AN: sorry i haven't posted a story in a while. every time i'd start a story, i'd either jump to a new one because a new idea would come to me, or i'd lose motivation to write at all for weeks at a time. i hope you enjoy my first smut of the year. let me know by giving me feedback. xoxo
This story contains: pure smut, riding dick, cursing
{ husband!harry - current harry era - softrry }
word count- 1,347
When you arrive back to the studio with your lunches, you see Harry lying on the floor listening to his music and think his lap looks a bit too empty to ignore.
It was just you and Harry at the studio today. He'd basically finished the album, but wanted to do some final touches and re-listen to each song to make sure they sounded exactly how he wanted them to sound in the final production.
Around noon, you ran out to grab lunch for the both of you. While you were gone, Harry decided to move to the carpeted floor and put his headphones on, listening to the finished album once again to make sure nothing needed adding or worked on. He had his eyes closed and was in a near meditative state as he really focused on the music.
Upon your arrival back, the studio is silent, leading you to think for a moment that Harry might've disappeared. However, as you walk further in, you see him lying on the floor with his knees propped up and his black headphones over his ears, his eyes closed as well. You realize that Harry can't hear or see you. You set the food down on an unoccupied table in the studio and quietly approach him, even though he has music blasting in his ears and can't hear you anyways.
You debate for a moment what your next move is, and than decide to be a bit cheeky. You carefully place a foot on either side of his hips and gently squat down until your bottom is sat on his crotch. Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. He opens his eyes and gasps, reaching up to push his headphones away from his ears. "Wh...what are you doing, baby? You scared the shit out of me."
Giggling, you reply, "Sorry, you just looked so comfy and your lap looked too empty."
"Too empty?" Harry smiles up at you.
"Mhm," you hum, "think it needed me to be sitting on it." You lean forward and place your hands flat on the floor behind his shoulders. This new angle makes you feel the hard lump in his shorts more clearly. "You're not wearing underwear are you?" you question, knowing the feeling pressing against your clit is a bit too good for him to be confined in a tight pair of briefs.
"Nope, decided to go bare today. Let it all air out down there."
You grin at his answer. "We're the only ones here today, right?" you ask, just wanting to be sure before you make your next move.
Harry nods and replies, "Yep, I requested to have the studio to myself today, with of course you here too. So the whole band and Kid knows not to come today. Why'd you ask?"
"Perfect!" you cheer mischievously. You began rocking your hips back and forth over his crotch and Harry tilts his head back with a groan.
"Baby, this is your idea? You wanna have sex on this dirty, studio floor? Really?"
Your breath begins to pick up as you respond, "Yeah, why not? No one is coming in today, like you said, and we can mark studio floor off our sex bucket list."
Though Harry was skeptical at first, he gives you the go ahead. "Alright, have at it, m'love. Take m'clothes off and ride m'cock."
Without hesitation, you take off both of your clothes and then kneel down, rubbing your bare pussy against his naked cock. The dry rubbing you were doing moments ago made you extremely wet, so you're super slick now. After a few more rolls of your hips, you stand on your knees and reach down to grab his shaft in your fist, and begin to align him with your dripping hole. The both of you moan at the same time.
Harry settles his hands on your hips as you slowly sink down on him. "Fuck!" you curse, throwing your head back as your hands settle down flat on his chest. Once you're fully sat, you waste no time in riding him. With your knees pressing into the blue carpet and your hands pressing on his muscular pecs, you start rocking back and forth at a fast pace, searching for a quick release.
Occasionally, you switch your technique, bobbing up and down or swiveling your hips in a circular motion, yet you always return to grinding back and forth. This is because you know it will lead you to orgasm the fastest, as the back and forth motion allows Harry to rub with your g-spot while simultaneously providing stimulation to your clit against his neatly trimmed pubic bone.
"Shit baby, you feel so fuckin' good." Harry breaths out, holding your hips as he helps you keep your grinding rhythm.
Panting, you announce, "I'm gonna come."
"Already? That's fast. You must've been really turned on, baby."
Your speed picks up as you chase your high. This was unusually fast for you to come when on top. Not that you struggle to orgasm when on top, but usually you either take your time on purpose if you're having more romantic sex, or you start to lose your energy before your orgasm can develop all the way and Harry has to take over. Not today though.
Maybe it's due to the slight thrill you feel that someone could walk in the studio at any moment and catch you. Or maybe how hot your husband looked prior to you pouncing on him, but in less than three minutes, your orgasm crashes down on you. You suddenly gasp, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling, as your walls flutter and pulse around Harry's cock. Usually you need more than just some grinding on your clit to orgasm, like either your hand or Harry's, but not today.
"Oh my God! Fuuuuck!" you shout as your face stains in pleasure. Right before your orgasm vanishes, Harry props his feet flat on the floor and begins thrusting upwards to help make your orgasm last as long as possible. By doing so, he feels the band of pleasure snap in his belly and his orgasm follows soon after yours.
As you're coming down from your high, you finally open your eyes and peek down to see Harry's head thrown back on the carpet, his breath coming out in harsh pants, his knuckles nearly white on your hips. You can feel his dick throbbing inside of you, as well as his warm spurts of cum coating your sensitive walls.
After what felt like ages, you both come down from your highs. You start to lean down and kiss Harry's lips, but he yelps out due to how sensitive he is. "Ow baby. M' sensitive."
"Sorry." you mutter sincerely. You slowly lift off his shaft and immediately realize a problem. "Fuck, I'm gonna leak on the carpet, do you have napkins or something?"
In quick thinking, Harry reaches off to the side and grabs his t-shirt, handing it to you to place between your legs. "There, I've got another shirt in m'bag, don't worry about it.
You stand on wobbly legs and reply, "Thank you." before wobbling to the bathroom, hand cupping your vagina with his t-shirt so you don't drip his cum on the nice blue carpet. As Harry watches you wobble to the toilet, he begins laughing, finding the scene comical. You turn around with an irritated smile. "Don't laugh at me."
Getting redressed himself, Harry apologizes while still giggling, "Sorry, sorry. But in hindsight, it is slightly funny." You clean up in the bathroom and Harry brings you your clothes for you to get dressed again. Once you're both properly clothed again, you walk over to the table you'd sat the food on and begin to eat.
Sex is always good after eating, but Harry finds it even better before eating because that way you're not fucking on full bellies with the potential of getting sick from all the sloshing around.
After devouring the food, you pack up all your things and head out, tired from the sex and food. You make a mental note to check studio sex off your sex bucket list when you get home. That is, if you can stay awake long enough.
(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)
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A/N: I had this idea pop into my head this morning and I hope y’all enjoy! I haven’t ever written this trope before so it was fun to try something new✨
Summary: During one of Harry’s radio interviews his microphone picks up his daughter’s voice✨
There’s a calming silence that takes over the room as soon as Harry exits out of his third out of five scheduled radio interviews of the morning. His eyes close as he takes his headphones out of his ears so he can lean back and get comfortable on his plush green couch for a brief moment before he has to get ready for the next one. He lets out a soft sigh, his hands clasped together as they rest on his lower stomach that’s covered by a cozy brown long sleeved shirt with a bright teal collar that you bought him ages ago while out shopping at a thrift store. Just as he’s about to sit up and go over his notes for the next interview his ears perk up at the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, when be cracks an eye open to check the time on his laptop he lets a small smile appear on his face because he knows exactly who it is that’s tiptoeing down the hall towards him.
When he hears the doorknob start to let out the high pitched squeak it always does when it gets turned in a slow cautious manner he closes his eyes and keeps his head resting against the back of the couch so it will appear as if he’s dozed off and is enjoying a little early morning nap. He listens as the door gets pushed open resulting in a small creak from the floorboards when the person quietly shuffles inside, he fights off a grin when he hears a soft humming sound followed by the rustling of a box getting placed on the floor. He peeks one eye open just to be met with the curious gaze of his very sleepy looking three year old daughter, he lets out a dramatic yawn as he opens his other eye and sits up making her smile as a sweet little giggle slips past her lips while she takes a step towards where he’s sitting on the couch. He watches her eyes bounce around from him over to his laptop that’s sitting on the small side table and then back over to him before looking down at his mismatch sock covered feet and as soon as she does that Harry knows exactly what her next steps are going to be.
He gets comfortable as she quickly turns around to grab a very familiar looking box off the floor near the door before walking over and plopping right down at his feet, the spot she usually always ends up in when she comes to keep him company while he’s in his office. He smiles as she dumps out the pieces to the unicorn puzzle that her aunt Gemma got her for Christmas just a few weeks ago that she’s been obsessed with and has completed more times than he can count. She doesn’t say anything as he reaches down and runs a hand through her hair that’s still a bit of a mess due to more than likely having just woken up, she lets out a small little huff as she starts to flip all the pieces over so she can see them properly and it makes a chuckle escape him as he takes in her appearance.
She’s still in her pink and white polka dotted pajamas and her feet are covered by her favorite pair of cozy socks that are rainbow with little hearts all over them. Harry knows by the fact she hasn’t said anything to him but just given him a smile and a giggle that she’s not fully awake yet, because much like you his little girl prefers slow quiet mornings that allow her to gradually find her energy and eventually find something to chat with him about. He glances over at the time on the bottom corner of his laptop screen and then looks back down at his little girl who is quietly and contently working away at her puzzle, he debates for a moment if he should call for you to come get her before his next interview starts. He currently only has two left, these radio interviews being the only reason he’s not still tucked up in bed with you waiting for the little girl who is currently sitting at his feet to come in and wiggle her way in-between the two of you like she does most mornings.
“Lovey can you do daddy a favor?” His voice is soft and gentle causing her to look up at him over her shoulder with a look that he swears is one she stole directly from you, with the small quirk of her brow and slight purse of her lips that all but tell him to continue and ask whatever it is he wants to ask so she can get back to more important things such as her puzzle. “Can you be really quiet while I talk to a few people?” He knows she won’t be a bother, especially since she’s still in the process of waking up but still wants to ask so she’ll have a slight understanding of what it is he’s doing when he suddenly starts talking to a computer screen.
“Mhhm.” She hums quietly in response before looking away from him causing him to let out a breathy laugh as he grabs the cord to his headphones and places them in his ears, he gives the little girl one more glance before opening the browser on his laptop so he’s ready to answer the next video chat.
