Traitor-The Present (Mafia! Harry) Completed Series
Series Synopsis:- y/n is a hard working painter who lives with her sick uncle, the only person she has as family. When the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles. A man once rumored to be the dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia.
Different Frequencies- Harry Styles!au x autistic!reader (completed)
Series Synopsis- An autistic genius and the college's basketball star, Harry Styles, are paired for a communication class. What begins as a last-ditch effort for Harry becomes a meaningful connection. As feelings grow, an unexpected campus drama forces them to unite for a cause, discovering love, trust, and understanding along the way.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Extras
Quiet with you*
Smut warning-*
Harry Styles OneShots
Honeymoon*
His Family Doesn't Like you (Famous!y/n)*
He Leaves for Tour
One-Love! (Tennis player!Harry x Tennis player! y/n)- Olympics Love Story*
One more to Love (You get to know you're pregnant), Famous!y/n*
Easy there, Cowboy( Cowboy!Harry x reader)*
Arguments and Cuddles-Angst and fluff!
That Special Girl(Famous!Harry x fan!reader)
Under his Watch- Part 1( Detective agent!Harry x reader)
Part 2
The Night He Stayed- vampire!harry *
Coming up Roses - Song inspired
Stitches and Second chances- Doctor!harry
Harry Styles-Blurbs
Edging-Smut*
You apply sunscreen on each other-Fluff
You’re on your period-Fluff
Overstimulation- Harry x Assistant! reader- Smut*
He catches you reading fan fiction about him- Smut*- Harry x Assistant! reader
Rough*- Size kink, daddy kink-Smut
A Bad Day- Fluff
You ask him to stop- Smut, fluff
Calm after the storm- Fluff
Dread- Anxiety attack- fluff
Wrecked- You ask for it and he gives you what you want- Smut*
Always you- Fluff, angst
Author's note: Pop a message if you want me to mention your name in my taglist, happy reading!:)
I also think that he is incredible! Love this new era he seems so happy. I can’t go to a show either tho caushe he is not coming to my county either :/
It’s okay babe, maybe one day we have the luck to see Harry live. If not, that’s fine too, doesn’t make us any less a fan. He does look extremely happy in this era, he’s just enjoying himself. And that’s amazing to see.
How do you feel about Harrys tour so far? Are you going to any shows?
Oh Harry’s incredible as always, that man’s born to perform on stage. I would love nothing more than to go to a show, but unfortunately he’s not coming to my country and probably never will:(
will you update on different frequencies? Its one of my favorite stories ever😭
Different Frequencies is actually completed, the one shorts are just bonuses, mostly on requests. I do have a few different frequencies requests right now, let me see what I can cook up.
You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harry’s possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but it’s the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.
A/N: Welcome to Chapter Two! The tension is officially building, and things are just starting to get interesting. Just a quick heads-up for anyone who hates waiting on cliffhangers: all 10 parts of this series are already completed and fully available on my Patreon! nervous for all of you to read it! enjoy!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
Four weeks ago, Y/N had stood on the front step of the black townhouse, shivering in a cheap trench coat, terrified to touch the brass knocker.
Tonight, she didn't knock.
She punched the code into the discreet keypad on the wall—0-1-2-9—and waited for the satisfying, heavy thunk of the deadlock disengaging.
She pushed the door open and stepped out of the biting November wind, sealing the world out behind her.
The hallway was exactly the same: the cavernous ceilings, the monochrome marble floor, the scent of cedarwood and expensive silence. But the feeling was different. It didn't feel like entering a fortress anymore. It felt, alarmingly, like exhaling.
"Harry?" she called out softly, dropping her keys into the small crystal bowl on the console table.
"Study," his voice came back. Deep. Distracted.
Y/N kicked off her boots, lining them up neatly against the wall. She walked down the hallway in her socks, passing the kitchen where the lights were dimmed low.
She found him in the study at the back of the house. It was a room lined with dark bookshelves and lit by a single amber desk lamp. Harry was sitting behind a massive desk, surrounded by monitors glowing with market data.
He was wearing his glasses. He had a pen in his mouth. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck, and his hair was ruffled as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours.
He looked exhausted.
But the moment she stepped into the doorway, his head snapped up.
He pulled the pen from his lips. His eyes, usually so cold and analytical when he was working, softened instantly. He took a deep breath, as if her arrival had just pumped oxygen back into the room.
"You're here," he stated.
"8 PM," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Per the contract."
Harry checked the Patek Philippe on his wrist. "8:01, actually. You lingered in the hallway."
He dropped the pen onto the desk and stood up.
"Punctuality is a virtue, Y/N. We discussed this."
"I was taking off my boots," she defended with a small smile, knowing he wasn't actually mad.
Harry rounded the desk. He didn't rush, but his stride was purposeful. He stopped in front of her, blocking out the light. He didn't hug her. Instead, he reached out, the back of his hand grazing her cheek.
