authors note - hi!! ive missed each and everyone of you so so much, ive had this one on the drafts and was specifically saving it for this day, so please enjoy, a little tour gift from me to you xx
word count - 1.6k
in which, the day has finally come, after almost three years, the together together tour is finally starting, and your husband is starting to feel a little blue at the thought of getting back on the stage again.
Amsterdam wakes slowly beneath the early morning sun.
Golden light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel suite, warming the tangled white sheets and making the canals below sparkle softly. Boats drift lazily through the water while cyclists move along the streets already buzzing with life. The city feels awake before either of you really should be.
You’re curled beneath the duvet in one of Harry’s hoodies, legs tucked underneath you as breakfast sits spread across the bed between you both. Fresh fruit. Croissants. Coffee. Tiny jars of jam he’d insisted on ordering because he liked the little glass pots they came in.
Usually, tour mornings are chaotic in the best way.
Harry’s normally all energy—singing nonsense songs while getting dressed, stealing pieces of your breakfast, pulling you around the room because he can’t stand still for more than thirty seconds.
But today feels… different.
You noticed it the moment you woke up.
The empty space beside you.
At first, still half asleep, you assumed he’d gone to the bathroom. But then you heard the shower running. And running. And running.
Long enough that you’d rolled over to check the clock.
Long enough that you’d started wondering if something was wrong.
Now, sitting opposite you against the pillows, Harry looks freshly showered and fully dressed despite it barely being morning. Damp curls fall messily around his forehead, and the sleeves of his black hoodie cover most of his hands as he fiddles absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers.
He looks gorgeous.
He always does.
But something’s off.
You can tell by the way his knee keeps bouncing beneath the duvet. By how he keeps staring out toward the city instead of eating. By the fact he’s barely touched his coffee, which honestly might be the biggest warning sign of all.
“Babe,” you say softly, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve been awake since sunrise and all you’ve eaten is half a strawberry.”
Harry glances down at the plate.
“One and a half strawberries,” he corrects quietly.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t get smart with me.”
That gets the faintest smile out of him, small and fleeting, but it disappears almost immediately.
Silence settles between you again.
Not awkward.
Just… heavy.
Today is the first show of the Together Together Tour.
His firs tour in almost three years.
Usually he’s excited for opening night. Nervous, yes—but in an electric way. The kind that makes him restless and playful all at once.
This feels different.
You shift closer across the bed until your leg brushes his.
“Hey,” you murmur, reaching for his hand. “Talk to me.”
Harry lets your fingers intertwine with his instantly, like he needs the contact more than he realised. His thumb rubs slowly across your knuckles while he stares down at your joined hands.
Then he sighs softly.
“I dunno,” he admits after a moment. “Feels different this time.”
Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your intertwined hands for a moment longer, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your skin.
You don’t rush him.
You’ve learned over the years that when Harry’s mind gets loud, silence is sometimes the only thing that gets him talking.
Finally, he exhales softly through his nose, shoulders sinking slightly.
“It’s been a long time,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head. “Since touring?”
He nods.
“Nearly three years.” A humourless little laugh leaves him. “Which sounds ridiculous considering I used to live on stage.”
Your fingers squeeze his gently.
“You still do.”
He shakes his head a little at that, curls falling into his eyes.
“No, but seriously,” he murmurs. “Back then it all felt… automatic. Like I knew exactly what I was doing every night.”
He pauses, jaw tightening briefly. “And now it feels like everyone’s expecting this massive thing and I keep thinking—what if I walk out there and I can’t do it anymore?”
Your heart aches a little hearing the uncertainty in his voice.
Harry Styles—the man who can command an entire stadium with one smile—is sitting in front of you doubting himself.
You shift closer until you’re properly beside him now, your breakfast long forgotten. One of your hands moves up to brush curls back from his forehead, fingertips lingering against his temple.
“Harry,” you say softly. “You know that’s not true.”
His eyes finally meet yours then, vulnerable in a way only a handful of people ever get to see.
“I know logically,” he admits. “But it’s different actually standing there again. People bought tickets. They’ve waited all this time and—” he swallows slightly, “—what if I disappoint them?”
You don’t even hesitate.
“You won’t.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but you continue before he can.
“Do you know what people love most about your shows?”
He gives you a look. “The songs, hopefully.”
You can’t help smiling a little.
“Yes, obviously. But it’s you, Harry.” Your hand rests against his cheek now, warm from the sunlight pouring through the windows. “It’s the way you make every single person in that stadium feel important. Like they matter. Like they’re safe with you for two hours.”
His gaze softens slightly.
“You could forget every lyric tonight and they’d still adore you.”
“That’s reassuring,” he mutters dryly.
You laugh quietly, relieved when the corner of his mouth twitches again.
“I mean it,” you whisper. “You haven’t toured in a while, sure. But you haven’t lost any part of yourself. If anything…”
Your thumb brushes beneath his eye gently. “You’re better now. Happier. More grounded.”
Harry watches you carefully, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe you.
Then, quieter this time, he admits, “I think I’m scared I won’t feel the same up there anymore.”
That one catches you slightly off guard.
Your expression softens instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
You move without thinking, climbing fully into his lap beneath the duvet, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He lets out a small surprised breath before immediately pulling you closer, burying his face against your neck like he needs the comfort.
“You know,” you murmur into his curls, “it’s okay if it feels different.”
His hands settle at your waist.
“People change. You’ve changed. That doesn’t mean it’ll be worse.”
He stays quiet, listening.
“You’re not the same person you were back then. And honestly?” You pull back just enough to look at him properly. “That’s a good thing.”
Harry’s eyes search yours carefully.
“You think?”
“I know.”
For the first time all morning, his shoulders seem to relax properly.
Just slightly.
Enough that some of the tension leaves his face.
“You always know what to say,” he murmurs.
You grin softly. “It’s part of my charm.”
A real laugh escapes him then—small, sleepy, but genuine—and finally, finally, it sounds like your Harry again.
The laugh lingers between you both for a moment, soft and warm in the golden morning light.
Harry’s arms stay wrapped securely around your waist, fingertips absentmindedly tracing patterns against the fabric of the hoodie you stole from him weeks ago and never gave back. His forehead rests against yours now, eyes closed briefly like he’s letting himself breathe properly for the first time all morning.
You brush your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck gently.
“And anyway,” you murmur, quieter this time, “if you get nervous tonight…”
Harry opens his eyes again, watching you carefully.
“Just look for me.”
His brows pull together slightly.
“You’ll probably barely even be able to see me.”
“You always find me.”
That earns the faintest smile from him because it’s true.
No matter how massive the stadium is. No matter how blinding the lights get. Somehow, Harry always finds you in the crowd.
You lean back slightly in his lap before gesturing toward the small cot positioned near the end of the hotel bed.
Inside, your son sleeps peacefully beneath a tiny cream blanket, completely unaware that his father is currently spiralling about performing in front of thousands of people in a few hours.
Freshly one year old.
Tiny curls sticking up everywhere.
One chubby hand curled near his cheek.
“He’ll be there too,” you whisper.
Harry’s entire expression changes the second he looks over at him.
Everything softens.
The tension in his shoulders eases completely as his eyes settle on your sleeping little boy, and suddenly the huge stadiums and pressure and expectations don’t seem quite so heavy anymore.
You feel his grip on your waist tighten slightly.
Then he looks back at you.
Really looks at you.
At your sleepy face, your messy hair, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, the way you’re sitting in his lap trying to piece him back together before the biggest night of the year.
And the fondness in his expression is almost overwhelming.
His hand comes up slowly to cradle your cheek.
“And that,” he says quietly, thumb brushing across your skin, “is exactly why I married you.”
You can’t help smiling softly. “Oh yeah?”
Harry nods once, eyes flicking briefly between you and the cot again.
“Because when I look at you both…” His voice lowers slightly, thick with emotion he’s trying not to show too much of. “I’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”
Your heart physically aches at the sincerity in his voice.
For a second neither of you say anything.
The city buzzes quietly outside the windows, sunlight flooding the suite while your little boy sleeps peacefully only a few feet away, and Harry keeps looking at you like you’ve hung every star in the sky yourself.
Then, softly, you grin and whisper—
“You’re getting emotional before breakfast again.”
Harry lets out a quiet laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours once more.
Best friends. A fake relationship. One weekend in Edinburgh—and maybe a shot at something real.
Author's note: This is a repost of the original story I first shared on Patreon. I’ve done a bit of light editing throughout—tightening up the prose, tweaking a few lines, and adding in some original text that was previously only on Patreon (including a few extended moments I really loved). Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading!)—your support means the world. I hope you enjoy this version just as much, if not more. 🤍
wc-> 4.5K
📌 pls, let me know if you would like to be tagged!
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s plush couch, nestled in the heart of his spacious home. The minimalist decor of his living room reflected the careful balance between his hectic life in the spotlight and his need for peace. His house, though large, was warm, with low lighting that gave it a cozy, intimate feel. The air was thick with the scent of the coffee table candles he’d lit earlier—notes of sandalwood and something sweet.
Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.
He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.
Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.
Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.
She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.
But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.
And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.
That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.
As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”
Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.
He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”
She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”
“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.
She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”
Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”
Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.
Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.
But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.
Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.
“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.
Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”
He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.
For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.
Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.
“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”
Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”
He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”
Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?
“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”
Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.
Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.
Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.
“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.
Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”
Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”
Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”
Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”
“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”
“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”
Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”
Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”
Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”
“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”
Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”
“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.
“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”
Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”
Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”
Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”
Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”
Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”
“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”
The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.
Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.
“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.
“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.
She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.
He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.
As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”
Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”
Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.
Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.
Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”
She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”
He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”
Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”
For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.
“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”
Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”
Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”
Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”
Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.
Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.
As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”
Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”
“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”
Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”
“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”
Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”
He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”
Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”
Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”
“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”
She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”
Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.
“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”
Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”
Your sunny, summer’s day reading in the garden is interrupted not only by a party next door, but the cheeky, charming boy hosting it.
Mature Content: explicit language, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), slight degradation, spit, squirting. For an 18+ audience only.
Word Count: 8.9k words
Summer is without a doubt your favourite season. Rainy days are left behind as much as they are far ahead. Rarely is there ever a cloud to cover up the sun that is almost always shining, or to tarnish the baby blue sky. Sometimes there’s a small breeze, but all that does is refresh scorching skin—yours especially given your love for sunbathing.
It’s also a signal that another year at college has been nicely wrapped up. All exams are done with only the results pending, but you’re not worried. You studied hard and will reap the rewards with A’s like always. You’re certain of it.
Having just finished your third year studying psychology at the University of Berkley, you came back home to your parents’ place in Sherman Oaks yesterday to spend the summer here. The job you have coincides with term-time, so whenever school is on break, you are as well. It works out pretty perfectly, and you feel very fortunate about that.
When you haven’t been working, you’ve mostly had your nose buried in text books—with the exception of a few wild college parties here and there to break up all the studying you’ve done, of course. But now you’re ready to just fully kick back and relax.
Relaxing for you means no partying, but it doesn’t mean stop reading. It just means changing the material, which is exactly what you’ve done—Little Women your current choice. You’ve read it a dozen times, but it never gets old. It’s a comfort of yours, and you’re in your happy place; this summer destined to be a really good one.