You roll over and let out a low humph when you’re met with nothing but cold sheets, when you open your eyes your mouth turns downwards into a small pout at the sight of Harry’s side of the bed being empty, already knowing he’s across the house tucked away in his office for some interviews. But then your eyes catch the time displayed in bright red block numbers on his god awful looking vintage alarm clock that you couldn’t talk him out of buying almost two years ago, and you feel a small bubble of worry begin to grow in your chest at the suddenly very obvious lack of a gangly limbed little curly haired girl with bright green eyes that usually has her face smooshed into Harry’s pillow and a leg haphazardly tossed over your hip.
You quickly get out of bed and slip your feet into the slippers Harry always seems to make sure are right next to your bed and walk towards the bedroom door. As you poke your head out you look down the hall and when you see her door is ajar you know that means one of two things have happened, Harry left it open after he went to check on her before going to his office or she woke up earlier than usual and instead of going into your bedroom and getting comfortable next to you she went to find Harry after seeing he wasn’t in bed.
Part of you already knows the odds of finding her still peacefully asleep in her bed with her stuffed frog tightly clutched to her chest when you push open her door are very slim, but you go check anyway just to be sure before heading down to Harry’s office. When you find her bed empty and the one eyed frog safely tucked under the covers you let out a laugh as you close her door and start making your way into the kitchen so you can start a pot of coffee on the way to his office. Harry’s voice softly flows into the kitchen as you pour water into the coffee maker, you try to make out what he’s saying but all it sounds like is a low mumbling of words followed by the warm honey rumble of his laughter.
“Oh crap.” You whisper as his voice reminds you that he’s currently in the middle of an interview in the same room that your daughter also happens to be in. You press the start button on the coffee maker before rushing down the hall until you’re standing in the doorway of his office, you place a hand over your mouth to hold back the audible awe you want to let out at the sight in front of you.
Harry is sitting on the couch with his headphones in and a dimpled grin on his face as he focuses on his laptop screen, and at his feet is your little girl with the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrates on putting the last few pieces of her unicorn puzzle together. You lean against the doorframe watching in silence as he lets out a laugh and shakes his head at something the interviewer said, your eyes find his left hand that’s mindlessly tapping the top of his thigh and you know that’s his usual sign that he’s getting antsy for things to wrap up. When your eyes drift back down to your daughter you feel the familiar tingle of anxiousness start to trickle up your spine as you watch her little fingers put the last piece of her puzzle in its rightful place, normally this wouldn’t have you so on edge but you know that anytime your smiley little girl finishes a puzzle Harry is the first one she wants to tell and usually she does that by calling out for him in a loud and bubbly voice.
But before you can step in and even try to distract her from announcing the completion of her puzzle you swear time starts moving faster and everything happens in a blur. Harry removes one of his headphones letting it droop down the side of his neck, not realizing it’s the one with the microphone attached to it that he uses to speak to his interviewer now allowing whoever is on the other end of his video chat to hear everything that’s going on in his cozy little home office. He also has no clue the little girl at his feet has finished her puzzle, at least not until he feels a soft but noticeable tug on the bottom of his jeans causing his eyes to quickly look away from the man on his laptop screen and down at his daughter who has a proud grin on her face.
“Daddy look! I did it!” Your eyes go wide as her soft excitement filled voice fills the otherwise quiet room, Harry can’t do much but offer her a smile in return but you know by the slight nervousness of the laugh he lets out when his eyes go back to his screen that whoever he’s in the middle of chatting with heard all four words your daughter just said.
“Oh uh that was-” his eyes find yours and you know what he’s silently asking you when he raises a brow and lifts up one shoulder in a shrug. The two of you haven’t shared your little family with the world yet, having been able to keep your pregnancy and personal life relatively private during Harry’s three year break but with his new album and tour coming up you both knew it was only a matter of time before people found out so you just give him a little nod as you take a step into the room. “That was my daughter she wanted to tell me she finished her puzzle.” He says with a proud father type of smile that has your heart melting as you walk over to your daughter who gives you a big grin when she notices your presence.
“Yeah yeah I know s’a bit of a shock right? But uhm she’s-she’s three.” You look over at him as you hold out your hands so you can help the little girl up to her feet, he gives you a small wink making you roll your eyes before he goes back to focusing on his interview. “Sorry wasn’t winking at you…I mean unless you want the wink to be for you? You can have it if you’d like I don’t mind.” You let out a quiet laugh as your daughter grabs yours hands and lets you pull her up to her feet, you smile when she wraps her arms around your middle and snuggles her face into your lower tummy. Harry’s eyes glance over just as you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the tender moment making his heart feel as if it’s going to melt causing him to have to lightly clear his throat before he says anything else so his voice doesn’t give his emotions away.
“Oh yeah she looks exactly like my wife but with my eyes and a bit of my curls-oh uh we’ve been married for almost four years now-yes yeah that’s her-that’s my better half.” He says with a laugh as he leans in to get a look at a photo the interviewer is holding up on his phone of the two of you holding hands and laughing while at a coffee shop during his love on tour days. “It’s been great yeah-I uh really loved getting to focus on just trying to be the best husband and father over the last few years.” You smile at his words as your daughter looks up at you with the same glimmer in her eyes that Harry always gets when he’s excited to ask you something he more than likely already knows the answer you’re going to give him.
“Mommy can we have pancakes for breakfast?” Her voice is a little above a whisper and you can’t help but purse your lips and raise a brow as if you’re really having to think her question over before answering.
“Very excited to have everyone hear what I’ve been working on-yes and for the tour it’s gonna be fun I’m ready to get back to it-yeah yeah they’ll be there for sure.” Harry lifts a finger up to tell you to give him just one moment when you look over at him. “Of course yes it’s always a pleasure talking with you-have a good day! Bye!” Harry waves at his screen with a smile before it goes black and he’s tugging his other headphone out of his ear and closing his laptop.
“Daddy can we have pancakes?” You laugh as your daughter unwraps herself from around you and rushes over to climb in Harry’s lap. “Please?” She adds with the most dramatic pout you’ve ever seen that you know she probably learned from her uncle Niall.
“I think that sounds like a lovely idea.” He tells her with a smile as he looks over at you. “Mommy makes the best pancakes doesn’t she lovey?” You roll your eyes as you place a hand on your hip.
“Fine we can have pancakes but I’ll need some assistance.” This has her little face lighting up as she clumsily climbs out of Harry’s lap making him laugh as the two of you watch her run out of the room and off towards the kitchen.
“So how are you feeling about all this?” He asks as he gets up from his spot on the couch, you just give him a shrug as his hands find your hips. “I still can’t believe we’ve managed to keep this a secret for so long.” He says as your hands rest on his chest while his thumbs rub little circles over the soft material of your night shorts.
“I mean no one really cares about you when you’re unemployed Harry.” You tease making him roll his eyes. “It feels a little weird because I know everyone is just going to want more details about her and us but I’m glad it happened like this and not because someone snapped a photo of the three of us at the airport or something.” Harry just nods as he leans down so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m excited for her to get to see you perform-I think she’s gonna be even more obsessed with you than she already is.”
“You don’t think it’ll be hard on her? Not having me around and available all the time like she’s used to?” You can hear the hint of concern in his voice and it has you reaching up and cupping his face in your hands forcing him to look you in the eyes.
“It’s going to be an adjustment but we’ll make it work-she’s going to love traveling and watching you sing and dance on stage it’s going to be fun okay?”
“I’ve always imagined myself getting to take my family on tour with me one day and now that it’s happening I’m just worried it’ll be too much.”
“I’m sure there’s going to be moments where it’ll be a little overwhelming and chaotic but we’ll get through it.” You tell him in your usual gentle reassuring tone that has him relaxing as you pull his face closer to yours so you can place a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You smile as he gives your lips a few more little pecks before you release your hold on his face. “Come on let’s go check on her-she’s being too quiet.” Harry says with a playful smile as he steps back and grabs your hand so he can lead you out of his office and into the hallway ready to officially get his day started with his two favorite people and try to get used to the fact that from this moment on his little family he’s had the privilege of keeping out of the spotlight is now going to be front page news and shared around the world. Instead of letting the feelings of anxiousness and worry take over he lets himself feel a small sense of relief that he no longer has to go to extreme lengths to keep his life private because now he gets to not only share his music and art with the world but also share a little glimpse of the part of his life he gets the most joy from, being your husband and father to the little girl who is currently standing at the kitchen island on her step stool ready to help make pancakes.
Pairing: Gardener Harry x Teacher reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)
Summary: Harry the gardener, his teacher wife, and their spirited daughter Clover discover that the sweetest moments of life grow slowly, like blossoms under the sun.
Word Count: 4.2K
Warnings: None. Fluff
✨masterlist✨ read the rest of my fanfics here
It was early in the morning Harry's spot in the bed was empty, missing the warm body next to her. Y/n knew full well that Harry had a myriad of chores and exercises he wanted to do first thing in the morning, so he had his full attention on his little family afterwards.
The sleep was knocked out of you when the bedroom door suddenly opened. Your sleepy little girl walked in like she owned the place and tugged on the side of your blanket.
"Mumma?" A big yawn followed, indicating that she had just woken up and had to find you.
"Good morning, my cloverbug," you greeted her softly,
"Mumma help me," she fisted the blanket to lift herself up. Helping her as she tried to climb into your bed, a little frustrated.
When she landed in the middle, her hair was going in all directions, pink nose and cheeks from the cold draft in the room. A replica of her Dadda sleeping in. She immediately cuddled up to you, closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.
"Did you sleep well?" you whispered into her ear.
"Yes, Mumma." Her answer was so soft that you immediately melted.
"Remember when I told you it's Dadda's Day today?" you asked, trying to wake her up.
"And that you made a card for him?" Her eyes fluttered open as she remembered the pretty card she had made for him yesterday.
"Is today?" she asked, her voice full of sleepy excitement.
You nodded, sitting up in bed. She immediately followed, pushing herself upright and placing her little hands on your cheeks.
Harry almost always made breakfast. She did plan to make breakfast in bed, but Harry was already gone. So, brunch at a new cafe that they've been curious to try was the new plan.
When Harry's sweaty figure came into the room. "Dadda!" Clover's excitement not contained ran to him to the edge of the bed. You and Harry reached for her, and he caught her before she toppled off.
