also the beginning of something longer, and you landed on light. You can buy things. You can send things. You don't need to carry your whole life onto a plane.
Not yet anyway.
You make coffee and drink it standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the street below, the light coming up slowly over the buildings. Cold out there. You stand there with your hands around the mug and look at your street. All the mornings you have stood here. Rushing and not rushing. Good mornings and bad ones. The ordinary accumulation of a life in one place.
You think: this is not the last time but it might be one of the last times for a while.
And then, quieter, somewhere underneath that: and that's okay. That's actually okay.
You finish your coffee. Wash the mug. Put it on the drying rack. You do a lap of the apartment, stove off, windows locked, the plant on the sill watered. You stand in the middle of your living room for a second and just look at it. The bookshelf. The desk by the window. The couch with the blanket folded over the arm.
It'll be here when you get back.
Or it won't need to be.
You put your coat on. Pick up your suitcase. Lock the door behind you.
The Uber is already outside when you get downstairs.
You load your suitcase into the back, get in, and the driver pulls out without a word, which you appreciate, because you are not a person who needs conversation at six in the morning on a significant Thursday.
You watch the city go past the window.
It's early enough that the streets are thin, just the people who have to be somewhere before the rest of the world wakes up. The buildings are dark against a sky that hasn't decided what colour it wants to be yet. Everything quieter than you're used to, softer around the edges.
You think about the first time you drove to JFK. Eight years ago, visiting a friend who had moved there and couldn't afford to fly home. You remember looking out the window exactly like this and thinking New York is so much bigger than I thought.
It still is.
You think about how much of it you haven't seen yet, and you haven't even left the country.
Your phone buzzes.
Harry: morning. you awake?
You: in the Uber. heading to the airport now.
Harry: good. text me when you land.
You: it's a nine hour flight
Harry: I know. text me anyway.
You smile at your phone. Outside the city thins out further, the expressway opening up. The skyline appears behind you in the window as you pull away from it, all that light stacked up against the morning sky. You look at it for a long time.
Then you face forward.
The airport is its own world at this hour. Not chaotic yet but building toward it, people moving through the terminal with their bags, their coffee, their various degrees of alertness. You check in. Go through security. Find your gate, sit down, look at the departures board. Your flight. London next to it. The nerves settle somewhere low in your chest.
Not bad nerves. Just the real kind.
You get a coffee from the place nearest the gate. Sit back down. Put your headphones in without putting anything on, just the quiet of them, a small buffer between you and the terminal noise. Coffee in hand. Carry on between your feet.
Your phone buzzes.
Cami: are you at the airport
You: gate 42
Cami: okay good. how are you feeling
You think about it honestly.
You: nervous. good nervous though.
Cami: good nervous is the only nervous worth having
Cami: also I put some things in your suitcase last night when you weren't looking
You stare at your phone.
You: what things
Cami: nice things. you'll find them.
You: Camille.
Cami: you're welcome in advance. go live your life. I love you 🫶🏼
You put your phone in your pocket and look out the gate window at the plane already sitting on the tarmac, waiting.
You drink your coffee.
You think about Harry standing in an arrivals hall in London in nine hours.
You think: okay.
You think: let's go.
The flight is long and uneventful, which is exactly what you want from a flight. Two films. Something that is supposed to be pasta. A few hours of sleep with your head against the window and the dark Atlantic somewhere far below. At some point the cabin lights come up, the seatbelt sign chimes on, and outside the window the sky is doing something grey and British.
There it is.
London.
Customs is long. It's always long from what you've heard. You stand in the queue with your passport and your carry on, moving forward a step at a time, trying to look like a person who is completely calm about this, which you are not, which is fine.
The officer stamps your passport without looking up.
You walk through.
Baggage claim. You find your belt and wait.
You: landed. in baggage claim.
The three dots appear almost immediately.
Harry: I'm here. take your time.
You look at the message for a second.
You: you're actually at the airport.
Harry: told you I would be.
Harry: how was the flight
You: long. good. watched two films and ate something that was supposed to be pasta.
Harry: supposed to be.
You: it was fine. I've had worse.
Harry: your bag will be last. it's always last.
You look up at the belt. Everyone else's bags are coming around. Yours is not.
You: how do you know that.
Harry: it's always last. it's a rule.
You stand there watching the belt and sure enough your suitcase is the last one to appear, coming around the corner long after everyone else has collected theirs and gone.
You: you were right.
Harry: I know. come through. I'll be easy to spot.
You put your phone in your pocket, take a breath, and push your suitcase toward the doors.
Beyond them is arrivals.
Beyond arrivals is Harry.
You push through.
The arrivals hall is busy. Families, drivers, couples finding each other, children who have been sitting still for too long making up for it now. You scan the crowd.
And then you see him.
No sign. You note this immediately and with some relief. Cap on, dark coat, standing slightly to the side of the main crowd with his hands in his pockets, not on his phone, just watching the doors. Just waiting.
He sees you at almost exactly the same moment you see him.
He smiles. The real one. The quiet one.
He doesn't move toward you, just stands there and lets you come to him, and something tightens in your chest as you cross the hall toward him, your suitcase rattling on the floor, people moving around you in every direction.
You stop in front of him.
"No sign," you say.