Your parents are out for the day, both of them at work that brings them home in the early evening. It’s only a little after noon, but you’ve been sprawled on the sunlounger outside for a couple of hours already, switching every now and then between lying on your front and your back to get an even tan. You’ve gone through a couple glasses of peach iced tea and are a third of the way through your favourite story. Black wayfarers protect your eyes from the sun, the skimpy yellow bikini on your body not quite doing that. You’ve put on sun cream, but you’re due a top up. One more page and you’ll do it.
The most important detail of all, however, is that it’s so peaceful. The neighbourhood is a noiseless one with no main roads nearby. If you listen hard enough, you’re convinced that you can hear the ocean waves at Santa Monica, even if they are a twenty-five minute drive away. That’s how quiet it is here, silence something you value greatly.
But no sooner do you finish thinking about the perfect peace you bask in is it interrupted.
You flinch at the sudden vibrating bassline of music, the sound followed by raucous cheering and several splashes all of which are emanating from the house next door. The illusion of your fictional world is shattered entirely, and what’s happening in the real one infuriates you.
With that in mind, you don’t hesitate to get up from the sunlounger, carefully marking the page you’re on before setting the book down and storming toward the large green hedge and brown wooden partition that separates your large garden from the neighbours’. If you weren’t already hot from the sun, the rage you feel from being disturbed would do the trick.
There are a couple of gaps in the foliage and the fence, so you wedge yourself between one, gripping your hands to the top of the wood for leverage with one foot on an edge in the middle of it. You pull yourself up and peak over, your glaring gaze settling on the worst possible thing.
A pool party.
A frat boy pool party.
You count at least ten guys and maybe twenty girls. There’s skin on show from everyone, with every man shirtless and every woman as bikini clad as you. Booze flows and music booms. There’s a few people in the pool—the source of the splashing—and someone fiddling with a phone connected to the speaker; the party’s DJ. How you didn’t hear this many people pull up to the house before they made their way out into the garden, you don’t know. You must’ve been really absorbed in your book.
The reminder of your happy place being interrupted by the pool party brings you away from assessing the situation, to shouting about it.
“Oi!”
All thirty heads turn in your direction, sixty sets of eyes wide and surprised on you and your head popping up over the top of the fence. You don’t shy away from the attention, but welcome it. It means you can get your point across.
“Turn that shit down! Some of us are trying to relax and read!”
Your words are met with a series of booing before the volume of the music is turned up even louder, to which you growl in frustration before hopping back down to the ground. Those fuckers. You have a good mind to call the cops, even though you know there are no laws being broken aside from underage drinking. It’s barely afternoon, which means you have no grounds to file a noise complaint, and you won’t snitch on students letting loose with some booze. Not when you did it plenty of times yourself before turning twenty-one.
With a heavy and annoyed sigh, you pick up your book from the sunlounger as you pass by it before storming back inside of the house and slamming shut the patio door. You’re met with ice cold A/C, but it does nothing to cool you down. You’re beyond fired up.
Your parents made no mention about having new neighbours. Since you left for college three years ago, the house next door had been vacant for the last half decade, and you’ve haven’t seen any sign of life there whenever you’ve come home for a visit. It’s probably why you had it in your mind that the neighbourhood is so peaceful, which has now been ruined by a goddamn frat party. You can still hear it even from the confines of your parents’ home with now closed doors and windows.
Grumbling to yourself, you push away from the kitchen counter you huffily leaned against, advancing further inside the house in a search for some earphones to drown out the ruckus with something more relaxing.
Within seconds of locating a set from the junk drawer in the living room coffee table, the jack plugged into your phone and buds playing nature sounds about to meet your ears, do you hear the doorbell chime. It’s a rarity that that happens, or at least from what you remember. Visitors aren’t too common, and neither you or your parents have any packages en route, so who could it be?
Apprehensively, you walk towards the front door and pull it open slightly, hiding your half-naked body behind the wood. Your wary eyes land on a young tattooed man in knee-length swim shorts smiling brightly at you, nothing else covering his body except for several dozen black ink tattoos, black wayfarers covering his eyes similar to your own that you’ve used to push your hair back, and a backwards black baseball cap that holds away his with the exception of a few rogue chocolate-coloured curls.
“Hi. Y/N, right?” the guy asks through his grin, a thick British accent rolling off of his tongue in a slow drawl that provides you the feeling of even more sudden heat. Right between your legs.
You’re hesitant to acknowledge his question, and also incapable. How he knows your name you don’t know, but you also don't care, because the man before you is obscenely pretty. His charming smile shows off a deep dimple etched in his sun-kissed cheek, with two front teeth slightly and adorably larger than the rest.
He sticks a hand out your way, palm large and middle finger wearing a silver ring. You look between it and the man’s face, feeling apprehensive once more as much as you are slightly aroused.
“I’m Harry,” he tells you, and you simply swoon. No five letters together have ever sounded so good.
You find yourself swallowing hard, your throat as dry as your mouth despite all the iced tea you’ve had today. One hand stays holding the door handle, but the other extends to clasp with Harry’s; a firm and brief handshake exchanged that makes him grin harder and you heat up further.
He pulls his away and shoves it into the pocket of his shorts after using it to push his sunglasses on top of his head. You’re met with sea glass green; his eyes the prettiest shade of it. The prettiest eyes you’ve seen full stop. They sparkle at you, your whole body now suddenly sparkling for him.
“So it was Y/N, right?”
You blink rapidly. Harry’s gorgeous gaze had put you in a dizzied daze, and now his question pulls you back out of it. “Huh?”
Harry laughs lightly, shoulders shaking and ab muscles tightening as he does. “Your name. You never confirmed whether I was right or not.”
“You were. You are,” you rush out, rolling your lips into your mouth before releasing them into a smile as you nod. “I’m Y/N, yes.”
“Pretty name. Pretty lady. Makes sense.” He winks, earning a giddy giggle from you.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shuffle awkwardly on your bare feet while trying your best not to stare at Harry’s toned and tattooed torso. But given how low slung his shorts are thanks to his hand in the pocket of them tugging the material down a little more, the motion revealing a white Calvin’s waistband, a tiny tattoo of words you can’t quite make out, prominent v-lines and a happy trail, you’re struggling. You’re struggling a lot.
A small throat clearing sound from the man you ogle brings your attention back to his face, which is still grinning. It’s in a cocky manner now, though. Your staring has not gone unnoticed by Harry, or unappreciated. He’s looking smug in a way you don't hate. Not one bit.
You snap yourself out of your spiralling state, a quick head shake happening to right yourself before asking, “Sorry, but how do you know my name?”
“Met your folks a few months ago when me and my folks moved in, ‘n they told us all about you. We live next door.” Harry gestures with a point of his index finger to the right—the home hosting the party that had you up a height—while bouncing on the balls of his feet in a nervous sort of way, a tinge of blush tinting his cheeks. “I heard and saw you shouting over the fence. Thought I should come over and apologise for the noise. We’ll try and keep it down. We’re just letting off some steam after finishing freshman year.”
Any anger you once felt dissipates the longer you look into Harry’s twinkling eyes and are blinded by his sweet smile. Annoyance is no longer in your vocabulary. Angel plays on a loop in your mind instead, because you’re convinced you’ve just met one. The only one.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You brush off his apology with a wave of your hand, to which Harry’s smile grows some more and his nervous disposition relaxes a great deal. “I’m sorry for interrupting. You’re fine to carry on. Just be mindful later on, yeah? Don’t let it be too loud too late.”
“Absolutely, ma’am.” He winks again, making you giggle again and blush like a schoolgirl with a crush. Harry’s eyes flick over your face, his grin turning into pursed lips of contemplation before he gestures his head toward his house. “You wanna join?”
You shake your head again, quickly this time, and give a breathy laugh. “Oh, no. Thank you, but no. I’ve done enough partying already this year to last a lifetime.”
“You study Psychology, right? At Berkeley?” You nod, impressed. Clearly your parents have spoken about you in depth. Harry lets out a low whistle before sending you another toothy grin. “Clever girl. What year?”
You’re blushing harder thanks to his compliment and pretty green gaze. “Just finished up my third. What and where do you study?”
“History at UCLA. Moved from Manchester to Cali last year on a football scholarship. Sorry- a soccer scholarship.” He beams cheekily, earning another giggle from you while you start to slot together these pieces of information. Athleticism explains his physique. Britishness explains his charm. You’re a sucker for an English gent, especially fit ones with abs and those sexy V-lines.
You want to ask him a million more questions—if he likes it here in California, if he misses home, if he likes his course, if he’d like to take you out some time—but you decide not to. You’ve done the maths on your age difference, and while it might only be three years (provided he’s nineteen years-old, he could be older and just a late college starter), you stay away from younger guys given their usually immature attitudes. You don’t have the time or energy for that, even though Harry’s someone you wouldn’t mind breaking your own rules for.
So instead, you simply offer him a gentle smile. “That’s really cool, best of luck with your degree. Thanks again for coming over with the apology and the invite. I’ll let you get back to your party.”
Harry smiles too, but there’s no mistaking the small hint of sadness in his eyes at you turning down his offer. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to leave.
“And what are you gonna do?” he asks, furthering the point you’ve made in your mind about his hesitancy to go.
You feel your face heating up with another round of blush. “Read.”
“You a bookworm?” You nod and he grins harder, hands in both pockets and body leaning toward you in a sweet and silly way. “Whatcha reading?
You giggle again, this time at the childlike curious cadence of his voice. “Little Women.”
“I’ll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman,' and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else."
Harry quoting a passage from the book so effortlessly catches your surprise as much as it does your breath, and he knows it. It’s why his grin stretches wider, his dimple popping deeper and eyes sparkling even more.
“Good choice,” he hums, then continues on like he hasn’t just stumped you totally on purpose. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come over and join us. Just head through the side gate and it’ll take you into the garden. If not, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime?”
Your head is spinning from his recital and the information he’s thrown your way, so all you can do is offer him another quick nod and tight smile, your face on fire much like the rest of your body is. Harry returns the gesture before spinning on his heel, his bare feet padding across the tiled terrain as he disappears back to the party, whistling to himself as he goes.
You close the door quickly, sliding down the wood until your ass meets the floor with a light thump. You didn’t realise your heartbeat had kicked up a few notches until right now. You can hear it in your ears; the party next door on mute thanks to it.
Chewing your bottom lip, you contemplate the invitation. You didn’t lie to Harry when you said you’d partied hard and that you could use the downtime to relax. It’s also a freshman frat party, something that doesn’t need to be sullied by a junior from a whole other school. You’d probably be the only person there legally allowed to drink. The vibes just aren’t right.
But still, you’d like to hang out with Harry, and you have the feeling that he’d like to hang out with you, too. You declined his offer today, however maybe there’ll be another occasion where you won’t. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime? That’s what he said. Harry hopes, and now, so do you.
With all that in mind, you push yourself up to stand, brushing your butt free from any dust on the floor before picking up where you left off prior to Harry’s arrival, plugging your ears and heading back outside with your phone in hand, excited to get stuck back in your favourite fictional world.