"Be careful, Clover, you haven't grown your wings yet." kissing her cheek and tickled her sides. Making her laugh out loud.
"Dadda's Day!" she screamed. Harry let her sit on his hip, a smile on his face. "Thank you, my Cloverbug," Attacking her with many kisses and then blowing bubbles to her belly.
“Hmm.” Harry dramatically sniffed the air as Clover cuddled against him. “Smells like someone needs a diaper change.” Harry narrowed his eyes playfully.
"Definitely a stinkbug," He excessively sniffed her neck. Clover gasped so loudly you nearly laughed. “I not stink!”
"What, are you sure about that?" teasing her
“That you, Dadda!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. He did have grass stains on his shirt and sweat dripping from his brow.
“Me?” Harry placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“Yup! You stinky.” Clover nodded firmly.
“That's very rude, young lady.” Before she could argue further, Harry suddenly scooped her up and lifted her high into the air.
“DAADDAAA!” Clover squealed instantly.
“Dadda will help you change.” He brought her down just enough to tickle her sides.
“NOOOO!” Tiny giggles erupted from her.
“Timeout. Dadda, let the baby breathe,” you warned Harry, trying not to laugh yourself.
Harry immediately stopped tickling her and waited while Clover caught her breath, still hiccuping through her giggles.
Once her laughter settled into little snorts, Harry narrowed his eyes at her.
“You sure you're not the stinky one?”
“Noooo!”
Harry poked her tummy.
“Who needs a diaper change?”
“Not me!”
He poked her neck this time, making her squeal.
“Who?”
“DADDA!”
“She keeps saying it's me.” Harry looked over at you in disbelief.
“Maybe she's onto something,” you teased.
“Traitor.”
Clover was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, kicking her little legs while Harry peppered her cheeks with kisses.
“Right,” Harry announced, throwing her over his shoulder. “Diaper first. Then Dadda will take a shower,"
Harry adjusted Clover over his shoulder, one hand securely holding her legs while the other rubbed her back.
The movement made Clover dissolve into another fit of giggles.
“Daddaaa!”
“That's me.”
Clover kicked her feet happily against his chest. Harry carried her down the hallway toward her room, listening to her endless stream of baby noise and chatter. When they reached her room, Harry nudged the door open with his foot. The morning sun spilt through the curtains, illuminating the toys scattered across the floor from yesterday's adventures.
“Right then,” Harry said. “Pit stop.”
“No pit stop.”
“Yes, pit stop.”
“Noooo.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Clover, your opinion has been noted and ignored. We need to change your diaper”
He carefully lowered her onto the changing table. The second her back touched the mat, she threw her head back laughing.
“You funny, Dadda.” Harry smiled despite himself.
“Yeah?”
“Yup.”
His heart squeezed immediately.
Children had a way of saying things so simply.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Well, I think you're pretty funny too, bug.”
Clover beamed at him, tiny hands reaching up to cup his cheeks.
Harry paused for a moment, letting her hold his face.
Just one of those ordinary little moments.
The kind he'd remember years from now.
“Love you, Dadda.”
The words were so casual, spoken as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.
Harry felt his chest ache.
“Love you too, Cloverbug.”
And judging by the grin that immediately spread across her face, that was exactly the answer she'd been hoping for.
You had popped your head into the Clovers' bedroom. After Harry had already finished cleaning Clover. He let her roam around her room, distracted by her building blocks.
"Go ahead and shower harry, wear something cute for brunch," Kissing his cheek. "I'll deal with Miss Clover's outfit," walking towards her closet, choosing a baby pink jean jacket, a puffy white linen top, and a pair of linen pants, reaching for a pair of sandals.
"I want these, Mumma," grabbing her red Converse shoes. You let her pick them up and sit in front of you. She agrees with the outfit but not the shoes. Y/n bit her lip to stop her laugh from coming out.
"You don't need to use the potty?" you asked her "No, Mumma," she said quickly, antsy to get ready to wear the shoes she picked out.
She raised her arms, letting you put on her puffy linen top. When her face popped through the neckline, you gasped dramatically. "Waah! There's my girl." Kissing her nose as she let out a squeal.
"Okay, now give me your leg," tickling her foot. She giggled and kicked her legs, letting you put on her pants.
"You like your outfit, Clover?" Clover immediately ran around her room, delighted with herself. Then stopped in front of her mirror, posing side to side.
“I so pretty,” She declares.
"I’m so pretty," you corrected gently.
"I'm so pretty," she repeated proudly.
When Harry appeared again, "Oh my pretty girl! We're matching babygirl," he wore a loose button up shirt with a cream jean jacket on. He threw her into the air and caught her. She hugged his neck, giggling.
"Mumma's turn to dress up," Harry then helped you stand to your feet. Clover settled on his hip. "I want to match with you both," you pout to him. "No one's stopping you, Mumma," Kissing your temple.
"Yay! Just help her wear her shoes." You walked straight to your bathroom to freshen up and change.
"Grab your shoes, Clover," letting her down, and Harry picked up her cute little socks. "Follow Dadda, Clover!" He led her into the living room and sat her on the couch.
"It's Dadda's Day!" Clover sang as she swung her feet while Harry slipped on her socks.
"Dadda?"
"Yes, Clover?"
"What's Dadda's Day?" Clover tilted her head.
Harry paused for a second before laughing.
Of course.
The two of you had completely forgotten to explain what Father's Day actually was.
He could already imagine you realizing your mistake halfway through getting dressed.
“Right,” Harry chuckled. “Mumma forgot that part, didn't she?”
Clover blinked at him.
“Forgot what?”
“What Dadda's Day means.”
“Oh.” She nodded as if she understood.
She absolutely did not.
Harry finished tying her shoes before patting her feet.
“Well, Dadda's Day is called Father's Day.”
“Fadder Day?”
“Father's Day.”
“Fadder Day.” Her little lisp betrayed her.
“Close enough,” Harry grinned.
Clover smiled proudly. Harry held both of her hands, kissing them.
“It's a special day where people celebrate their daddies.”
Clover's eyes widened.
“Celebrate?”
“Yeah. They say thank you and tell their daddies they love them.”
“Oh.” She thought about that very seriously.
“Like birthday?”
“A little bit.”
“Oh.” Another pause.
“Why celebrate daddies?”
Harry nearly laughed. The genuine confusion on her face was adorable.
“Well, because daddies help take care of their babies.”
“Like changing diapers?”
“Exactly like changing diapers.”
“Making milk?”
“I think that's mumma's job, but yes, I do warm your milk,” trying so hard not to laugh.
“Reading books?”
“Yep.”
“Snuggles?"
“Especially snuggles.” Harry kissed her cheek.
Clover wrapped her arms around his neck.
“So we celebrate because Dadda loves snuggling me?”
“That sounds like a pretty good reason.”
She hummed thoughtfully, “Good job, Dadda,” before patting his cheek.
“Thank you, bug.” Harry burst out laughing.
"I'm ready!" You walked in, purse and baby bag in tow. You were wearing a knee-length linen dress paired with one of Harry's brown leather jackets.
"Are we ready for brunch clover?" Harry grabs the baby bag from you, quietly admiring his girls as Clover holds onto your dress. pulling you to the front door.
"Yes, Mumma, let's go. We have to celebrate Dadda."
That made both you and Harry giggle as you headed outside.
Harry tossed the baby bag into the car before lifting Clover into her seat and buckling her in.
Harry immediately leaned down and kissed her.
"All good? Can I close the door now?"
"No."
"No?"
"One more kissy."
Harry wore the dopiest smile. His little girl was completely enamoured with him.
"Okay, one more, Clover. But we have to go. I know you're hungry for waffles."
Harry cupped her cheeks and covered her face in kisses while she squealed with delight.
"Mumma's turn."
You leaned in and kissed her rosy cheeks too.
"There."
You smiled.
"Now we're ready."
"Ready!" Clover cheered, throwing both hands into the air.
Harry closed the car door and walked around to the driver's side, unable to stop smiling.
Father's Day was already off to a pretty perfect start.
After parking the car, Clover’s shoelaces had come undone from all the tugging during the ride.
She took exaggerated, careful steps out of the car when you placed her down on the sidewalk, completely fascinated by the way the loose laces swayed and flopped with every movement. Each step made her pause, watch them swing, then step again, as if it were the most entertaining thing in the world.
Harry noticed immediately and crouched slightly beside her.
“Oi, look at you,” he chuckled. “Very stylish. Very dangerous shoelace situation we’ve got here.”
Clover looked down at her feet, then back at him with wide eyes.
“They dancing,” she said seriously.
“They are definitely not supposed to be dancing,” Harry replied, gently taking her hand so she wouldn’t trip.
“I remember tying those in knots,” he added, eyeing the loose laces suspiciously.
You came around from the other side of the car, noticing her focused little march.
“Someone’s enjoying the runway,” you teased.
Clover beamed, still lifting her feet a little too high.
“I walking, Mumma!”
“I can see that,” you smiled. “You look so strong.”
Harry reached down and carefully gathered her loose shoelaces.
“Right, Cloverbug. Emergency shoelace mission.”
“Nooo,” she protested softly, watching him.
“It’s okay,” he said, already tying them with practiced ease. “We just don’t want you tripping before waffles.”
“Waffles!” she perked up immediately.
“That’s the energy I was waiting for,” Harry laughed crouching down to her level.
Clover immediately reached up and patted Harry’s hair.
“Hi Dadda,” she whispered into his ear.
“Hi, baby,” Harry replied, absolutely giddy with her cuteness.
He finished tying her shoes, gave the laces a little tug to check them.
“Good job, Dadda,” she said, giving him two proud thumbs-up.
Harry smiled as he finished double-checking his knots.
“Sorted.”
Clover tested her shoes again with a proud stomp.
No more dancing laces.
She looked briefly betrayed.
Walking toward the small café, a blue banner swayed gently above the entrance. People chatted outside, and the smell of fresh pastries and coffee spilled out onto the sidewalk, drawing all of you in.
“Mumma, up please!” Clover said eagerly, reaching her arms up so she could see inside.
You lifted her, letting her cling to you as she immediately pointed at the pastry display through the glass.
A croissant caught her attention first, then her eyes widened when she spotted the waffles.
“I want that, Mumma,” she said, tapping the glass decisively.
Harry leaned in beside you, glancing over the menu posted.