"I thought about it," he says.
"And?"
"And I thought you might actually get back on the plane."
You laugh. He pulls you into him properly, both arms around you, your face against his neck. You hold on. Nine hours of travel, nine weeks of distance, one very significant life decision all quietly dissolving into the warmth of him in an arrivals hall in London at nine thirty at night.
He presses his face into your hair and says, quietly, like it's just for you: "You're actually here."
"I'm actually here," you say.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. Takes you in, like he has all the time in the world.
"Welcome to London, love," he says.
You look at him. The cap, the dark coat, the real smile, the arrivals hall buzzing around you both — indifferent, loud, completely irrelevant.
"Thank you for coming," you say.
"I told you I would," he says simply.
He takes your suitcase without asking and puts his other hand at the small of your back and steers you toward the exit, easy and certain.
You walk out into the cold London night together.
He takes your suitcase, leads you through the terminal, out into the cold. You follow him across the drop off lane toward the car, a dark Range Rover, familiar. You go to get in on the left side out of pure muscle memory and reach for a door handle that isn't there.
You stand there for a second.
Harry has already put your suitcase in the back and is watching you from the other side of the car with an expression that is trying very hard to be neutral.
"The other side," he says.
"I know," you say. "I know that."
"Of course."
"I just forgot for a second."
"Nine hour flight," he says generously. "Completely understandable."
You walk around the front of the car. Get in the correct side. Pull the door closed. He gets in beside you, starts the engine. You look straight ahead and say nothing.
He says nothing either for approximately four seconds.
Then you both laugh at the same time, properly, filling the car. You sit there laughing at yourself in a car park at Heathrow and think this is maybe one of your favourite moments in recent memory.
He pulls out of the car park onto the road. London starts going past the windows. Dark and wet and lit up, the roads wider than you expected, the signs different, everything slightly other than what your brain keeps reaching for. You pass a row of houses, all terraced, all exactly the same height, their windows glowing gold. A night bus. A pub on a corner still going at this hour, people spilling out onto the pavement in the cold.
"It's so old," you say, before you've thought about it.
He glances over. "What is."
"All of it." You look out the window. "In New York everything is loud about being new. Here it just." You pause. "It just is what it is."
"I told you," he says. "Honest city."
You look at him.
"Like you," you say.
He looks back at the road. Something in his expression shifts, just slightly. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.
"I'm excited to see your house," you say, after a moment.
"Yeah?"
"And to meet your mum." You pause. "I'm nervous about that part."
"Don't be," he says. Simply. Like that settles it.
"Easy for you to say."
"She's going to love you," he says. "I already told you that."
You look back out the window at London going past, at the streetlights and the wet roads and the dark of a city that isn't your city, not yet, and you think about what he said on the phone. Soon it'll be your house too.
"Hey," you say.
He glances over.
"You said soon it'll be my house too."
"It will be," he says.
You go quiet for a second. Outside a street sign goes past that you can't read fast enough. A bus. A row of houses with their lights on, ordinary and golden and full of people living their lives.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "It will be."
He reaches over and puts his hand over yours on your knee, easy and warm. You turn your hand over and let him. Look out at the city. Feel the whole strange ordinary miracle of being exactly where you're supposed to be.
He pulls onto the driveway, cuts the engine, gets out, and has your suitcase out of the back before you've fully registered that you've stopped moving. You get out, stand there for a second, and look at the house.
A proper house that has been here long enough to mean something. A front garden, small and tidy, a path to the door. Warm light through the downstairs window.
He's already at the door with your suitcase, keys out, and you follow him up the path. He pushes the door open and steps back to let you in first.
You step inside.
Warm. That's the first thing. Warm and quiet, smelling like him, which you weren't prepared for, that specific familiar warmth of a person's home. You take a few steps in and look around. High ceilings. Wooden floors. A hallway that opens into something larger beyond, art on the walls, a lamp casting everything soft and gold and —
He puts his lips on yours.
Your back finds the wall, his hands find your face, and you stop thinking about the house entirely. The ceiling, the floors, the lamp, the art, the nine hour flight, the wrong side of the car, the arrivals hall — all of it. Gone. Just this, just him, just the two of you in the hallway of a house in London at half past ten at night.
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
"I've been waiting," he says. Quiet. Certain. "For this." A beat. "For you."
You look at him in the warm light of the hallway.
"Hi," you say. Properly this time. Like you're only just arriving.
He smiles. Kisses you again, slower this time. Then he pulls back, nods toward the stairs.
"Come on," he says. "I'll show you the room."
You follow him upstairs, your hand in his, the house quiet around you. He pushes open a door. A room with a big window, a bed, everything soft and dim and exactly right.
You set your bag down on the bed and unzip it.
You move a few things aside.
And then you stop.
Sitting right on top, folded neatly and absolutely not packed by you, is a set of lingerie. Black. Very nice. A small note tucked under the strap in Camille's handwriting that says simply: you're welcome.
You stare at it.
Harry appears in the doorway behind you. You hear him stop.
"What's that," he says.
You hold it up without turning around.
A beat of silence.
"Cami," you say.
"Right," he says.
Another beat.
"You should put that on," he says.
You turn around. He's leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed and that expression, the patient one, the one that isn't quite a smile yet but is close.