The nature sounds playing through the earphones work their magic to drown out the sound of the ruckus next door, so you’re able to get absorbed within the pages in no time. You lie on your back, legs bent at the knees and arms holding the book up high, blocking the sun from your face. Peace has been restored.
Yet upon the feeling of something light and large hitting your stomach, it shatters again.
A startled you sits up fast from the impact, earphones ripping out of your ears and sunglasses falling off your head from your quick movements. All of the party noise takes over from nature, your book dropping onto your lap from the fright you got.
You look around in a daze, stopping your search of what just made contact with you when your sight lands on a rainbow beach ball rolling across the patio.
“Whoopsie!”
Your head whips to the left, round eyes of surprise landing on a very cheekily smiling Harry. His backwards cap-wearing-head and half of his naked, inked-up torso are on show from the other side of the fence; the same position you were in earlier on.
A smile didn’t grace your face then, but one does now. You can’t help it, all of the shock you felt settled into a bright grin and breathless laugh now that you know the cause of the interruption. An interruption you’d gladly let happen over and over and over again. You feel no anger, only sparks; something only a charmer like Harry can cause.
That charmer doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that he’s staring at your basically bare body. He chews gum as he does, showing the piece that he works between his molars thanks to his Cheshire Cat smile, a raised brow telling you he likes what he sees.
And you like that he likes what he sees, feeling no self-consciousness about the cellulite on your legs or your stomach rolls and pudge like you have been before. You welcome his gorgeous gaze, because it’s making you feel gorgeous.
“I suppose you want me to go and get your ball?”
The sound of the light laugh that accompanied your question visibly perks Harry up, but he looks to be keeping himself cool by shrugging a shoulder in a lazy way, his smile shifting to become just as lazy, too. Both things are undeniably hot. Just like him.
“Or you could let me hop the fence to get it myself…”
“That all depends,” you retort calmly, even though your response is chaos. It’s flirty. You’re flirting, something you don’t much of unless you’ve had a couple of drinks, but you’re stone cold sober right now.
Well, mostly sober. You’re feeling a little drunk on the boy next door.
Harry jerks his chin your way in a cocky manner, much like how he continues to chew his gum. “On what?”
“On whether the ball made its way over here accidentally or intentionally.” You’re testing the waters to see if he’s willing to take a dip, because you are. You’re ready to dive in headfirst, actually.
The feeling seems mutual. Harry doesn’t look like he’s willing to take a dip, his expression screaming that he’s fully plunging. That he already made the jump by being here and hitting you with his ball by ways of getting you to engage in this back and forth.
He cocks his head, smirking. “Which answer would the pretty lady prefer?”
“Whichever one is true, of course.”
“Intentionally.” Harry admits quickly, dragging his gaze down the length of you slowly before locking his eyes with you once more; his grin a mile wide.
Your cheeks are hot with blush, your smile as bright as Harry’s. You scoff a laugh, then nudge your head in silent invitation. “Permission granted. Come get your ball.”
Harry is across the fence in a matter of seconds, pulling himself up and over it before landing on your side as gracefully as a cat. Something tells you that wasn’t his first time hopping fences given his sassy disposition and the skill displayed; a skill that made you hot under the metaphorical collar from watching the way his biceps bulged and tummy tightened as he moved.
Dusting off his hands, Harry faces you with a smirk. You swallow hard, shifting your closed book from your lap to join your phone and sunglasses on the space of the lounger by your hip, and sitting yourself up a little straighter—knees bent up, feet and hands flat against the lounger for support. You need all you can get.
Butterflies swarm your belly and your skin tingles as you watch Harry walk toward the beach ball, your eyes drinking in his tall and lean figure making those casual strides. There’s something magnetic in the way he moves, it’s truly enchanting. It forces you to gulp harshly again and squeeze your legs together tightly; a strong tingle between them desperately needing to be suppressed. Or satisfied.
He bends down and picks up the inflatable, tossing it into the air and catching it before he spins to face you once more. “Got my ball.”
“Yes, you do.” You’re giggling again. You don’t think there’s been a time ever that you’ve giggled so damn much.
Harry tilts his head, smirking as he eyes you up. “Have I got the pretty lady, too?”
His question catches you by surprise, more sparks rushing through your body. You need to keep cool, though. The flirty atmosphere is too fun.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you'll help me top up my sun cream or not.” You take your bottom lip behind your two front teeth for a second, giving Harry big doe eyes of desire as you let it pop free again. “I can’t quite reach my back.”
His grin widens even more, hands dropping the quickly-forgotten-about ball as he makes slow but eager steps toward you. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, doll. I love to help.”
“Mhm, I bet you do.”
Pushing yourself up to stand, Harry comes to a towering stop a few inches away from you. He smirks down at you grinning up at him, your surroundings growing hotter by the second, but the sun in the sky is no longer the cause. It doesn’t hold a candle to the feverish glow Harry effortlessly emits.
You don’t miss the way his eyes make another slow journey down your body, nor do you miss another low whistle sounding out from between his sweet, slightly puckered lips. Your confidence only boosts more, any and all self-imposed rules you had before Harry came into your life however long ago now completely out the window.
“I’ll run in and grab the lotion,” you announce, breaking the tense silence. “Can I get you a drink while I’m in there?”
Harry nods, two front teeth biting into his plump bottom lip and eyes on your tits slowly peeling away from the area back to your face. “A drink would be sick, yeah.”
“What d’you fancy?” Your smile shifts into a smirk. “Non-alcoholic, of course.”
“Of course.” He winks, wearing a mischievous half-smile of his own.” Water, please. Ice in it would be fantastic, if it’s not too much trouble. Thank you.”
“No trouble at all, coming right up. Make yourself at home.”
You turn on your heel and saunter back inside the house, feeling Harry’s eyes on your ass the entire time. That doesn’t surprise you. It’s one of the reasons you asked if he wanted a beverage, after all.
Making quick work of filling up two tall glasses with ice cubes and water, you carry one in each hand along with a tube of sunscreen wedged between the crease of your right elbow and ribs back out into the garden. You haven't felt this giddy or excited in a long time. Ever, perhaps.
Harry has followed your instructions, now sitting at the foot of the sunlounger. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, the backs of his bare heels resting on the tile floor and large hands splayed flat against the cushion he sits on. His heart-shaped lips blow a perfect gum bubble.
He pops it with his teeth upon clocking your return, resuming his chewing with a cheeky grin headed your way. “There she is. The hostess with the mostess.”
“It’s the least I could do for you for what you’re gonna do for me.”
Coming to a stop by his feet, Harry smirks up at you with a lifted brow, taking the glass you offer him. “That’s a fair point. Sun protection is very important. Wouldn’t wanna get burned, would you?”
He takes a leisurely sip, your eyes locked throughout. Harry swallows with a hum and a light gasp at his thirst being quenched, plump mouth glossy from the liquid and eyes bright from the lady.
In the small amount of time spent in the kitchen getting drinks and suncream, you wondered about how this whole thing with Harry, the hot next door neighbour, would pan out. You’re not a fool to think that things between you both aren’t flirtatious or sexually charged, and you know he isn’t either. It’s apparent in his gaze, words and actions. In yours, too.
There’s one outcome and you both know it. Both want it. Whether or not you bite the bullet and make the dive into that desire first, that you’re unsure of. That, you’re a little nervous about.
Yet the longer you look at him, the easier it becomes. Harry stares at you with hearts for eyes, and a hard-on in his shorts. You can see the large outline of it straining against the material; a reaction you caused by simply standing in front of him. Flirting with him. Asking for a favour from him.
So with all of this in mind, you move past the point of just dipping your toe. You’re ready to jump, even if Harry seemingly did so ages ago.
And after exhaling a shaky breath, you do, saying, “I wasn’t just talking about the suncream.”
And with a mile-wide grin after setting the glass of water onto the patio, Harry replies with a strong, sexy and oh so sure, “I know.”
He takes the hand that just held his drink and slowly skims the tips of his fingers up the outside of your thigh. His touch is cold from the glass, but all it does is make you burn up even more; intense and irresistible eye contact maintained all the while.
On either hip lies a bow holding your bikini briefs together. Harry lightly plays with one of them, the very thought of him pulling it undone enough to drive you insane with want and need for him to just undo it. To just undo you. Arousal collects in the material he tauntingly toys. Any longer and he’ll see what a mess he’s making of you, you’re sure of it.
Pulling his hand away pulls a pout from you. Harry simply chuckles, head tilted a tad. “It’s a good place to start, though. The suncream, I mean. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod, his head nudging toward the lounger barely a second after your agreement. “Gorgeous. Lie down for me, yeah?”
And you do. Without hesitation, you kneel on the sunbed, lowering to rest your front against it until the right side of your face is pressed against the cushion, your heart beating harder than ever against your ribcage and the pillowy surface below your body.
Harry had watched your every move, and now, with you where he wants you, he makes slow ones of his own. He straddles your legs, a knee pressing into the lounger either side of yours. There’s no eye contact made anymore, the skin kind avoided, too. Harry hovers above and behind you. You can sense him skimming his sights across the plains of your back and the rounds of your ass, and also physically feel him delicately trailing his hands up and over your waist, mapping out the curves of you like he’s about to be tested on your body, and he wants an A. He wants it so fucking bad. You sigh at how good it feels, the anticipation of what he’s going to do next driving you as wild as his gaze and touch does.
He moves away from your ribs to the ribbon holding your bikini top together at the middle of your spine. Teasing begins there, the pads of his finger slipping under the knot. Is he going to undo it, or isn’t he? You tingle from head to toe, wriggling a fraction with your breaths now erratic.
Harry leaves the tie alone and shifts until he’s leaning over your back, a hand brushing the hair away from your right ear for his lips to hover by it. His breath is cool and refreshing from the ice cold drink and peppermint gum he chews, tickling in a way that turns you on more than ever; the signs of such a thing shown by your hips moving slightly and your bikini bottoms growing wetter and wetter by the second.
And all of this tormenting, well, it makes those choppy breaths of yours halt; something Harry notes. You can feel him smirk against your lobe, right as you hear the cap of lotion being opened by his hands.
“I heard and saw you when you shouted over the fence before.” The smirk in his tone is as audible as the cream being squeezed onto his palm.
You can’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed for your angry attitude earlier on or the fact that Harry paid witness to it. That feeling fucked off fast. Now all you can think about is how horny you are. How happy you are that it led him to you, to this moment. To whatever happens next.
“I didn’t hesitate for a second to come knocking on your door. Never moved so quickly in all my life,” Harry admits, sounding as cool as a cucumber while you're burning like a furnace of frisky fire that only he can douse. Or make worse. You don’t really care which. “Found myself a stunning little woman, one I wanted to make feel so good. One I wanted to help relax. I told you, darlin’… I love to help. So lemme get started with that, yeah?”
And with that, Harry brings his lotioned hands to the middle of your back, slowly rubbing them and the cream outwardly across your ribs with the perfect amount of pressure. They venture beneath the part pressed against the cushion before retreating; a staggered breath escaping your lips from how good it feels.