“Let’s get a breakfast plate with waffles? Does that sound good to you, Clover?” you asked gently.
“Yeah,” she nodded quickly, already locked onto her target.
Harry stepped forward to the counter. “Alright—two breakfast plates, three waffles, two matcha lattes, and—”
He paused, glancing down at Clover.
“Clover love, orange juice or warm milk?”
She made a very serious thinking face, brows furrowed in concentration.
The cashier smiled, clearly entertained by her expression.
Clover thought between both drinks as if this were a life-changing decision.
Finally, she pointed with full confidence.
“Orange juice,” she declared proudly.
A little later, after everything was paid for and ordered, you spotted the couple outside finishing up and leaving their table. Without hesitation, you all moved to take the open spot, settling into the warm sunlight.
Clover, still standing on her chair since there was no booster seat, swayed slightly as she watched people pass by, fully entertained while waiting for food.
Then yn suddenly remembered something important.
“Cloverbug,” you said gently, leaning closer, “remember your gift for Dadda?”
“Oh yah!” she perked up immediately.
Luckily, you had brought it from her room.
You handed her the small card she had made the day before.
Clover turned toward Harry, holding it carefully with both hands.
“Here, Dadda!” she said proudly. “Thank you for the snuggles you give to me and Mumma.”
Harry’s expression softened instantly. He reached for the card carefully, it was precious to him.
“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, kissing her cheek, “Thank you for making me your Dadda.”
He opened the card slowly.
Inside were uneven scribbles, little heart stickers, and Clover’s rough, enthusiastic handwriting scattered across the page—messy, bright, and full of effort. Harry traced it with his thumb for a moment, smiling to himself as he took it all in.
“Best Dadda in the World!”
Harry’s smile widened as he read it aloud.
“Such a wonderful card, Clover. Did Mumma help you write this down?”
You laughed softly, rubbing her back as you steadied the chair so it wouldn’t wobble while she stood on it.
“Of course, baby,” you said warmly.
Clover leaned into your touch, still watching Harry expectantly as he continued looking at her card.
Before he could say anything else, a waiter arrived at your table carrying trays of food.
“Two breakfast plates and three waffles,” she said kindly as she set everything down. “I got a separate plate for you guys. Your drinks will come momentarily. Enjoy.”
The warm plates filled the table almost instantly, the smell of waffles and syrup making Clover perk up at once.
“Hold on, Clover,” you said gently, preparing her plate.
Harry then reached into the baby bag to grab her bib to wear around her.
You cut up a sausage, portioned her scrambled eggs, and sliced her waffle into easy pieces before sliding everything neatly together.
“Try to finish everything on your plate, Clover,” you added, handing her a fork.
“Okay, Mumma,” she said obediently.
She immediately picked up one of the sausage pieces you cut for her and took a proud little bite, munching away happily as if she had just been given the most important task in the world.
“Mmmm yum.” Harry expressed as he took a bite from his plate. Which clover copied Harry.
“Mmmm, yummy, Dadda.” The waiter came back with their drinks, placing Clover’s orange juice in front of her. Clover grabbed it with two hands, harry help hold it for her, seeing it was too big for her to hold.
She drank two sips of it. “Ahhh”
“Refreshing?”
She only hummed in agreement too busy eating her food.
“Mumma, I want that, please,” pointing to the cherry tomato on your plate.
“Sure, it’s a little sour.” cutting it in half for her to chew on. When she finished it, you quickly wiped her hands before she cleans it with her white shirt. You almost forgot that any white top she wears is bound to get stains on it.
Sipping on your matcha clover started eyeing it too. "You want a sip of my drink, clover?"
She puckers her lips and nods her head slowly.
Harry chuckles a little at her
"Clover, you can only have three sips, though. This is a grown-up drink."
That made her eyes sparkle because it was a grown-up's drink. You were about to give her your straw when she stopped you.
"No, I want Dadda's," pointing to his matcha.
"We have the same drink, Clover,"
"Dadda's drink looks better," staring at it.
"Okay, Cloverbug, get your sips in." When she did drink.
Clover immediately wrapped both hands around the cup. Harry supported the cup for her.
One sip.
Then another.
Then a third.
"Can I have more than three sips, Dadda?"
"Sorry, Clover, when you're older, you can get your own cup."
That made Clover furrow her brow immediately.
"That's not fair," She sat herself down on her chair and crossed her arms dramatically to show her displeasure.
"Too much of this is bad for little girls your size,"
Clearly weighing her options.
“But I'm big.”
“No, you're little.”
“BIG.”
Harry leaned forward slightly.
“Do you want the warm milk instead of orange juice?”
“No.” Clover shook her head stubbornly. “I wan— I want the green drink you have.”
A big pout immediately appeared on her face, and within seconds, the waterworks started.
“I want the green drink!” she cried, reaching toward Harry's cup but he beat her to it and calmly moved the drink out of reach.
You and Harry exchanged a quick glance but stayed calm, letting her work through her frustration without giving too much of a reaction. You both knew that if you fed into it, Clover would only become more upset.
“I want the green drink!” she repeated between sobs.
After a moment, she turned toward you with teary eyes, her little chest rising and falling as she tried to regulate her breathing.
“Mumma—AAAHH!” She reached over and pinched your arm.
You gently moved her hand away.
Harry's expression softened, but his voice remained firm.
“Clover, I know you're frustrated, bug, but you shouldn't hurt Mumma or anyone else.”
Clover's lip trembled.
“You can be upset or cry,” Harry continued, “but we use gentle hands.”
She looked down at her lap, still sniffling, her tiny fists clenched with leftover frustration.
When she finally started to calm down, her cries softened into hiccups and sniffles.
“Take a sip of water, Clover,” you said gently, sliding her cup toward her.
After a moment of hesitation, she gave in and took a small sip.
You brushed her hair back and wiped away the tears and snot from her face with a napkin.
Clover's breathing gradually evened out, though her eyes were still watery from the good cry she'd had.
“Clover,” you said softly, waiting until she looked at you, “I know you want Dadda's drink, but it's not good for you to drink too much of it.”
She sniffled.
“I know it feels unfair.”
Harry reached over and rubbed her back.
“But Mumma and Dadda's job is to keep you safe and healthy,” he added gently. “Sometimes that means saying no, even when you really want something.”
Clover looked down at her water cup, tracing her finger around the rim, her fingertip dipping into it as she played absentmindedly while she listened.
Harry waited a moment before speaking.
“Can you give Mumma a kiss and say you're sorry?”
Clover's lip wobbled again.
She slowly slid off her chair and shuffled over to you.
“Sorry, Mumma,” she mumbled, climbing onto your lap.
You opened your arms immediately.
She pressed a wet little kiss to your cheek and buried her face against your shoulder.
“Thank you for apologizing, baby,” you said, rubbing circles on her back. “Mumma loves you.”
“Love you, Mumma,” Clover whispered, her voice still thick from crying.
You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile forming on your face looking at Harry as you gently swayed Clover's little body against yours. Her cheeks were still flushed from crying, her eyelashes damp with tears, but she had melted completely into your embrace.
“Want to finish your food?” you asked gently.
“No more,” she said, pouting, her face still a little red from crying.
Harry and you exchanged a quiet look, letting her settle without pressure.
“How about you help Mumma finish my plate?” you offered softly. “We can share the waffle you wanted to eat.”
Clover hesitated for a moment, then gave a shy little nod.
She opened her mouth, already ready to be fed, as if the idea of sharing made everything better again.
“Want a little egg?” you asked softly, scooping a bit up with your spoon.
Clover sniffled, gave a small nod and you offered her the bite carefully.
“Okay,” you added gently, breaking off a piece of waffle and handing it to her. “How about you hold onto the waffle and take small bites?”
Clover wrapped both hands around the piece like it was something very important.
“Okay, Mumma,” she murmured wiping her runny nose.
Harry watched the two of you quietly, his expression softening as the tension from a moment ago faded.
She was just a baby learning how to feel everything all at once. Just a little girl holding a waffle twice the size of her hands, trying her best.
“Yeah…” he murmured more to himself than anyone. “She’s just a baby, isn’t she? Our Baby.” stroking her cheek.
After finishing your plates, Clover’s eyes were drooping. Her head kept dipping as she fought sleep, little nods slipping in between slow blinks.
“I see you, sleepy Miss Clover,” you murmured softly.
She gave a tiny hum and nuzzled her face into your neck, warm and heavy with tiredness.
“Why don’t you snuggle with Dadda?” you whispered. “I know he gives the best ones.”
That was enough.
Clover slowly lifted her head, carefully climbed down from your lap, and padded over to Harry.
Harry immediately opened his arms, inviting her in.
She settled against his chest, and he began gently bouncing in place, just enough movement to soothe her while rubbing her back in slow circles.
“Let’s go and walk,” Harry said softly.
He adjusted her gently against his chest, one hand supporting her back while the other steadied her legs as she curled into him.
Clover gave a tiny sleepy sound, already half-asleep in his hold. You stood up, gathering your things and slinging the baby bag over your shoulder. Harry glanced down at her, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.
The sunlight was gentler now, warm but soft against Clover’s sleepy face. She shifted slightly in Harry’s arms, one hand loosely gripping the edge of his shirt.
He bounced her once more, steady and rhythmic, like second nature.
“There you go, bug,” he murmured. “Just rest.”
Clover’s eyes finally gave in.
Her breathing slowed, small and even, as she melted fully into him.
You watched for a moment longer, then reached out to brush a stray strand of hair off her forehead.
At the corner near the café was a small flower stand—simple, a bit unassuming, but full of bright, fresh blooms. You paused there, scanning the buckets until something caught your eye.
A bouquet of flowers. Nothing overly grand. Just warm, thoughtful, a little messy in the most intentional way.
“You don’t have to,” he said quietly, shifting Clover slightly higher in his arms.
“I know,” you replied, already picking them up.
You paid quickly, adjusting the ribbon around the stems, then turned back to him.
Harry looked mildly helpless now, like he didn’t know what to do with himself other than smile.
“For you,” you said simply. “Happy Dadda’s Day,” you said softly.
He just looked at the flowers… then at you… then down at Clover asleep on his chest.
His expression softened in a way that made everything feel quieter around you.
“You already gave me the best part,” he said finally, voice low.
You smiled. “Still counts.”
Harry let out a small breath of laughter, shaking his head as he adjusted Clover carefully so he could hold you both without dropping anything.
Harry looked at you, then back at her, already smiling in that quiet, overwhelmed way he always got when it hit him just how much he had.
“Best one I’ve ever had,” he replied.
And with that, the three of you walked back into the sunlit street—one half asleep, one pretending not to be emotional about it, and one just quietly happy to be right in the middle of both.
summary: Harry’s secret wife and son are accidentally exposed, sending internet into a meltdown.
masterlist || part 1
Harry’s POV:
I notice the backpack before I notice the cameras.
It’s muscle memory—hand reaching back, checking the zipper, feeling the familiar weight settle between my shoulders. It’s light today. Too light. Dorian insisted on carrying it himself until he got tired halfway down the jet bridge and handed it to me with that solemn little nod like he was passing on responsibility, not a bag with snacks and a spare cardigan.
I don’t think about the name stitched into the fabric.
I never do.
The air in the airport is colder than it should be. Different country, different rules, same routine. We planned it like we always do: separate exits, different rows, a few minutes between us so nothing lines up too neatly. She goes first with Dorian, her head slightly bowed, one hand resting between his shoulder blades. I follow later, baseball cap low, passport already in my hand.
Normal. Careful. Practiced.
I’m almost through when I hear the sound.
The sharp, unmistakable beep of the metal detector.
I don’t even look up at first. I know that sound the way I know his cry in the middle of the night, the way I know the creak of the third stair at home. It’s never me. It’s always—
“His metal pin,” I say automatically.
The words are out of my mouth before I remember where we are.
Before I remember the glass walls, the phones, the way people watch without seeming to.
She doesn’t turn around.
She never does.
She crouches in front of Dorian, fingers already at the buttons of his cardigan, already reaching for the little silver star pinned to the inside seam. The one he insists on wearing because I told him once it was lucky. She slips it off, tucks it into a pocket of her bag, smooths the fabric back into place.
Dorian looks bored. Like this is the fifth time it’s happened this month.
The gate stays silent when they walk through again.
That’s when I feel it.
Not panic. Not yet.
Something colder. Heavier.
Because no one had to explain anything. Because nothing was discussed. Because it was a conversation we’ve had a hundred times without ever saying a word—and strangers don’t move like that. They don’t know. They don’t anticipate. They don’t finish each other’s thoughts mid-sentence.
They don’t raise a child together.
I keep my head down. I always do. I tell myself it’s fine, that it will blur into the usual noise, that by tomorrow the internet will be distracted by something louder, shinier, easier.
But when I step outside, I hear my name before I see the lenses.
And when I shift the backpack on my shoulder, I feel it, the slight tug as the fabric stretches, the embroidery catching the light.
Dorian.
It takes less than an hour.
The photos hit first. Grainy, zoomed, circled in red. A thousand opinions layered over a single moment frozen in time.
“Why does Harry Styles have a child’s backpack?”
“Who is Dorian?”
“Is this a charity thing? A gift? A nephew?”
By nightfall, the videos surface.
The metal detector.
My voice.
Her hands.
Slowed down. Paused. Analyzed like a crime scene.
People start noticing the things we never thought mattered.
Someone posts an old picture of me at an airport years ago, holding two passports. One of them blue. One of them with a barely visible letter on the corner.
D.
Another thread pulls up a photo Gemma posted ages back. There’s a baby bottle on the counter behind her. Someone points out her kid would’ve been too old then. Someone else remembers I was visiting that week.
Then comes the clip I hate the most.
Me outside a venue, laughing about something stupid, pulling an empty packet of baby wipes from my jacket pocket and tossing it into a bin. It was nothing. It was always nothing.
Until it wasn’t.
Until it was everything.
I sit on the edge of the hotel bed, phone face down, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside the window. In the other room, Dorian is asleep already. He went out the moment his head hit the pillow, clutching the cardigan like it’s armor. She’s lying beside him, one hand curled around his wrist, breathing slow and even.
She knew this day might come.
I did too.
We just hoped it wouldn’t come like this—piecemeal, scavenged from moments that were never meant to be evidence.
I don’t regret it.
That’s the strangest part.
I regret the fear. I regret the noise that’s about to reach our door. I regret that he’ll grow up in a world that thinks it owns parts of him just because it knows my name.
But the years we stole? The mornings, the bedtime stories, the tiny metal pin that sets off detectors?
I’d steal them again.
Tomorrow, the secret will be gone.
Tonight, I slip the backpack off my shoulders and set it gently by the door, the embroidered name facing the wall like it always has.
Summary: “I kind of want you to beg?” you taunted, reaching down to run your fingertips along the underside of his cock, feeling it jerk and pulse at your touch.
A/N: PART TWO is here!!! Thanks for your patience!!!
Word Count: 5.5k
Warning: SMUT with a PLOT TWIST.
You hovered above Harry, letting the intoxicating rush of power and desire thrum through your veins as you looked down at him. Between you, his boastful cock pulsed and bounced up eager, the tip glistening in the soft light. Your eyes met his gaze, stuck suddenly in a holding war, and you watched those deep green eyes gleam and fill with hunger and mischief, cuffs still on his wrists—a reminder of the game you were playing, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the delicious dilemma he was in.
“Think you can handle me?” you whispered as your breath mingled with the warmth rising between you, the air now thick with the gest of a silent promise made. He leaned up slightly, instinctively trying to close the distance, but you pressed your body against him, teasingly grinding your hips just enough to make him groan.
“Trust me, love,” he replied, voice already gravel, “I’m more than ready for whatever you throw at me.”
And with that, you let your fingers trail down his chest, tracing the ridges and curves of his muscles as you positioned yourself above him, ready to take control of this frenzied encounter that was about to unfold.
That’s when you finally lowered yourself, your knees bracing on the mattress, thighs pressed flush against his hips, and you let the slick heat of your cunt just barely brush along the length of his cock. It was teasing you both, but you couldn’t help yourself. He flexed beneath you, hips bucking up instinctively, the head of his dick catching perfectly between your folds, not quite inside, just enough to slide sticky and suggestive against your clit. The filthy, breathless moan that ripped from his throat was pure reward, so you did it again.
“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he said, and you bit your lip, angling yourself in a slow grind, back and forth, coating his shaft with your arousal, relishing how each pass left him gritting his teeth, fighting the handcuffs. The cool head from his negotiation was fleeing, and now he wasn’t hiding the fact that he wanted you to take him all the way, right now, right this instance, bucking his hips as if he was going to force himself inside you if you took any longer.
“I kind of want you to beg?” you taunted, reaching down to run your fingertips along the underside of his cock, feeling it jerk and pulse at your touch.
The way he looked up at you—chest heaving, arms straining against the cuffs, eyes shining with an absurd combination of panic and lust—almost made you want to let him off the hook. Almost. Instead, you took him in hand with the intention of moving slow, making him flinch with anticipation. You circled your thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum, never losing eye contact, daring him with your stillness, testing the limits of self-control written across his desperate face.
“Beg for it,” you told him, even-keeled, fighting the tremor in your own voice, and there it was—the stutter, the raw edge of his breath, the flush of his chest deepening as he tried to wrangle dignity from the pose you had locked him in. He looked defiant, but the arch of his hips betrayed his need, the tremor in his thighs telling you exactly how much he wanted this.
“Please,” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear. “Please. Want you to fuck me—want to feel you,” and he shook against the sturdy frame of his own body, cock brushing your palm, wrists twisting and slick in the metal embrace.
You let his tip nudge at your entrance, a shallow tease, the pressure perfect, and then you grinned, gaze flickering down the length of your own body to where you balanced over him. “You know you could break free if you really needed to,” you said, testing him.
You let yourself ease lower, your ass braced above his strong thighs, letting your wetness paint his cock as you pressed the fat head just inside your entrance, purposely holding it there, refusing to let him all the way in. If anything, you were testing yourself. You liked the stretch, the challenge. Maybe you were even a little bit self-destructive, or maybe you just never wanted to be the one who wanted less. So you circled your hips, letting the tip pulse against your gripping entrance, using your own need as fuel as you loomed above him, hot and open, riding the edge of your own control.
There was a quick flicker of something in his gaze—challenge maybe, or just the kind of animal wit that felt safest when playing along. “Maybe I just wanted to see how far you’d go,” he replied, his breath coming fast and sharp, “Wanted to see if that control would waver…”
His curious admission teased at your insides, making you clench around his tip, probably giving you away, and you watched the way his arms tensed a little. Watched the way his hands curled into loose fists around nothing. If he wanted, he could have fought harder at the cuffs. Could have realized that he didn’t need a key to get them off—he wanted to be here, you thought, that part was absolutely true—and the power that you were borrowing, that he was choosing to let you have, made you like him even more.
“And now…” You whimpered, breath haulting as you took the rest of his dick inside, the motion quick and rapturous as pain and pleasure coursed through you. “Is it everything you hoped for?” you gritted out, his moan feeding the frenzied sweet rush of being completely filled. Your hips stilled, walls pulsing around his thick cock, and you knew in that very breath that you were fucked, mentally and physically fucked. Because it had been a while since you had a dick this good.
Harry’s hips tilted up and held there, straining with a disciplined desperation that made your entire body light up. “Don’t go gentle, love,” he ordered, voice hoarse, still teasing, “not after that.”
His smile was like a dare, all teeth as his green eyes stormed with want. “Give me my money’s worth, darling. You better wreck me.”
You pressed your palms into his chest—feeling the pulse drumming beneath your hand, the heat of his skin under your splayed fingers—and started to ride him, slow at first. Because you had to, had to feel him inside, had to feel every inch of stretch and burn, had to savor how his cock spread you open just a little more every time you moved. Then, gradually, you upped the pace, grinding harder, rolling your hips until the wet, slick sound filled the air, and fuck between your moan and his, you were sure they would hear you two floors below. But hell, you didn’t care—they could film this, and you would take the check just to have a keepsake.
The metal cuffs rattled louder as he arched into you, biceps straining, body trembling under the onslaught, but he couldn’t move an inch unless you allowed it, and that was how you wanted it. How he wanted it, too, you could tell—Because there was an electricity every time you brought your weight down, the two of you locked in a frantic cadence that bordered on ridiculous. Your thighs started to burn, but you didn’t slow down. You wanted to bask in his helplessness, to ride him until you wore yourself out, until the ache in your legs was outmatched by the sweet release churning in your gut.