You feel his smirk shift into a grin. “How’s that for you, hm?”
“‘Nice.” A harsh swallow follows your hoarse response. “Really nice.”
He expels a laugh through his nose, a chaste kiss pressed to your lobe that tingles and lingers. “I think we can do better than nice, can’t we?”
Harry pulls away from your ear to sit up straight again, his hands making gentle but firm work of rubbing the product into your skin. His massaging methods are expert, fingertips and the heels of his hands kneading into your skin to work out the knots and kinks in your previously tensed-up shoulder blades and spine. You grow both more relaxed and restless the longer he’s at it, your lids fluttering shut and breaths turning broken again with every passing second; the occasional ‘mm’ sounding out, too.
Harry ends up at it for quite some time. The suncream has long since been rubbed in, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem able to. You don’t want him to, either.
At the feeling of his fingers once more moving towards the ribbon tied in the middle of your back, you simultaneously clench and calm. Harry doesn’t make a move to pull it undone, because he’s waiting for you to give the go ahead. What a perfect gentleman.
Opening your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking again, but so are you. Nothing has ever felt so right.
“Do it.”
And do it, he does. A chuffed-looking, cocky Harry with eyes locked on yours tugs the knot loose, his deft fingers swiping the yellow strings away to the sides. He trails a digit over the newly exposed skin, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip to wetten the plump area. You wish it was your tongue, or his on your lip. God, you’ve never wished for anything more.
“And this one?” he whispers, voice rugged and rife with lust as he gestures to the bow at the nape of your neck. “Can I undo this one, too?”
“Yes, you can.”
“Mm, so good to me. Thank you.”
Another shudder wrecks its way through your body, the feeling seemingly never ending as he slowly pulls the second and final knot loose. Along with the thin ribbons, the triangle parts covering your tits fall limply away from your skin and onto the sunbed you lie on; your front still pressed against it and nothing on show. Yet.
The presence of Harry hovering over you disappears. He moves off the sunbed to stand at the foot of it, his eyes darting all over your body. There’s an arrogant smile etched on his face, and an even more prominent bulge in the confines of his shorts.
He meets your gaze again soon enough, jerking his chin forward. “On your back.”
You comply without question, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths, tits exposed with nipples pebbled from arousal, and thighs pressed tightly together to dull the aching throb in your cunt.
The sun in the sky kissing your fully naked torso is no match for the heat in Harry’s now onyx eyes that are honed in on your bare breasts, a third low whistle and a shake of his head heard and seen. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, low like he’s talking to himself, but he wasn’t. He wanted you to hear. Wanted you to feel as good as he does from simply looking at you.
And you do. You feel more than good, a fresh coating of blush staining your skin from the compliment. A fresh burst of confidence from it, too.
You bring a hand to your right breast, index finger pointed out to lazily glide back and forth across the valley of it. Harry eyes your movements like a hawk, looking like all of his Christmas’ have come at once as he harshly swallows and shamelessly readjusts himself in his shorts. It’s safe to say all that does is stroke your ego and boost your confidence even more, and your grin shows it.
“So what now?”
A half-smile appears on his face; a sign of trouble in the best kind of way coming. “You’re relaxed, right?”
“I am, yes. Very much so.”
“And you wanted to read?”
“I did.”
Harry’s shrug is as lazy as his smirk. “So read. Out loud.”
His instruction raises your brows, but you don’t disobey. You simply pop your knees and pick your book back up while Harry lowers to a kneeling position, his grinning face on show beneath the bottom of the now open novel and chin resting on folded arms he’s propped up on the cushions, eagerly waiting for you to get started.
You barely read a paragraph of it out loud before Harry’s hands wrapping around the back of your calves and spreading your legs a tad silences you. Giggles replace the quiet in an instant when he tugs you down the bed a little, catching you by surprise as much as it makes you forget all about your favourite story.
Harry simply shakes his head, tutting once before smirking again. “Keep reading, love. You’ve got such a pretty voice, I wanna hear it.”
With a swallow and a nod, you continue, but your recital comes to another stop after Harry sits up straight on his knees, his hands by your hips and fingers once more toying with the knots holding together your bikini bottoms. You’re actually close to moaning, the simple under-his-lashes stare at you the reason for the swallowed lewd sound.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns, the threat sending a flood of more heat and arousal to your core, and heart to pound violently against your ribcage. It almost makes you want to disobey, just to see what will happen. But Harry clearly already has a plan in mind for you, and you’re much too curious to find out what comes next. You, probably.
So you look back to the pages and attempt to blink away your suddenly blurry vision, however that grows harder to do at the feeling of Harry tandemly untying the bows until the ribbons fall away as freely as the ones from your top did. You’re still covered, but it won’t take much to change that. A simple pull on the fabric and you’ll be bare and completely at the mercy of his mouth. Or at least you hope you’ll be.
Concentrating as hard as you possibly can on the words, you power on, however second later you’re stopping again and moaning, “Oh, fuck,”; profanity that wasn’t written but rather something that slipped out of your mouth upon Harry lightly kissing the space beneath your navel.
You feel puffs of laughter expelled through his nose, looking down at him looking up at you while his grin graces your skin. “That last part didn’t sound like the words of Louisa May Alcott to me,” he teases, each tickling brush of his lips turning you on some more. If that’s even possible.
“I’m improvising. Mixing it up,” you taunt his taunt right back, earning yourself another laugh.
“Is that so?” Harry continues to pepper kisses along the elastic edge of your loose bikini briefs. All you can do is pant and nod, your non-verbal response pulling another grin from the man who causes it. “Well, if that’s the case then I’m looking forward to some more ad-libs. I’m sure I can encourage some along.”
You feel dizzy and desperate. You know that in order to get to the next part of what’s to happen with you and Harry, a part which involves him satiating the aching pulse and dripping mess between your legs, you need to get to the next part of the book. Harry wanted you to read, so you’re going to fucking read.
But then, surprise surprise, your voice peeters out, Harry’s hands snaking between your thighs to pry them open further being the reason. The skimpy yellow Lycra covering your soaked cunt is peeled away from your body next, Harry making slow work of revealing your intimate area to him and the hot afternoon you both bask in. You whimper, a noise that harmonises with a hiss from him, who’s glazed-over eyes stare at your soaked centre like it's made of pure gold.
Upon your reaction and lack of reading, again, he flicks his gaze your way. If you thought he looked cheeky before, that was nothing compared to now. His dimple is even deeper, his smile his most mischievous and maddening yet. Harry doesn’t have to audibly tell you to continue reading, again, because his stare does the talking for him. It’s a look that has you blushing and squirming before you turn your focus back to the words.
You pay him no mind as best as you possibly can, opting to hide his face from view by bringing the book down and using it as a blocking device, but you can still feel him and every move he makes—the lean forward and down, fingers gripping your hips, backwards cap-covered head grazing the insides of your trembling thighs. You have to persevere through your pants, wanting nothing more than to behave and reap the rewards of your good behaviour. You need it. You need him.
“Jesus fuck!” Your speech is replaced with another expletive and a guttural groan thanks to Harry’s tongue licking up through your drenched slit, your juices lapped up in one stroke, jittering legs jittering some more upon his well-pleased smile and the vibrating, satisfied ‘mmm’ against your skin, mind spinning and need for more, well, more. You need all of what Harry can give you, and you need it right fucking now.
You stammer your way through the rest of the paragraph, missing out words here as Harry’s wet and warm muscular organ lazily and lushly glides through your equally wet and warm folds. He’s purposefully ignoring your throbbing clit, only lightly nudging it with the tip of his nose like he’s showing you he knows where it’s at and he knows it’s where you need to be touched the most, but you’re not getting it yet. When he’s ready then you will. You can’t help but love and loathe that cockiness in equal measure, and also worry about the noise you might make when he finally does pay your swollen pearl some attention. You're so worked up and have been for ages now. You’re bound to sound demonic.
You’re settled into the incredible feeling he provides for you, therefore your recital is somewhat coherent now. But yet again, that changes fast; Harry’s hands slipping from your hips to lift your legs up over his shoulders while he takes a deep and shaky breath in. Before long, you’re stopping to swear again, “Holy fucking shit, yes!” and for good fucking reason.
Upon Harry finally sucking your pulsing bud into his mouth after too many teasing licks to count spent avoiding it, the book falls from your limp hands and onto the tiled floor with a thud. You look down at him looking up at you, your moan louder than ever at the pleasure you get from not only his expert mouth working your pussy, but how fucking good he looks while doing it.
Obscenely pretty as your earlier description for Harry has never been more appropriate. With your legs over his shoulders and his face wedged between your thighs that are tight against his backwards-cap-covered head, he has his nose flush against the light patch of hair above where his lips are latched, like he doesn’t want the ability to breathe. His arms are hooked under your thighs, his elbows bent at your hips and hands linked together against your stomach, pinning you down to the bed as he feasts like a man starved.
And he hums more satisfied hums as he works, alternating between sucking your throbbing clit while nuzzling his head left and right, the occasional light nibble broken up by fast flicks of his tongue, and the more salacious licks like he’s in a serious make out session with your cunt. All in all, you can barely see, your vision once more blurry with tears upon the boy next door eating you out like his life depends on it.
“Oh, fuck me…” you moan, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back. “Just like that. Good boy.”
The pet name slipped out before you could stop it from happening, too worked up and wet to care what you’re saying. You can’t think. You can barely fucking breathe.
But from the reaction of Harry, a raspy whine vibrating off of his tongue felt against your pussy, you smile. He liked it.
Just when you think you’ve got the upper hand, the somewhat submissive term for Harry having garnered a positive response, he reminds you just who’s in control by pulling away, your mouth immediately opening to protest.
Yet any words you might’ve said snuff out fast, replaced with a yelp upon him slapping your clit.
That earns you a cocky grin and a throaty laugh from Harry, his lips and chin saturated with your arousal. He looks as possessed from you as you are for him, eyes wild and as black as night.
“That’s for stopping reading.” He surprises you further by spitting directly onto your cunt, both of you watching the thick glob of saliva cover your clit and drip down to your hole; a gasp from you and a groan from him at the filthy sight.
Your eyes meet again a moment later, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “And that’s just because I fucking wanted to.”
Before you can even register it happening, Harry is stuffing you full, two fingers sliding knuckle deep into your entrance. Your warm and wet walls welcome him in, body trembling upon him firmly pressing the pads against that spongy sweet spot and the cool metal of his ring kissing your skin.
You stutter on your breath, seeing stars behind your eyes as he slowly strokes the sensitive area, a gorgeous grin stretching his smug face. “You’ve drenched my fingers, baby. Got you dripping all over my palm, too. You gonna be a good girl and come for me, hm?”
You feel the need to pay him back for the slap, even though you liked it a whole fucking lot. What better way than to bruise his ego in a way that will make him rush to heal it fast?
So with that in mind, you murmur, “That all depends,” a sentiment you’ve spoken for now the third time since knowing Harry.
And for the third time since knowing you, he grins upon hearing the challenge. “On what?”
You sit up and lean forward until your lips are brushing, lips that are yet to properly meet and be feasted upon through the act of a frantic kiss. You can smell your arousal all over his breath, the scent mixing divinely with the minty gum he still chews.
“On if you’re capable of making it happen.”
Harry laughs, the cadence of it letting you know he’s fallen for the bait; hook line and sinker. You can tell he knows he has too, he just doesn’t give a fuck. Not when showing you he can get you off by actually getting you off is way more important.
Slipping out of your cunt, he gently squeezes your clit with a finger either side of it until you’re whimpering and writhing and close to begging for more. “Put your arms around my neck,” Harry demands, and who are you to deny him and yourself what’s to be even more earth-shattering bliss?
So you comply quickly again, your hands sliding beneath the peak of his cap until your fingers grip his nape. Your legs are still over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half, with Harry’s glossy fingers now back to slowly running up and down your soaked slit. You shudder and moan, his forehead dropping against your own slightly sweaty one, eyes meeting and grinning mouths mirroring one another’s.
But they both fall slack upon Harry sliding his long digits back in your tight cunt, a hitched breath from you while a groan rumbles in his throat. You’re so slick, sucking him in, the sounds of your mess loud and lewd with every withdrawal and re-enter.
“Such a messy thing, aren’t you?” His words send you further into a spiral you never want to straighten yourself out from, quick and desperate nods your response that earn you another teasing tut. “Can’t believe you’d ever doubt me when this is what I do to your body. Got you dripping down to your asshole, babe. Got your cunt clinging to my fingers, showing off what a needy, greedy little slut you are.”
“Fucking hell…”
A few more minutes of pure fucking euphoria pass by, more degrading words spoken by Harry, profanities by you, pants and groans and hums of happiness from you both. The wet sounds of your pussy being finger-fucked could be considered embarrassing, but this feels too good and Harry’s getting off on it as much as you are. Plus, it’s making for filthy background noise that only adds to the already existing filthiness. You love it.
A flick of Harry’s tongue felt against your plump lips has you falling apart even more, his fingers that once worked you slowly and teasingly now going at a jackhammer speed. The heel of his hand connects with your swollen clit upon every harsh thrust, the sounds of your arousal louder and louder.
Your nails bite into Harry’s skin as you pant heavy breaths against one another’s open mouths, the pair of you alternating between looking down to where his fingers screw into you and the saliva he occasionally spits onto your clit and hole, and directly at each other. Your toes curl until they’re agony, legs cramping from how hard they tense, and stomach tingles. The moans you make are hardly moans at all. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but none are going to feel like this one. The build up is felt deep within your goddamn soul, your body reacting to Harry in a way you’ve never experienced before either solo or with someone else. Maybe you never will again; a thought that should be terrifying, but it isn’t. You’re happy to have this memory. More than happy. Elated.
Harry’s grinning mouth is back against your slack one, a groan pouring from him that has you clenching. “Fuck, I can feel it. You’re so close, baby. Give it to me. Make a mess of me. Be a good girl and come for me?”
A tsunami of heat rushes through and out of you, the gushing sound of your climax that his fingers still fuck you through as loud as your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re an oasis—mind, body and soul—and Harry’s gasp at the sight he sees.
“Holy shit, that’s it.” He looks as lost in ecstasy as you feel. “Fucking hell, you’re incredible.”
More praise punctuated by cheek kisses leaks from his lips as arousal leaks from your body until you slump, spent, satisfied and smiley. Your face would hurt from how wide your mouth is stretched, but there’s no room for pain right now. Only pleasure.
You’re not sure how much time has passed by when you finally come back to Earth, but by that point Harry has unfolded your legs from his shoulders and laid you down flat again. He’s still between your thighs, though it’s his chest, not his mouth. That’s pulled into a wide smile, eyes on your face and chin on your stomach as his hands soothe your still-trembling legs; his expression one of complete awe.
Your hands clinging onto the back of his neck now drift to pull his cap from his head, fingers desperate to stroke through his curls. They’re as angelic as his face, as soft as he’s being with you right now, his eyes fluttering at the pleasure you give him.
“I don’t wanna keep you from your party,” you murmur a little while later, the silence the pair of you basked in broken. You didn’t want to disturb it, end this moment, but you’re also aware that he’s the host. Surely his friends are wondering where he is.
If they are, Harry doesn’t care. He doesn’t look to care about anything that isn’t you. “You’re not. And even if you were, I’d much rather chill here for a bit. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
You nod, because of course it’s okay with you. But then something crosses your mind, your smile shifting into a smirk as you ask, “Waiting for your turn?”
Harry laughs, dimple deep and eyes bright as he shakes his head, understanding exactly what you meant by that. “Trust me, that was my turn as much as it was yours. I’m more than satisfied. I died and went to heaven watching you make such a mess. That was amazing. You’re amazing. So fucking amazing.”
The mess he talks of can be felt beneath you, the sunlounger’s cushions soaked. They’ll dry in no time, though; the day is still young and the sun is still burning hot. Plus, you’re too dizzy from his sweet compliments, awestruck aura and the aftershocks of pure pleasure coursing through you to really care.
And while you believe Harry when he says he’s good, you also don’t. It’s not a common thing for guys to get off only by getting someone else off. They always want their own end away, too.
But before you can say a thing about it, you’re beat to the punchline, and all your doubt fades away.
“Besides…” Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to your stomach before landing another on your sternum, his grinning mouth soon hovering over a breast like he’s about to kiss it as well. Like he’s about to do so much more.
Given his next words, you know that’s true. You know you’re excited, too. “…summer’s only just getting started.”
I had this idea in the middle of the night and thought, “why not write and post it? maybe someone will like it...”
so here it is! I hope you enjoy it.
leave a comment so I know if you liked it enough for me to keep writing more.
and if you have any ideas, I’m open to them too!
oh, and just so you know: english is not my first language :)
Nothing that afternoon indicated the day would end that way.
Y/N was exhausted. Work had been a mess from the moment she walked in — three back-to-back meetings, an impatient boss, and a mistake that wasn’t even hers ending up on her shoulders. Her phone kept buzzing nonstop until she finally silenced everything. She didn’t even have time for a proper lunch: just ate two crackers in the car on her way to the hotel where Harry was waiting for a few days of rest.
But she didn’t want to show anything. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be the girlfriend who went to the gym with him.
Harry noticed her exhaustion the second she walked into the room. Her eyes were dull, shoulders low. But when he asked if she wanted to work out, she forced a smile.
— It’ll do me good, love. I want to sweat all of this out.
And he believed her. Because she knew how to lie with her eyes when she wanted to seem strong.
In the hotel gym, the atmosphere was nearly silent. An older man was on the treadmill in the back, and another guy — too tanned, too muscular, wearing a tight tank top — was using the corner with the weights. Harry, focused on his functional workout and listening to his playlist, kept an eye on her. Always.
Y/N tried to focus on her movements, but her body wasn’t responding like before. The stressful day was taking its quiet toll — and she tried to hide it. Between sets, she stopped near the mirror, adjusting her sports bra with a sigh. That’s when she felt the presence beside her. A man — overly muscular, overly tanned, with the kind of confidence that comes off the wrong way — appeared with a crooked smile.
— Hey, tough workout, huh? I could give you a few tips if you want... I noticed you’re using the wrong weight.
She glanced at him, trying to stay polite.
— I’m good, thanks. I’m with my boyfriend.
The guy gave a half-smile, like he didn’t take her seriously.
— You sure? A lot of people don’t even realize they’re training wrong. And no offense… but you look more like a model than an athlete.
She was visibly uncomfortable. She didn’t even have to answer. Harry was already walking over, dropping his dumbbells with a soft thud, eyes locked on the two of them.
— Is there a problem here?
— Just chatting, man. Relax. It’s a public gym.
— Public, yeah. But if she said she’s good, then you should respect that.
— And next time you wanna “give tips,” maybe learn how to recognize when someone’s not interested.
— Are you always like this? Jumping in like you own her?
— I don’t own anyone. But I’m her boyfriend. And I don’t like it when someone makes her feel uncomfortable.
— You were pushing. And she clearly said no.
The guy laughed nervously.
— Alright, champ. No need to be so sensitive. She’s hot — can’t help turning heads, right?
Harry let out a dry laugh, but his eyes were sharp.
— Yeah, she’s insanely gorgeous. But the only attention that matters to her… she already has. Mine.
A heavy silence settled between them. The guy shrugged, mumbled something, and walked off.
Harry only turned to her once the man was out of sight. His expression softened instantly.
— Are you okay, love? Did he touch you?
— No, he didn’t go that far. Just irritated me. — She tried to play it off, but the tension was still in her shoulders.
Harry gently wrapped his arm around her waist.
— If at any moment you want to leave, just say the word. Or if you want to keep training, I’ll stay right by your side. Okay?
She nodded, resting her face on his shoulder.
— Thank you for that. Really.
He kissed the top of her head softly, keeping his hand resting on her back.
— I’ll always protect you, baby. Even when you think you can handle it on your own.
She gave him a weak smile and went back to training. So did he. But now, even more watchful.
As she did squats, he watched her through the mirror. As she pulled on cables, he silently counted her reps. He knew just by looking that something was off. The way her fingers trembled, the way she paused with a distant look, how she leaned on the machine like she was trying to hide her weakness.
Then, the moment she dropped the weights and held her stomach, staggering to the nearest wall, he dropped everything.
— Y/N! — He rushed over, heart pounding. — Love… look at me, sweetheart. What are you feeling?
She was panting, sweating, hands on her face.
— I... I feel nauseous... — she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her in a firm, protective gesture.
— Let’s get you over there. Come with me. I got you. — He led her gently to a modern trash bin near the exit.
She knelt down. Her stomach revolted and she threw up. Harry stayed the entire time — kneeling behind her, carefully holding her hair, gently stroking the curve of her spine in soothing, steady movements.
— It’s gonna pass soon, baby... breathe, breathe, my love. I’m right here. — His voice was low, but full of pain at seeing her like that.
When she finished, he grabbed a towel and gently wiped her face. Then moved her hair away and cupped her cheek.
— Love… why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling okay? Huh? — he said softly but firmly.
— I just wanted... to do something nice with you. Not ruin the day.
He looked at her like his heart had been squeezed tight.
— You never ruin anything, sweetheart. Never.
— It just breaks me knowing you chose to suffer alone instead of letting me help.
He ran his fingers over her neck, then her shoulders, tenderly.
— Let me take care of you now, okay? Let’s go upstairs. Take a hot shower, eat something light, lie down together. Just us.
— Today you deserve comfort. And tomorrow too. And whenever you need it.
She rested her head on his chest, and he held her close, swaying gently like he was cradling the whole world.
They went up together. In the room, he prepared a warm bath for her, and while she was in the shower, he made toast with honey and chamomile tea. He placed everything on the corner table with a little note scribbled in his big handwriting:
“For my strongest girl in the world. Who now gets to be as weak as she wants.
With love, your Harry.”
When she came out of the shower, he was already lying in bed with his shirt laid out next to her pillow, waiting for her.
She laid down beside him, and Harry wrapped his arms around her like he was still trying to shield her from everything the day had thrown at her.
— Thank you for being this kind of love — she whispered.