“God, you’re going to kill me—ride that dick. Just like that. It’s yours—” he forced, but through the grit, you could hear the praise, the worship. It was hot, sexy to be seen in this light, and you felt yourself flush under his gaze, the way Harry looked up at you as if you were a godsend and a curse, as if you were just the person he needed. The feeling was more than electric, it was sanctuary—every inch of your skin prickling with a new desire, your body humming, coming alive in ways you had forgotten since you started locking away parts of yourself for one night’s safekeeping.
You let your hands slide up from his chest, tracing the tattoo across his clavicle, then gripped his jaw, angling his gaze up to meet yours again. You wanted him to watch you, wanted his eyes glued to the way you lost yourself—head thrown back, hair stuck to your sweaty temple, lips parted with every moan he dragged from your throat.
And even though you knew that this was supposed to be a performance, a lie, a scam. You couldn’t stop the gritted need from grinding out of you, hips steady moving as if your life depended on it. Because somewhere deep down, you still believed the mission, felt it in the pit of your flexing belly. You still wanted it, even if you wanted him, wanted that and all the things his body promised you if you kept going; kept grinding down, kept chasing the pulse of heat that throbbed between your legs.
The first time his hips synced up with yours, you gasped—loud, surprised, and then again, rolling your hips in a circle that had him shuddering all the way to his toes. That’s when he started rolling his hips in time with your rhythm, bucking up when you slammed down, catching you right at the peak, the head of his cock grinding up into that fucking spot that made your fucking head spin. The bedframe shook, protesting louder and louder with every thrust as the metal of the cuffs rattled, handcuffing his desire to the rails so hard you thought you might see sparks if he fought any harder.
You chased the friction, the pressure, the burn, the way the base of his cock caught at the edge of your entrance, making a wet, vulgar noise every time your bodies slammed together. You could feel your slick leaking, pooling down your thighs, soaking him, the mess of it making it easier, slippier, hotter every second. Your thighs were trembling from the effort, your knees digging into the mattress with every bounce, your hands fisting his chest, his jaw, his hair—any part of him you wanted to claim as yours in the moment.
And holy fuck, Harry was right there with you, his face flushed, features twisting with pleasure. With a need so vast you felt it under your own skin, a longing that made even this, even the transactional, feel sacred. He watched you as you rode him, watched the way your breasts bounced in your bra, the way your face went slack with each new wave; watched as your hands grabbed at his body, eyeing as your nails raked down his chest just to see the skin welt and bloom pink.
“You’re beautiful—” he whispered, the words shocking you mid-grind, the words so abrupt and sudden you nearly lost your tempo. For a second, you almost snapped at him, almost reminded him that this wasn’t that kind of night, that ‘beautiful’ was not the word you wore to a job. But before you could, he said it again, breathless and thick with disbelief: “God—You’re so fucking beautiful...”
You wanted to laugh, wanted to make him suffer, so you rode him harder, letting the words echo somewhere in a locked, far-off place inside you, a place he would never see. Because now, that knot coiling within was growing tighter. So hot, so close you could taste it in your teeth, and every time you ground down, his cock hit your g-spot so dead-on you almost blacked out. You rocked your hips, angling for more, using his body as leverage, using his submissiveness as power, using everything you could to clamp down and ride the crest higher and higher.
He was desperate now. You could hear it in the way his breath broke and caught, in the way his abs clenched, the way his hands curled and flexed against the cuffs. Could see just how badly he wanted to grab your hips, to steady you, to mark you as much as you were marking him. You grabbed his wrists, holding both in your hands, pinning them harder to the headboard, and watched the bruising skin notch with more red lines, indenting into the fine bones of his wrists. The sweat gathering from his efforts only made it worse, slicking the metal, making him writhe harder—becoming the powerless, beautifully ruined man you needed him to be beneath you. Giving you all the control.
You could feel the orgasm building, gathering force, like a gun pressed to the back of your skull. You didn’t know what would happen after, but you couldn’t stop now—wouldn’t, not if you could. You leaned down, catching his mouth with your own, kissing his filthy mouth hard and fast, biting his bottom lip so hard you tasted copper mixing with the lingering taste of your brine gathered in the hair lining his upper lip. You ground your hips again, and again, pushing yourself closer to the edge, using him exactly the way he asked, exactly the way you both wanted.
Every thrust now had a wildness, an urgency, like a fugitive’s last breath. He understood your need, meeting your rhythm with perfect counterforce, hips driving up to fill you to the hilt every time, cock slamming into you so deep you saw white stars building behind your eyes. The bed groaned and rocked. The headboard banged against the wall with a determined percussion, echoing the song your bodies were playing as the whole room began to shake from your quaking vision, now shuddering with pleasure.
You loved the sound of his ragged begging, the glazed hunger in every word he managed to grind out from behind clenched teeth: “Don’t stop, fuck, please—don’t ever fucking stop,” and you almost wanted to disobey, just to see what he would do. But you kept going, kept riding, losing yourself in the motion, in the pressure, in the feeling of him stretching you so wide and so fucking gloriously it almost hurt.
You dragged your nails down his forearms, tracing over the strained lines of his hands, and saw the pale bruises blooming raw and red around the cuffs. The sight of it, the proof of your own damage, was so hot you felt your cunt flutter around his cock, squeezing tight. You reached down, pressing your fingers to his jaw, forcing his dazed green gaze to stay locked with yours as you started to come undone.
He was sweating, hair curling, lips swollen from your kisses and teeth. You were both panting, both soaking wet—Harry looking at you like you were a dream or a fever, like he could barely handle the sight of you riding him this good. You smirked, leaning closer to drag your tongue along the pulse in his throat, feeling every shudder that ran through him as you kept grinding, harder, faster, chasing every last bit of friction that could push you over the edge.
And just as you were tipping into your climax, he said it again, his words desperate and fierce, almost pleading: “You’re fucking beautiful—please, please, I can’t—if you don’t stop—” His voice broke as he bucked up hard, cock grinding right against your spot, pulling a scream from your chest. “Please, you’re going to make me—” he begged, fighting, writhing, a gorgeous, chaotic man in a losing battle.
“Please Wait—Stop—I need you to stop—” He yelled out this time, making you slow your hips, pulling you back from that desperate edge you were about to take. It was confusing, nearly stalling you completely, yet even so, you slowed it down, even though your body still wanted to come; still wanted to take what he had promised was yours.
For a second, you hesitated, the lines in your thighs burning, your whole body still poised to take exactly what it wanted. Your hands relaxed, fingertips grazing over the dark hair plastered to his forehead in a gesture you realized was, horrifyingly, almost tender.
“Why?” you challenged, still breathless. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
As his chest rose and fell in a breathy huff to calm himself, his eyes locked with yours. For a moment, you thought he might spit another challenge, but instead he dropped his gaze to the place where your bodies met, and the hitch in his voice was so earnest, so raw, it tripped you up: “I—fuck, I haven’t had this in so long. I just don’t want it to end… not yet.” he admitted, each word spilling like it would cost him after. “I want to remember—for later. When you’re gone. Please. Let’s just go slow.”
No one had ever said please like that to you in your life—like you were a gift, not a threat. You should have laughed in his face, yet you found yourself obeying, your hips starting a slower grind, something more careful—a steady rhythm. The kind that would let you savor the slide of his cock, the thick heat of his body, every throbbing inch buried inside you. Suddenly, it was a different world. It was so much, too much, and the tension that had you riding for annihilation melted into something you didn’t know how to wrap your mind around, something heavy and fragile, something so intimate you almost looked away.
Harry’s hands curled in the cuffs, palms open, fingers flexing like he wanted to touch you—really touch, not just fuck or devour but hold you. The muscles across his chest tensed with restraint, and you realized, with a stab of vertigo, that you wanted to be held. You wanted to be touched, to be worshipped the way he was looking at you right now, like you were his last hope or maybe his first sunrise after years of blackout.
“Okay…” you heard yourself say, voice barely audible above the wet slide of your bodies. “Okay...”
And maybe it was for him, but you wanted it too. All at once, the world shrank down to that narrow band of skin where his wrists were trapped, the flushed heat of your cunt clenching around him slow and steady, watching the way his gaze tracked every breath, every shift of your face.
You reached up, unhooked your bra with one hand, tugged it off, and tossed it behind you, suddenly needing to get as close as you could, needing to be skin to skin. Harry’s green eyes went dark at the gesture, like he knew, and he groaned deep in his throat as you cupped his jaw and bent to kiss him. The kiss was slow, lips parting, the two of you not holding anything back. A shiver ran through you as he tried, again and again, to arch up into your touch, to press himself deeper. You couldn’t stop kissing him; you wanted to taste all of him, your tongue tracing his bottom lip, him licking back—the two of you greedy to feel, to map one another for the first time as you let yourself be kissed back.
His mouth was hungry but soft, desperate but devout, and as you ground your hips down, you could feel the whole trembling pressure inside you recede to a dull, manageable ache. In your heart, you wanted to drag this out, to never have to stop. So, you kept the pace, sluggish and willful, letting each motion drag out, letting every helpless flicker of your cunt milk him for more. Every pulse in your own body was ringing with a sublime, exhausted ache of a pussy ready to come, your skin shivering at every touchpoint, sweat cooling across your back as you pressed yourself to him, fingers moving to the hair at the nape of his neck to grip for more leverage.
You didn’t even want to blink. Didn’t want to miss a single passing shadow in his expression, the way he was holding your gaze like a secret, the way his eyes glazed over with pleasure, then swam back into focus—always searching—always falling deeper into you, like the more he saw, the more he ached for you. You wanted to hate him. Wanted to despise every sweet, earnest thing he kept offering you, every little timid tilt of his chin, every soft whimper as you squeezed him with your hips, every “please” he pushed into your mouth. Above all, you despised that you craved this for yourself, and not just for the sake of the con.
Because god, this was so much easier when it was just a game, like if you just could keep this transactional, it would keep it on the rails. But his hands in the cuffs, the sweat shining on his chest and upper lip, the helpless, rattled way he adored you with each breath—god, you could almost believe you were worth it, as the world continued to narrow to just you and the clatter of the headboard against the wall—to the slow, sacred rhythm of your bodies, and you let yourself go. Let your body drown in his heat, let your mouth say his name, let the tears run hot down your cheeks as you rutted against him, cresting closer and closer, losing your fucking mind.
Then there was no stopping it. The orgasm swept into you—a red-hot bloom that started at your aching clit and exploded out in every direction, shooting through your thighs, your belly, your head. Your pussy spasmed around him, clamping, desperate, as the world tunneled to a pinpoint of pleasure. Somewhere in the fever, you heard yourself say—silent, in your own skull—Don’t do this, don’t let him in, don’t fall—
But then he was coming too, his body arching off the mattress, jaw clenching, tendons in his arms standing out so tight you thought he would snap the fucking cuffs. “Fuck, fuck, you—” He gritted, the words a messy snarl of pure happiness, as you felt his cock jerk inside you, filling you. God, the pulse of it made your own orgasm break even louder, even rawer, a wet flood that erupted down your thighs and soaked the sheets as the scream from your lungs went voiceless, and you bit into his shoulder to keep from passing out.
The comedown left you shredded, trembling, hunched over his chest as you tried to catch your breath, body still pulsing and clenching. Harry’s head had rolled back, eyes shut, mouth slack with an idiotic, blissed-out smile, curls pasted to his forehead, wrists still locked but now open-palmed, surrendering completely. You lay against him, sweat seeping, your heart jacked up as if you had just jumped from a plane—your mind imagining that this is what it would feel like, to free fall without a care in the world.
Silently, you pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your splayed fingers, your breath matching the labored breath of his rising chest, each breath falling in sync, and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. This was nice; this you could savor for a second longer. Could linger in the scent of your bodies, mingled and pressed together as one. This could be okay; this was okay; you were okay; you would be okay.
Then Harry stirred, his head turning to press a kiss to your sweaty temple, and he cleared his throat, “This was amazing… Thank you…” He whispered, pushing another kiss to your skin.
That’s when you snapped back into your body, springing up to meet his eye. “Yeah… I can’t do this…” You told him, ripping yourself from his body, his dick pulling out so quick you fumbled on the way off. Your eyes never left his as his gaze turned pleading, Harry gazing back at you like he knew he should have kept his mouth shut.
You grabbed your things from the bed and slipped off, grabbing your dress from the floor in one swift motion. “I’m going to take a five-minute shower,” you told him, not looking back. “You look smart, but I don’t think you’ll figure out the cuffs before then…” And you walked away before he could say a single word.
He didn’t say one either. Not from the bed to the bathroom door, and when you glanced back one last time, he lay completely still. His defeat was evident, carved into the rigid posture of his unmoving body, chin tilted toward the ceiling, jaw tight, wrists slack in the cuffs, and you couldn’t help the smile rising as you closed the door behind you.
The shower wasn’t as quick as you intended. You stood under the water longer than you should have, the steam curling thick around you while your mind kept snagging on the details—the way he looked at you, the way he said please, the way his chest felt when you pressed your palm flat against it and felt his heart hammering back. How fucking strange it all was. How natural. The words kept cycling as the water ran over your shoulders, and you let it, standing there until the heat started to thin.
By the time you were dry, you knew you had no time to waste. You had been underestimating this man all night—that much was clear. Who was to say he didn’t have his own play in motion? The way he had steered things in that bed, the moments he had quietly commandeered the wheel without you even clocking it—that was not a man without a plan, and you wrapped the towel tight and cracked the door.
That’s when you heard it. His voice, low and unhurried, drifting through the suite in the measured stop-and-start cadence of someone on the phone, and the bolt of panic that ripped through you was so fast and electric it nearly took your knees out from under you. Before long, you were pushing the door open.
Harry was pacing at the foot of the bed in lazy, barefoot circles, the hotel receiver pressed to his ear, cuffs gone—of course—and his expression utterly unbothered, as if the last hour had been a perfectly ordinary Thursday. When he caught your eye, he sat down on the edge of the bed without missing a single beat of his sentence, watching you with that same quiet, entertained composure, and you stood in the bathroom doorway in nothing but a towel, clutching your dress to your chest, realizing with a slow, humiliating clarity that he was ordering room service.
You walked into the room slowly, unsure of your footing for the first time all night, standing there like you were waiting to be told what to do—which was its own kind of absurd, given the evening’s events. He watched you hover, that green gaze tracking your every uncertain step with a noticeable gleam of delight, and then he covered the receiver with one palm and looked up at you.
“Take what you want,” he said simply, nodding toward the nightstand, toward his jacket, toward all of it. Then he went right back to ordering, his voice easy and conversational, and you heard him add the crème brûlée at the end—your favorite—slipped in like an afterthought, like he hadn’t just dismantled your entire operation with the casual confidence of a man who had never once lost control of a room in his life—and you stood there, internally kicking yourself hard, your ego already at your feet and bruised.
He finished the call and set the receiver down, letting the silence settle between you as it had at the bar—when both of you were daring the other to cross it. His eyes met yours, pinning you. He was cool as a fucking cucumber, and thoroughly amused. You could tell by the clever little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, not a single hair out of place, despite the fact that fifteen minutes ago, you had both been an absolute catastrophe.
You didn’t move. So he reached for his wrist, unclasped the Rolex without hesitation, and set it on the nightstand. “A deal was a deal,” he said, and reached into his jacket for the wallet, dropping that beside it. “Take the whole thing if you want… I’ll charge everything to the room.” He added with a small, unbearable smile. “I should be good ‘til morning.”
For a long moment, you held his gaze, heart racing, then slowly dropped to your knees in front of him, reaching for the wallet—eyes still trained on his face, waiting for the catch. He was still smiling, wide and warm, thoroughly entertained, watching you rifle through it with the patient amusement of a man watching his favorite film.
You pulled the bills out first, then felt your fingers close around something else buried in the billfold, something small and cool, something circular, and you drew it out slowly—it was a ring—a gold band, simple and worn smooth at the edges, the way metal gets when it’s never taken off. You stared at it for a moment. Then you looked up at him.
He said nothing, only watching you piece it all together as his smile softened into something calmer, something intimate. That’s when you tossed it to him, and he caught it without flinching. “Here,” you said. “Don’t want your wife freaking out...” Your eyes narrowed at him then, assessing his character.
He laughed, the sound filling the space as you watched the corners of his eyes crinkle—and you felt it pull something loose in your chest, a laugh of your own climbing up before you could stop it, spilling out while you were still counting his money.
“You got a little overzealous with the cash,” you told him, fanning the bills, “Fifteen-hundred is way too much money for someone to be carrying around casually…”
“Well, consider it a tip,” he said, sliding the ring back onto his finger. “You’ve earned it, don’t you think?”
“Umm… yeah, I earn everything,” you corrected.
“I mean—it’s been seven years of doing this. ” He answered, leaning forward, elbows dropping to his knees, his voice dipping to something soft. “Happy anniversary, darling.” With the words, you felt your body relax, as if a spell were breaking, letting real life slip in.
Then his hand reached out to cup your cheek, and you felt the burst of triumph run warm and open behind your sternum, thinking you had never been so happy in your life. “Happy anniversary,” you muttered, voice catching on the lump of excitement swelling at the back of your throat.
You pulled his hand away and took it in yours, eyes drifting to the ring on his finger. Lost in the heady rush of happiness, you fiddled with the ring before looking up at his face, shaking your head slowly. “I think that was our best roleplay yet. We deserve fucking Oscars for that shit... don’t you think?”
“I think YOU deserve the Oscar,” he shot back, without hesitation. “You barely broke character. I was just following your lead.”
You laughed, “What is it they say? Teamwork makes the dream work…” You told him, laughing at yourself.
Harry winced. “Corny, love. But yes. They do say that... and I do think we make a pretty good team.” He said as you examined his sore wrist, the aftermath of the cuffs marked into his skin, and you pressed a delicate kiss to as many markings as you could before climbing onto the bed, settling into his lap.
You let the towel pool around you as you looped your arms around his neck. “You love my corny jokes... don’t play.”
You gasped when he filled both hands with your ass, the motion slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “My love, I didn’t marry you for your jokes… trust me.” He told you, his eyes going soft already as the performance stripped clean away, nothing underneath but him—just Harry, your Harry—the way he always was, his hands gripping your ass harder.
“Baby…” you breathed, your mouth hovering at the edge of his.
“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, distracted by your body. “I love everything about you...” His hands tightened, gripping hard enough to make you yelp. “But especially this…”
Biting back the sound, your teeth sank into your bottom lip. “Well. Maybe after you feed me dinner, you can make love to me… But just know I’m not doing any more work tonight—I’ll need a few more orgasms before I sleep, babe. Maybe six more for every year we’ve been married…Do you think you’re up for the challenge?”
“Fuck—baby… Was born ready? and don’t forget I’ve already given you two really good ones.” He rasped, his laugh warm against your mouth, dick already swelling beneath you. “I promise you won’t have to move a single muscle, my love. I’ve got you…I’ve got all of you…now let’s see if we can squeeze in a few before the food gets here.”
Summary: very cute and very horny firefighter Harry x author wife 🥹
Warnings: unprotected sex, very horny husband and wife, humiliation, all that jazz AND slight voyeurism if you squint!
Wc: 6.4k
The sound of knuckles rapping against her office door pulls Y/n out of her trance. She blinks her eyes after minutes of them sitting unfocused on her white laptop screen full of words she's not sure make any sense to her anymore, or maybe they didn't in the first place.
After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.
Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.
“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile
Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.
“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!
“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.
He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.
Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.
It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.
She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.
She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.
She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.
Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.
Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.
This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.
Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.
“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.
Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.
Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.
She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.
She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.
She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.
She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.
But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.
She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.
Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.
“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.
She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.
A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.
It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.
She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.
She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.
“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.
She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.
Time to start stress baking.
For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.
White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.
She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.
She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.
After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.
Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.
She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.
Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.
“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.
“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.
He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.
They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.
Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.
She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.
“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.
Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.
“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.
“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”
Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”
Y/n nods, “a cure.”
“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.
“Go get to it, baby.”
She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.
It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.
Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”
He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.
“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.
“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.
He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.
His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.
He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.
His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.
“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.
Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.
He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.
“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.
Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.
Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.
She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.
His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.
“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.
“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”
She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.
“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.
“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”
She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”
She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.
Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.
He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.
He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”
He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.
She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.
He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.
Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.
She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.