He smiled, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips — with such tenderness it felt like a promise.
— You’re my favorite kind of love, my beautiful princess.
And that night, between sighs and intertwined fingers, he stayed awake until he was sure her breathing was calm, steady, and safe.
Just like his heart only felt when she was at peace.
Synopsis: The Bellington University Crescendos are holding open auditions to fill a few spots on their elite show choir team. You know you have what it takes, but there's a snag in your plans: Mr. Grumpy and Aloof, who's seemingly unimpressed by you, and the perky, ruthless female lead who's spot you're itching to steal. If there's one thing you've never shied away from, it's a challenge.
Music had always been your passion. Like you were born with this innate spark, and performing was your conduit.
In exchange for voice and piano lessons, you told your parents you’d try other things– crafts, soccer, martial arts, playing with other children even.
You were ten when they accepted the inevitable. If you were sure about this, they would back you completely. They just wanted you to succeed, and it took them a decade to realize you had absolutely no intention of failure.
Eventually, they began telling people you’d come into the world crying on key. You knew you’d come into the world determined.
From then on, you jumped at every opportunity to pour your heart out on stage. To be showered in applause, soaking in each clap and cheer aimed your way. Letting them fuel you.
Piano recitals turned into voice and dance lessons, then school musicals and choir competitions, talent shows and local theater.
You figured college would be no different, sure, there was a larger competition pool. The productions were taken more seriously, your performances would be graded on quality, not just how hard you tried. There were higher expectations here. You weren’t a star on Bellington University’s campus, not yet anyway.
It wasn’t a fact you feared, it was a challenge you accepted. Your chin high and shoulders back. Classes had barely begun but you were itching for a chance to perform.
It was the final week of August when you saw it. The air was still warm, but not the stuffy kind of warmth that accompanied the middle of summer. You had just entered the Pembrooke Performing Arts Center, glass doors shutting behind you as you cursed yourself for scheduling a class on the second floor.
Like a beacon of some sort, fluorescent, lime green paper popped against the dark, aged cork of the bulletin board you’d passed by every other day for two weeks on your way to Music Theory 1100.
Competitive Show Choir Auditions September 5th: All are welcome. 2 rounds of auditions. Vocal and dance experience strongly recommended. Only 5 spots.
It was nearly enough to make you religious.
Ripping your favorite note-taking pen from its home in the side pocket of your bag, you quickly printed your name on the first free line. There were only ten names above yours and five days left until auditions.
They were clearly expecting more names, with a second lime green sheet stapled behind the first. The Bellington Crescendos, as they called themselves, had gone to Nationals nearly every year in the past decade. This could get competitive. You didn’t have a good enough idea of what the talent was like on campus yet.
You weren’t particularly concerned, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn about your competition. At least that’s what you told yourself as you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of the sign up sheet.
—--
Six days later you sat in the front row of the auditorium, watching from an itchy, red polyester theater chair as the first name on the sign up sheet, Montgomery Prescott, stepped onto the stage. His steps reverberated through the stage floor as he hurried to center stage.
Your research into him didn’t yield much–just an online program from his high school’s production of Grease. You couldn’t find much else, but considering it opened less than a year ago, you would have to assume he was A.) also a freshman and B.) only good enough to be cast as Greaser #3 in his senior year.
You weren’t judging, but you weren’t intimidated either.
“Tell us a bit about yourself.” A clear, sweet voice rang through the various speakers around the room.
The voice belonged to Penny, a perky little blonde that seemed to be orchestrating the audition process if the last few minutes had been any indicator.
“We want to start by thanking you for coming to audition for the Bellington Crescendos! I’m Penny, a senior and the female lead. I wanted to let you all know how our audition process will work. We have just over twenty of you here, but there are only 5 spots– two of which will be alternate positions,” her smile was sickeningly sweet, almost disturbingly so.
“Today we want to hear you sing a song of your choice, Wednesday we will post the list for which of you will be returning for dance auditions. If you make the cut, you’ll return Friday evening where you’ll be taught 16 counts of choreography which you will be expected to perform as a group on Saturday. Our final list will be posted on Monday morning.”
Her tone was still light, but it takes venom to know venom, and you had no doubt she could be a bitch if needed. Subtly cutthroat. You respected it, honestly.
You quickly shot a glance to the other auditionees seated down the row you were on. A few of them looked paler than they had a couple minutes ago.
“We understand this is intense, but it’s nothing in comparison to the competitive collegiate show choir scene. We took second at Nationals last year, but we will take first this year. We just need to find the few of you who can help get us there. Decisions will be voted on by the team, and finalized by our lovely director, Wanda Gretz who is watching from the control booth. Are there any questions?”
There was a beat or two of silence before Perky Penny plopped into her seat, smiling slyly once more at the first row before putting her lips to the microphone again and calling out Montgomery Prescott’s name.
His audition was weak. He may have just been nervous, but his voice was much too shaky to even dream of dancing and singing at the same time, let alone for ten minutes straight.
Everyone clapped politely as he stepped off stage, looking a little less like he might hurl on everyone. Next was Charlotte Quinn. From your research, one of your only competitors. She had been featured in her hometown’s paper a handful of times for stellar performances in her school’s various productions, and a couple of show programs from her local theater popped up too. Mainly supporting roles, but still big ones. There was a lead role or two, enough for you to acknowledge that the girl had to be talented.
She walked up the steps and onto the stage like she’d done it a million times before, the only sign of nerves being the slight shake in hands as she ran them down the front of her skirt. She was pretty, seemed confident, and sang like she’d been at it for years. But her performance of Adele’s Someone Like You lacked the emotional depth you knew would really sell it.
She was good– great even, but you knew you were better.
You weren’t cocky, just sure. Sure of your abilities, of your skill, of your drive. You were talented, and you’d known it since you were young. But talent wasn’t enough, and you’d grown up knowing that too.
That’s why you begged for voice lessons until your parents wanted to pull their hair out, why you jumped at any opportunity to be a better singer, a better performer.
You assuredness was a gift in and of itself. Because even though your research indicated there were about five other people here who had a chance of getting onto this team, you knew you would beat them all.
It wasn’t just them you wanted to be better than– you didn’t want to just be on the team. You wanted to lead it, to stand in front of everyone and belt your little heart out all the way to Nationals.
Maybe you were a little too hungry for it, but was there really such a thing?
Finally, your name was called. You took the same path up the steps as the ten people ahead of you. Your hands didn’t fidget, your breath didn’t catch when you looked into the audience and saw your ‘competition’ and behind them, the entire Bellington show choir. The heat of the stage lights felt more natural on your skin than the sun ever had.
You looked directly at Penny, then to the rest of the Crescendos seated around her. Your eyes shot up to the control booth before scanning the auditionees.
“My name is Y/n Y/l/n, I’m a freshman. I’ll be performing "The Wizard and I.””
A few eyebrows raised, but your chin rose a little higher knowing you had something to prove.
The song was your go-to when you wanted to showcase your range, emotional performance, and vocal stamina. It was about four minutes of straight dynamics and storytelling.
And your rendition of it? Perfect.
You end on the final beat, the music still thrumming in your veins, the adrenaline of performing still making your heart beat wildly. Like any stage you’d ever set foot on, it was yours now.
“Thank you,” you dipped your head in a slight bow, beginning to step off the stage as the applause began to thunder. Your eyes lifted to the audience as you slowly approached your seat, eyes slowly sweeping over the face of each Crescendo. They seemed impressed, or at least intrigued. Some looked threatened, perhaps–like their claps were reluctant, but your performance demanded their praise regardless. From all but one guy.
He was a stone face in a black t-shirt, tattoos poking out from under his sleeves.
He sat almost completely still with his arms crossed, slouching in his own polyester seat like your performance wasn’t worthy of his applause. But his eyes had already found yours first, so you knew he couldn’t have been bored by you. There was a fire there, in his gaze. Disdain or ire, jealousy perhaps?
You could tell he was trying to hide his interest like he wouldn’t dare give you the satisfaction of his curiosity.
It sent a rush of exhilaration through you. Cheers and applause were great, standing ovations were even better. But making someone angry over your abilities was thrilling, the absolute best. Delicious even.
The corners of your lips lifted as you looked away from him, finally taking your seat as the applause began to die down.
He could be mad and aloof all he wanted, they’d be stupid to deny you a spot on their team. And how much pull could one grumpy, envious little shit have anyway?
an. thank you for reading this far omg! i haven't written in awhile but this popped in my head earlier today and i had to let it out. i’m kinda thinking this au might have some parts to it … lmk your thoughts!!
summary: just a little fluff inspired by this picture (just pretend the cream is soothing cream in the pic🥰)
As you stand backstage after one of Harry's electrifying shows, the adrenaline is still coursing through your veins, and your heart is beating wildly.
Harry's shirt is off, revealing his toned and chiseled abs, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from his energetic performance. You can't help but blush as you catch a glimpse of his mesmerizing tattoos that adorn his chest and arms. His smile lights up the room, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a warm hug.
"Hey there, love," he whispers in that raspy, velvety voice that sends shivers down your spine. "You did great out there!" you compliment him, your fingers gently brushing through his damp curls.
He chuckles softly and leans down to plant a sweet kiss on your forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you here, supporting me," he says, sincerity shining in his beautiful green eyes.
You reach for a towel, dabbing away some sweat from his forehead, and he sighs contentedly. "Feels good," he mumbles, leaning into your touch.
"I brought some soothing cream for your muscles," you say, pulling out a small jar from your bag. Harry raises an eyebrow playfully, "Well, aren't you just the best girlfriend ever?"
You giggle, unscrewing the lid, and scoop a generous amount of the cream onto your fingers. Gently, you start rubbing it onto his abs, massaging in slow, circular motions. The contact of your fingers against his warm skin makes you both giggle like teenagers, and you feel a sense of intimacy and closeness that is uniquely yours.
Harry's eyes never leave you as you work your magic, and he can't help but feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life. "Mm, that feels amazing, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and appreciative. His eyes never leave you as he exaggerates his pleasure by subtly groaning, low enough for you to hear, the sound being all too familiar makes you squeeze your thighs together.
You decide to ignore the ache between your legs and continue to massage the soothing cream, making sure every inch of his abs is covered, "How did I get so lucky to have you?" he wonders lowly, his eyes filled with affection.
"You're pretty amazing yourself," you reply, leaning in to peck his lips softly. The soft, tender moment between you two is filled with unspoken love and appreciation for each other.
As you finish applying the cream, you gently run your fingers along the outlines of his tattoos, tracing the intricate designs. Harry leans into your touch, savoring the closeness between you. "You make me feel so loved, YN," he admits, his voice sincere and filled with emotion.
"That's cause you are baby, you're loved by everyone," you say, looking into his eyes with a reassuring smile, reminding him of the impact he has on people which secretly gives him an ego boost but he'll never admit that out loud. "I'm just grateful to be a part of your life."
Harry pulls you into his arms once again, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "I love you," he whispers into your ear, his breath combined with his toned body pressing against you sending tingles down your spine.