She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.
“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.
“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.
They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.
Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.
“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”
They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.
“Round three in the shower?”
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-
Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.
“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.
“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.
After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.
She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.
“That was your cure, huh?”
She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”
Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”
He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.
“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.
He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.
Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.
“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.
Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.
She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.
“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.
He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.
“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.
He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.
He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.
She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.
“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.
He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.
She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.
“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.
He’s always been the cure.
A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!
I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️
PLEASEEEEEE!!! IF YOU LIKED THIS REBLOG AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHT WITH ME :D
Author's Note: okay I'm mental I know but I love dad!harry so much that I just had to make another part of All three of us and I'm already thinking of turning it into series! What do you think?
Triggers: childbirth, medical recovery, emotional vulnerability, postpartum exhaustion, sensitive topics around pain and healing
masterlist
--------
The clock on the wall had long passed midnight, slipping into the soft, lonely hours of morning, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier, a little quieter, a little more impossible. The hospital room was dim except for the muted glow of the monitor light, blinking in steady rhythm, a reminder that the world was still moving even though yours felt like it had shrunk into this tiny, exhausted, fluorescent-lit bubble. Outside, the hallway hummed with occasional footsteps and the low murmur of nurses, but in your room it was just you, your newborn daughter, and the relentless, trembling ache that had been tightening inside your chest for the past hour.
You were tired, so tired it felt like your bones were dissolving, but the kind of tired that didn’t let you rest, the kind that made your hands shake as you tried again and again to help your baby latch. Your incision throbbed, your back spasmed, your breasts ached with a dull, pressure-filled pain, and still your daughter cried, tiny fists clenched, mouth rooting frantically but never quite finding her way. Her face was scrunched and red, her little body squirming with frustration, and with each minute that passed, your heart cracked a little louder.
“Please, baby,” you whispered, voice thin and raw, tears sliding down your cheeks like they had been waiting there all along. “Please just drink for me. Just a little. Please, sweetheart, I’m trying-”
The words dissolved into a sob that tore straight from your chest, sharp and aching and humiliatingly loud in the quiet room. You hadn’t cried this hard since the delivery, maybe not in years, and yet you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the panic, the guilt, the spiral of shame whispering that you weren’t enough, that you were already failing your daughter on her first night on Earth.
You adjusted again, then again, every movement searing through your incision like a live wire, but it didn’t matter because she still wasn’t latching. She would try for a heartbeat, then wail and pull away, tiny legs kicking, tiny cries tightening her whole body.
Your arms trembled from holding her, your breathing stuttered, your body felt too heavy and too fragile at the same time. The tears kept falling, faster now, unstoppable.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered to your own baby. “I’m so sorry… please, I don’t know what I’m doing…”
You didn’t hear the door open.
You didn’t even hear Harry’s footsteps.
You were too folded in on yourself, shaking, whispering broken apologies into your daughter’s hair while she cried against your chest.
Harry had been gone for less than forty minutes.
He hated leaving, but he’d rushed home to grab essentials, clean clothes, a little bag of your skincare, the comfortable socks you liked wearing at night, a power bank, your favorite oversized cardigan, and a blanket that smelled like your bed because he knew the hospital sheets made you restless. He’d planned to shower lightning-fast, but halfway through rinsing shampoo from his hair he panicked, feeling like something was wrong without knowing why.
So he left with half-wet curls, a wrinkled shirt, and a duffel bag that was barely zipped. He nearly ran through the hospital halls.
But nothing… nothing prepared him for the sight waiting for him when he stepped back into your room.
You, hunched and trembling, shoulders caving inward like you were trying to disappear, your face streaked with tears, your chest tight with each sob.
And your daughter, his daughter, red-faced and wailing, struggling in your exhausted arms.
Harry froze for exactly half a second, his heart dropping so hard it felt like his ribs cracked around it. Then he breathed your name, soft, broken.
“Love? Sweetheart…”
Your head snapped up, your eyes wide and devastated, and he felt something inside him tear clean open at the look on your face. You looked like you thought he’d be disappointed. Like you thought he’d be angry. Like you thought you’d done something wrong.
And that destroyed him.
He didn’t bother with the bag. He didn’t bother closing the door. He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes.
He came straight to you.
“What happened?” he whispered, already kneeling beside the bed, already reaching for you with both hands. “Hey-hey, look at me. Look at me, my love. What’s going on?”
Your breath caught in your throat, shaky and painful.
“She… she won’t…” Another sob tore out of you. “She won’t eat, Harry, she won’t latch, I can’t… I can’t get her to… and she’s hungry and crying and I-I don’t know what I’m doing…”
Harry’s entire face crumpled.
“Oh, darling…” His voice cracked right down the middle, thick with heartbreak. “Oh, my sweet girl…”
You tried to pull away, ashamed, but Harry wouldn’t let you.
“Come here,” he whispered, sliding onto the bed carefully, mindful of your incision. “Come here, love. Don’t move, don’t hurt yourself more. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“I should’ve called the nurse,” you choked out. “I should’ve waited for you, I just… I didn’t want to be annoying… I didn’t want to bother them…”
Harry cupped your face with both hands, tilting your forehead to his.
“You listen to me,” he said softly but firmly, voice trembling with emotion. “You could never annoy them. And you could never, ever bother me. You’re recovering from surgery, you’re in pain, you’re exhausted, you’re feeding our daughter for the first time, how could you think you’d need to do that alone?”
You broke again, completely this time, and Harry moved instantly, lifting your daughter from your shaking arms with a gentleness so absolute it made more tears spill down your cheeks.
“There we go, angel…” he murmured to your daughter, pressing her tiny body against his chest, rocking her gently. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you now. It’s alright, my little love. You’re okay.”
Her cries quieted, still broken, still desperate, but softened by the warmth of him, the security of his heartbeat.
Harry kept rocking her as he turned back to you, his gaze full of fierce tenderness.
“You don’t ever have to be strong by yourself,” he whispered. “Not for me. Not for her. Not for anyone. You hear me?”
You nodded weakly, but he knew it wasn’t enough.
He shifted closer, letting your daughter rest against one arm so he could pull you gently against his chest with the other. Your forehead pressed into his collarbone, and he kissed the crown of your head, lingering as though he could transfer strength to you through the warmth of his mouth.
“You’re overwhelmed,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re in pain. You’re running on no sleep. And you’re still here, holding her, trying your best even while falling apart. That doesn’t make you weak, love. That makes you the bravest person I’ve ever seen.”
A sob shuddered through you, quiet but shattered.
Harry held you tighter, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Let me help you,” he pleaded softly. “Let me carry this with you. You don’t have to do any of it alone, sweetheart. Not when I’m right here.”
He kissed your forehead, your temple, the trail of tears on your cheek.
Then he shifted your daughter gently, supporting her head, guiding her tiny body with a tenderness that made your chest ache in a whole new way.
“Let’s try together,” he whispered. “Not you by yourself. You and me. We’ll do it as many times as it takes.”
You swallowed hard, breathing shakily.
Harry saw the fear in your eyes, the doubt, the guilt, the exhaustion, and he leaned in, touching his forehead to yours again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice stripped down to its softest truth. “I’m right here. And we’re going to get through this, together. One breath at a time.”
You nodded, tears still falling, but slowly now, gently, like you were finally letting yourself break in a place you were safe.
And Harry helped you adjust. Supported your body. Guided your daughter. Whispered encouragement to both of you like prayers.
And when your baby finally latched, when her tiny mouth found what it had been searching for, Harry exhaled a trembling breath and cupped the back of your head with shaking fingers.
“You’re doing it,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “Look at you, love. Look at our girl. You’re both doing it.”
And you cried again, but this time into Harry’s chest, with relief instead of despair, held together by the man who refused to let you fall apart alone.
———
Harry stayed with you like that for a long while, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, the other steadying your daughter as she fed, his lips brushing the side of your head every few breaths as if he needed the reassurance that you were both real, both here, both safe in his arms. When she finally pulled away, heavy and dazed with sleep, he shifted carefully, whispering, “There we go, angel… all done, yeah? Mummy helped you so much tonight. Such a good girl…”
You let your head rest against the pillows, eyelids fluttering, exhaustion rushing in all at once now that the panic had eased. Harry watched you with a softness that made something inside you melt... this man who had sprinted back into the hospital because he felt you needed him, this man who held every broken piece of you like it was precious, this man who loved you so fiercely it made the air feel warm.
“Let me put her back, love,” he whispered gently, eyes flicking to your daughter’s tiny sleeping face. “You rest your arms. I’ve got her.”
He stood slowly, carefully, holding her against his chest with both hands as if she were made of fragile starlight. He walked toward the incubator in that calm, quiet way he did everything when it came to her, measured steps, gentle sway in his shoulders, soft hum under his breath. He lowered her into the warm light, adjusting the blanket around her small body, lingering a moment just to touch her cheek with the back of his finger.
“Sleep, little angel,” he murmured, voice warm and low. “Daddy’s right here.”
When he turned back to you, his entire face softened even more, if that was possible. You looked small against the hospital bed, small and exhausted and heartbreakingly beautiful in the low light. He came straight to your side, those long, gentle hands already reaching to adjust your pillows, straighten the blankets, tuck them around you the way he knew you liked.
“Lift just a little for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, supporting your back with one arm, making sure your incision wasn’t strained, settling you slowly into the most comfortable position. He ran his thumb along your jaw, brushing away the stray tears that had dried on your skin. “There you go. That’s better, yeah?”
You nodded, throat tight.
Harry leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, slow, careful, filled with gratitude and relief and love so deep it almost hurt.
When he pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm on your cheek.
“Love,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles over your temple, “you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I’m gonna take care of you. Every hour, every night, every moment. You’re not doing any of this alone, do you hear me?”
Your eyes filled again, but softly this time.
Harry kissed your cheek, then your forehead, then rested his lips lightly on the corner of your mouth.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he murmured. “More than I can ever say. You gave me our girl… and I promise you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never carry a single thing by yourself again.”
He lay beside you carefully, wrapping an arm around your waist, his hand splayed warm and steady over your hip, pulling you gently into his chest.
“Sleep, my love,” he whispered into your hair.
And with your daughter sleeping under the soft glow of the incubator and Harry’s heartbeat steady against your back, you finally let yourself rest.
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DO YOU WANT A PART 3?!
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