"I love you too," you reply, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent. In that instant, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, basking in the sweetness of your love, but that moment is shortlived when you feel his not so subtle erection rubbing against your tummy. You shake your head and laugh, harry's arms never leaving your waist and before he can murmur an apology about his hormones ruining the sweet and innocent moment, you grab his hand and walk backwards until you reach his dressing room, finally pulling him in for another kiss, one that does not share the innocence of your previous one.
And before you know it your back is against the now locked door, with harry's hands roaming and groping every part of your body. Next thing you know your hands are reaching his pants while you find yourself on your knees looking up at him innocently even though there was nothing sinless about what was going to go down next. While your eyes are still fixated on his dilated pupils you whisper seductively "Why don't you repeat those noises you were making back there a little louder yeah?" which was followed by a whimper from him, affirming to you his full submission to your touch.
harryfan1: FOUR?!DO I NEED TO GET MY EYES CHECKED?!
gemmastyles: Congratulations ❤️ I can't wait to meet them
annetwist: My beautiful grandbabies ❤️
harryfan2: Hold on.
↳ harryfan2: Harry styles as four kids.
↳ harryfan2: HARRY STYLES HAS FOUR KIDS NOW. FOUR. LIKE... HE GOES HOME TO FOUR KIDS AT ONCE?!
harryfan3: Congratulations! I can't wait to see dadrry!
harryfan4: TELL ME THEIR NAMES OMG
↳ harryfan5 gotta get those people that leaked the airport footage on the case
*
40 fingers and 40 toes that all belonged to me.
My babies.
I ran my hand carefully over my sons cheek whilst Harry did the same to our daughter.
We have four babies. Four NICU babies at that.
If I could go back and tell myself something, it would be to cherish them inside the womb because it didn't get any easier on the outside.
I felt so stupid. So incredibly stupid for thinking that lugging around four babies on my back was the hardest part.
I stared down at my son's breathing tubes as he slept in his incubator and felt the tears roll down my cheeks.
I couldn't hold them. I couldn't kiss them. I couldn't love them, physically. I didn't get them sleeping in my hospital room. I didn't get to get up with them in the middle of the night to feed them, and change their diapers... they were all stuck in a stupid incubator just to keep them alive.
They were tiny. Two of the boys were only 3 pounds and a couple ounces, and they were the biggest.
I could feel this weight on my shoulders as I looked at all four incubators around me and I wanted to just crumple on the floor.
Two days old, and I already couldn't do it. I couldn't magically make everything easier.
Harry and I traded off incubators, spending time with each of the babies as nurses came and went before I got wheeled back to my room.
I sat crying in the hospital bed, abruptly trying to supress my sobs when the door opened and in walked Harry.
His eyes immediately clocked my face, rushing over to soothe me.
"Baby." he said softly, "They're okay. They're healthy. They're going to get stronger. They're going to get off breathing assistance and feeding tubes and we will bring them home." He immediately reassured, almost like he had the same exact talk with himself, before with me.
"Her entire hand is smaller than the pad of my thumb, Harry!" I cried.
"She's going to grow." He reminded me, his hands cupping my face, wiping away the tears.
"She was smushed in there!" My body shook.
"She's okay, Y/N."
"You don't know that, Harry! You cannot tell me they're fine! They look like they're on the brink of death Harry! They're already fighting for their lives, and they just got here and I can't do anything to help! I can't fucking help them! I'm just fucking stuck here!" I yelled, my body physically shaking as my eyes burned. "Their bassinets don't even have their names on them! They're.. they're..." I broke down, my wail bouncing off the walls of the room. "They don't even have identities yet." I cried.
"They have names, Y/N." Harry said softly.
"They don't know that!"
"They wouldn't even if they weren't in incubators."
I glared at him, wanting to punch him whilst also wishing he would hold me and make everything feel better.
"I have four nameless babies, stuck in a incubator with feeding and breathing tubes and heart monitors and heat lamps and I can't even hold them, Harry. I can't do skin to skin yet. I can't feed them. I can't change their diapers. It's been two days! Two days, Harry!" I exclaimed, watching Harry take a deep breath.
"You're not the only one, Y/N. You don't think I wish I could do those things too? I'm cherishing getting to see them at all, Y/N. I would also love to hold, and cuddle and feed my babies. You're not the only one, but I also know, they're our new, freshly born babies, and we will never get this exact moment with them ever again."
"At least you can see them." I grouched, leaning back carefully in my hospital bed, thankful for the heavy medication they've given me for my cesarean wound.
"If you're mad, and you need to take it out on me, just tell me that, but at least tell me you're not mad at me." Harry said softly, watching me.
"I'm not mad at you." I said slowly, Harry nodding. "I just.. everything that I dreamt about.. isn't playing out at all. I didn't get to push our baby out of my vagina, and you cut the cord and have the normalcy.. I just... even now, I still can't see my own children whenever I want and it's incredibly frustrating. Do you know how insane it is to be told you can only see your baby during visiting hours until they're a bit stronger? I can't camp out in there even if I wanted to, because I have to be watched and monitored and recover as well."
"I understand, but we will bring them home. To bring them home though, they need to be alive, and those breathing tubes, and feeding tubes, and heart rate monitors are doing just that. They're keeping all four of our babies alive, baby. It's going to be hard. We're both going to cry, and get mad, but they're two days old. We're all just trying to get through this, together. the doctors, the nurses, you, me, them... we'll look back on today, and remember how hard it is, whilst we're cuddling them on the couch or they're screaming our ears off in highchairs. Today, will not be forever. I understand, and hear your frustrations, I feel them as well... but at the end of the day baby, we have four alive babies. You had four babies cut out of you, Y/N. Just a year ago we didn't think you'd ever get pregnant, and here we are today, with four babies. Yes, things are hard right now.. but this is all we've ever wanted, and now we have it. Days are going to be hard, and situations might not look how you've dreamt them..." he paused, moving closer, wiping my tears and kissing my lips softly. "We're parents, Y/N. You and me. We have four babies, biologically at that. Soak in the good, and breathe through the bad. All those negative pregnancy tests, all those egg retrieval treatments and the semen counts and the abdominal shots... we have four beautiful babies. We did it." He kissed me again and I nodded slowly, apologizes falling from my lips as I hugged him.
"I love you." I told him, sniffling.
"I love you, Y/N Styles."
I smiled up at him before asking for a tissue, Harry joked about me ruining the mood, passing it over before sitting in the chair next to me.
"You need to rest, love. Our babies need a strong mumma as well."
* * * *
ynstyles
•∘
∘•
♡ liked by: annetwist, yourbff, yourmom and 226,347 others
ynstyles: People have asked me what it was like to be pregnant with quadruplets, and yes it was a blessing, but it also was hard. Besides the basic pregnancy experiences, and the high risk pregnancy, my belly got HUGE, which is wild to me considering just how small the kids are.. but imagine carrying like 3 watermelons on your stomach. That might be what this felt like. Then add the swelling, the nausea, everything. It was hard. It was incredibly difficult. People also never guess you're pregnant with multiple babies, and if they do, just twins, so you often hear "Wow, that's gonna be one big baby." Which is really hard to hear looking back on, because of just how hard premie babies struggle. Sorry Karen, it wasn't a really big baby. It was actually four babies, that are now basically on life support. I thought my whole pregnancy my belly was ruining my body. I couldn't get it out of my head how I'd look afterwards.. and honestly? it does cross my mind, but at the end of the day, this belly carried four babies. It's funny to look back on how heavy the belly felt, knowing the biggest baby was only 3 pounds and 5 ounces. I'd say the hardest part, is the comments from strangers when they see you. I'd be 15 weeks pregnant, and they'd be shocked my due date wasn't right around the corner. I gave birth prematurely, and my belly was a lot larger then, than it was when people made comments to me. Yes I knew I was having multiples, but peoples comments and or fascination with ones body still hits the same. Some people just have big bellies, and small babies. Just because one is pregnant, doesn't change the fact that it is still their body. That is their stomach you're commenting on. The way it looks, the marks on it, the way the belly button protrudes. Pregnant woman don't deserve less, just because there's a reason for it. It all can still hurt the same. I've welcomed four beautiful babies with that belly, but that belly is still mine.
*comments have been limited*
* * * *
Written on: April 23rd 2025
Published on: April 23rd 2025
Word Count: 1628
tags: @ashleighsss @theekyliepage
Hello, I just wanted to say that I love love love your page and I love how you write. It is so beautiful and deep. Belongings has me on the edge of my seat and I can’t wait to see where it goes.
Can I get a Harry Styles one shot with the prompt 23-25. I had in my head like him maybe helping the reader to stay up and look after their children because he’s always away on tour and he feels guilty he always has to miss out on their milestones. Idk I thought it would be so sweet 🥹🥹🥹❣️
Sweet Cocoa
A/N: so my original plan was to do all 3 of those prompts but then I realise I was going overboard and I much rather this fic with just prompt 23. I love this fic it’s so cute and fluffy and ahhhhhhhhh I love these imaginary children ❣️
Requests: Yes - Prompt 23 “How about something warm? It will help you sleep.”
Word Count: 2.1K
Prompt list here
——————————————————————————————
The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause as Harry finished his concert, pouring his heart and soul into every note. With a smile on his face, he waved goodbye to his adoring fans and walked backstage, feeling a mix of elation and exhaustion. He couldn’t wait to see his wife, Y/N, and their two young children, Abel and Elliot.
Elliot, their eldest son, had Harry’s unmistakable resemblance, with his tousled brunette curls and adorable freckles that adorned his face. At four years old, he had been fortunate to experience the early years of his life with both Harry and Y/N always by his side. They treasured every moment, cherishing the precious memories they had created together.
Abel, on the other hand, arrived during a whirlwind phase in Harry’s life. She was born amidst the chaos of album creation, touring, and even Harry’s foray into the world of movies. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for missing out on most of Abel’s life and the significant milestones that shaped her early years.
For example: whilst Harry had been there to witness Elliot’s first steps, he couldn’t be there for Abel’s.
The magical spirit of Christmas filled the air as the family gathered in their cozy living room. Twinkling lights adorned the Christmas tree, casting a warm glow on the scene. Harry, Y/N, Abel, and Elliot were surrounded by their loved ones, creating a joyful atmosphere.
Amidst the festive cheer, Elliot, with his bright eyes and contagious smile, stood in the middle of the room, wobbling on his tiny feet. The excitement was palpable as Harry, holding Y/N’s hand, watched their eldest son prepare to take his first steps. It was a moment Harry had eagerly anticipated.
With a burst of courage, Elliot took a few unsteady steps, his little hands reaching out for support. The room erupted in cheers and applause, celebrating this monumental achievement. Harry’s heart swelled with pride and joy as he quickly moved closer to his son, his eyes shining with love.
“Elliot, you did it!” Harry exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. He knelt down, his arms outstretched, waiting to catch Elliot in his embrace. And just as his little boy stumbled forward, Harry scooped him up, spinning him around in a joyous dance.
Elliot’s laughter filled the room, a symphony of pure happiness that resonated in Harry’s heart. In that moment, surrounded by their loved ones, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his growing family.
However, halfway across the world, while Harry was immersed in filming his new movie, “Don’t Worry Darling,” he received an unexpected FaceTime call. With a mix of excitement and apprehension, he answered the call, only to find Y/N holding her phone and pointing it towards Abel, who was standing unsteadily on her own two feet.
Harry’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as he witnessed Abel taking her first steps. Even though he was physically distant, the surge of emotions he felt mirrored the exhilaration of that Christmas day when Elliot took his first steps.
“Abel, my love, you’re doing it!” Harry exclaimed, his voice laced with awe and pride. Despite the distance, his eyes never left his daughter as she wobbled and toddled, finding her balance with determination. He couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet pang, wishing he could be there in person to witness this milestone.
Y/N smiled warmly, her own eyes filled with a mixture of joy and understanding. “She’s been practicing so much, Harry. We wanted to share this moment with you.”
Harry’s heart swelled with love and gratitude for Y/N’s thoughtfulness. He blew a kiss through the screen, sending his love and pride to his little girl. “I’m so proud of you, Abel. Daddy loves you so much.”
As Harry closed the FaceTime call, he couldn’t help but reflect on the parallels of these two precious moments. Both Elliot and Abel had taken their first steps, marking a significant milestone in their lives. While he had missed Abel’s steps in person, he was grateful for technology that bridged the physical distance, allowing him to be present in some way.
Opening the door, Harry was greeted by the sight of Abel and Elliot, their eyes shining with excitement. They rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Daddy, you were amazing!” Abel exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration.
Harry chuckled, feeling the warmth of their love surround him. “Thank you, my little stars. But now it’s time for me to be your superhero and help Mommy, okay?”
Abel and Elliot nodded eagerly, their faces beaming with enthusiasm. They understood that Daddy was tired, but they also knew he was always there for them when they needed him the most.
As Harry stepped into the living room, he found Y/N sitting on the couch, a tired smile on her face. Her baby bump was prominent, a beautiful testament to the growing life inside her. Harry’s heart swelled with love and appreciation for the incredible woman he had married.
“Hey, love,” he said softly, making his way over to Y/N. “I’m here now, and I’m ready to help.”
Y/N’s eyes sparkled with gratitude, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “You don’t have to, Harry. You’ve had a long day.”
He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch filled with tenderness. “Nothing matters more to me than you and our children. I want to be here for you, every step of the way.”
A mixture of relief and adoration washed over Y/N’s face as she realized the depth of Harry’s commitment. “Thank you, Harry. I’m so lucky to have you.”
Together, they devised a plan to pamper Y/N and alleviate any worries or guilt she had been carrying. Harry fetched a cozy blanket and helped her settle on the couch, making sure she was comfortable. Abel and Elliot scurried around, eager to assist their parents.
Elliot ran to the kitchen, returning with a tray of Y/N’s favorite snacks and a glass of water. Abel picked up her toy toolbox and declared himself “Daddy’s little helper,” ready to take on any task assigned to her.
As Y/N reclined on the couch, Harry sat beside her, his hand resting on her belly. The little kicks and flutters beneath his touch reminded him of the new life they were about to welcome into their family. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, vowing to be present for every milestone and precious moment.
Together, they watched a movie, their laughter mingling with the soothing sounds of the television. Abel and Elliot snuggled close to their parents, their eyes growing heavy with sleep.
As the movie came to an end, Y/N leaned her head against Harry’s shoulder, a peaceful smile gracing her lips. “Thank you for tonight, Harry. This means the world to me.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his voice filled with sincerity. “I love you, Y/N. And I’m sorry for the moments I’ve missed. From now on, I’ll make every effort to be there, for you and our children.”
Y/N’s heart swelled with love and forgiveness. “You’re already an amazing father, Harry. We’re a team, and we’ll navigate this journey together.”
In the dimly lit room, surrounded by the warmth of their love, Harry and Y/N knew that no matter the challenges they faced, their bond was unbreakable.
As the two children lay nestled on y/n, Harry’s gaze wandered over to Elliot, peacefully asleep. With a tender smile, he turned his attention back to y/n, a silent understanding passing between them. It was time to reminisce on Elliot’s birth, a story they held dear.
“I can’t believe how much Elliot has grown,” Harry whispered, his voice filled with awe.
Y/n nodded, her eyes shining with affection. “He’s become such an amazing young person, Harry. It feels like just yesterday.”
Harry reached out, gently clasping y/n’s hand. “I remember that fateful day vividly, my love. It started with our car breaking down, right in the midst of your contractions.”
A wistful smile graced y/n’s lips. “Talk about timing, right? I wasn’t about to let a broken-down car stop us, though. I remember hopping on that bus, holding onto you tightly as the contractions came in waves.”
Harry chuckled softly, recalling the bus ride. “You were so strong, y/n. Despite the discomfort, you never lost your focus or determination. I was in awe of you.”
Y/n squeezed Harry’s hand, gratitude shining in her eyes. “And you, Harry, you were my rock. Your unwavering support gave me the strength to keep going. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
They fell into a moment of silence, their memories intertwining. The warmth of the room seemed to envelop them, creating a cocoon of love and nostalgia.
Finally, Harry spoke, his voice filled with tenderness. “Once we arrived at the hospital, everything felt like a blur. The nurses and doctors were incredible, guiding us through every step of the way.”
Harry’s voice lowered, his words carrying a hint of awe. “And then, in the midst of it all, Elliot arrived. The room filled with overwhelming joy as we held our precious baby for the first time.”
Y/n’s eyes glistened with tears of happiness. “That moment is forever etched in my heart. Seeing Elliot’s tiny face and feeling that indescribable love—it was pure magic.”
Their hands remained intertwined, their hearts connected by the profound bond they shared. In the quietude of the room, Harry and y/n found solace in their memories, grateful for the journey they had embarked upon as parents.
Harry’s gaze shifted to Abel, their youngest, her delicate form a reminder of the challenges they had faced during her birth. A mixture of concern and remorse washed over him as he thought back to that difficult time, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
“Abel’s birth… It still weighs heavily on my heart,” Harry murmured, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and sadness.
Y/n’s hand gently reached out to touch Harry’s, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. “Harry, you mustn’t blame yourself. We couldn’t have predicted what would happen. It wasn’t your fault that you weren’t there.”
Harry’s brow furrowed, his guilt evident. “But I should have been there, y/n. I should have been by your side, supporting you through it all. I beat myself up over it, even though I know it wasn’t within my control.”
Y/n’s voice softened as she squeezed his hand, her eyes brimming with understanding. “Harry, listen to me. We faced unforeseen circumstances, and it was a difficult and frightening time. Truth be told, even I struggle to recall much due to the medication I was on.”
A mixture of relief and sorrow flashed across Harry’s face. “I remember how scared I was to see you in so much pain, y/n. And yet, I didn’t want to miss a single moment. I wanted to be there for you.”
Y/n’s gaze met Harry’s, filled with compassion. “You were there in spirit, Harry, even if you couldn’t physically be present. And when we were finally allowed visitors, we both knew Abel was a fighter. She was so tiny, so fragile, but she had a strength that amazed us all.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and adoration. “Our special Abel. She proved time and again how resilient she is. She overcame those early struggles and grew into this incredible little person.”
“I love our family.” Y/N states as she admires all three of her children, including her bump. Y/n’s words filled the room with a tender warmth, echoing the depth of her love for their family. Harry’s heart swelled with gratitude and affection as he looked at their children and then at the bump that held their future.
“I love our family too, y/n,” Harry replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He gently placed his hand on her stomach, feeling the gentle kicks from within. “And I’m so grateful for these precious little ones, including the one growing here.”
Y/n’s eyes shimmered with a mixture of love and understanding. “They adore you, Harry. Even in their own unique ways, they feel your love and presence. You are their father, and your love shines through in everything you do.”
A soft smile touched Harry’s lips as he absorbed her words. He knew he couldn’t erase the guilt he carried for not being present during Abel’s birth, but he also realized that forgiveness and acceptance were vital for their family’s growth.
As the comfortable silence enveloped the room, a slight shiver ran through Abel, stirring her from her peaceful slumber. Y/n, ever the attentive mother, moved to pick her up and carry her to her bed, wanting to ensure her comfort.
However, Harry’s protective instinct kicked in, and he gently interjected, “I’ll take care of Abel, love. You’ve been holding her for a while. Let me handle this one.”
Y/n paused, her eyes meeting Harry’s, filled with gratitude for his willingness to step in. She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
With careful precision, Harry cradled Abel in his arms, feeling the warmth of her small body against his chest. He held her close, gently whispering words of comfort as he made his way to her bed.
As Harry tucked Abel in and adjusted the blankets around her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her peaceful expression. His heart swelled with love as he watched her, silently vowing to always be there for her and their entire family.
Y/n stood by, observing the tender moment between father and daughter. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection for Harry, appreciating his dedication and the deep bond he shared with their children.
In that gentle exchange, a silent understanding passed between y/n and Harry. They were a team, supporting and nurturing each other and their children through the ups and downs of parenthood. Their actions spoke volumes, reinforcing the unbreakable connection that bound them as a family.
As Abel settled into her bed, her breathing steadied, and a contented sigh escaped her lips. Harry stood by, his hand lingering on her forehead, before turning to y/n with a soft smile.
“Our little warrior is back to dreamland,” he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. As Abel whispered her plea for warmth, her small frame curled against Harry’s back, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her adorable request. His heart melted at the sight of her, and he nodded, understanding her need for comfort.
“How about something warm, it will help you sleep?” Harry suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Abel’s face lit up with anticipation, her playful nature shining through. “Hot cocoa?” she asked, her voice filled with cheekiness, fully aware that sweet cocoa on a weekday was a rare indulgence.
Harry smiled warmly, knowing how much she enjoyed the occasional treat. He nodded, feigning seriousness. “I think we can make an exception tonight. Hot cocoa it is.”
Carefully, Harry settled Abel back onto the bed, making sure she was comfortable. He draped a soft blanket over her small body, tucking her in snugly. Then, with gentle strides, he made his way to the kitchen to prepare their special bedtime treat.
The aroma of cocoa filled the air as Harry carefully prepared the warm drink, stirring in the chocolate powder and adding just the right amount of sweetness. He poured the steaming liquid into a cup, watching the swirls of rich chocolate with a sense of satisfaction.
Returning to Abel’s room, Harry found her still nestled in bed, her eyes drooping with fatigue. He settled himself beside her, his free arm cradling the cup of cocoa.
“Here you go, my little one,” Harry whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. “Enjoy your hot cocoa. It’ll warm you up and help you drift off to dreamland.”
Abel’s eyes sparkled with delight as she took the cup in her small hands, blowing gently to cool it down. She took a cautious sip, a contented sigh escaping her lips. “Mmm, thank you, Daddy.”
Harry smiled, his heart full. He leaned back against the pillows, carefully cradling Abel against his chest as she settled in, the warmth of the cocoa and their shared embrace lulling her back to sleep.
In that quiet moment, Harry’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. He treasured these precious moments with Abel, cherishing the bond they shared. As he watched her, cocooned in warmth and love, he knew that being a father meant embracing both the role of caregiver and occasional indulgent treat-giver.