"You're freezing," he observed, his brow furrowing with displeasure. "Did you walk?"
"It's only ten minutes."
"It's raining. And it's forty degrees," he countered sharply. "I pay for a car service account so you don't arrive at my house looking like a drowned rat. It’s a matter of presentation."
His words were cold, critical. But his hands contradicted him completely. They moved from her face to her arms, rubbing briskly to generate heat, pulling her closer into his orbit until she was pressed against his warm shirt.
"Go upstairs," he commanded, his thumbs digging into the tension in her shoulders. "I drew a bath. It’s ready."
Y/N blinked. "You... drew a bath?"
"I had ten minutes between calls. It was an efficient use of time," he dismissed, refusing to take credit for the kindness. "Go. I’ll finish here."
The tub was massive, filled with milky water that smelled of eucalyptus. Y/N sank into it, groaning as the heat seeped into her frozen bones.
She closed her eyes, floating.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
"Sancerre," Harry’s voice cut through the steam. "2019."
Y/N opened her eyes. Harry stood there, minus the jacket. He held a glass of wine out to her.
"Thank you." She took it, sipping the cold wine.
Harry didn't leave. He pulled a wooden stool up to the edge of the tub and sat down, elbows on his knees, watching her. He looked tired. The lines around his eyes were deeper this week.
"You look like you had a worse week than I did," Y/N noted softly.
"Market volatility," Harry murmured, his eyes tracking a droplet of water on her neck. "Stressful. Inefficient."
He reached out, his hand dipping into the water to wrap around her ankle. He squeezed.
"Harry," she said, an idea forming. "Get in."
Harry scoffed, a dry, incredulous sound. "I'm dressed, Y/N. And I have emails to clear."
"The emails can wait. You look exhausted." She moved her leg, her toes brushing against his chest through his dampening shirt. "Come on. There's plenty of room."
"The contract doesn't stipulate shared bathing," he said stiffly, staring at her toes.
"The contract says I'm yours for the weekend," she countered, her voice dropping. "If I'm yours... then you should be close to me. Right?"
Harry looked at her. He looked at the warm water. He looked at the invitation in her eyes.
He let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Fine."
He stood up. He unbuckled his belt. He stripped with that efficient, confident grace he always had, trousers, shirt, boxer briefs. Leaving them in a neat pile.
He stepped into the tub. The water rose dangerously high. He settled behind her, his large frame dwarfing hers. He pulled her back until her spine was pressed flush against his chest.
"Better?" she whispered, leaning her head back on his shoulder.
"Acceptable," he grumbled, though his arms came around her waist instantly, locking her in.
He picked up the sponge. "Lean forward. I need to wash your hair."
"I can do it."
"No," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I do it."
He began to wash her, his movements methodical and possessive. He massaged her scalp, his chest rumbling against her back as he breathed.
"I hate the café," he said suddenly, out of nowhere.
Y/N stiffened slightly. "Harry, we talked about this."
"I know. But I saw your hands when you came in. Chapped skin." He ran his thumb over her knuckle under the water. "It devalues the asset."
"I'm not an asset, Harry. I'm a person."
"You are both," he corrected, rinsing the suds from her hair. "And I protect my investments."
He dropped the sponge. His hands slid down her slippery body, over her stomach, resting flat and heavy. He buried his face in the wet crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.
"My focus was off all week," he admitted into her skin, his voice rough. "I was distracted."
"By the market?"
"No," Harry whispered, his teeth grazing her shoulder. "By you. It was... irritating."
He tightened his arms around her.
"I require a reset. Turn around."
The peace of the townhouse was shattered by a sound Y/N hadn’t made since she was a teenager.
"No, no, no! Please, you piece of junk!"
She was sitting at the kitchen island, surrounded by books on Greek tragedies. Her fingers were hovering frantically over her laptop keyboard. The screen was frozen, a jagged line of static cutting through her half-finished essay on Oedipus Rex.
She tapped the trackpad. Nothing. She hit the power button. Nothing.
"Fuck," she whispered, putting her head in her hands. "I hadn't saved it."
"Language," Harry’s voice came from the doorway.
He walked in, wearing a fresh cashmere sweater and trousers. He held a glass of water. He looked calm, collected, and rich. A stark contrast to her panic.
"It died," Y/N moaned, looking up at him. "My laptop. It just... seized. I lost three pages, Harry. And the fan has been making this sound like a dying helicopter all morning."
Harry walked over to the island. He set his water down and looked at her laptop with genuine distaste. It was a bulky, battered Dell she’d bought refurbished three years ago. The hinge was taped. The keys were worn shiny.
"That machine is an antique," he observed dryly. "I'm surprised it connects to the internet at all."
"It’s all I have," she snapped, stress making her sharp. "And now I have to go to the library to finish this, which means I can't stay for dinner, which means I'm breaching the contract, but I have a deadline—"
"Stop," Harry said. He held up a hand.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number and put it to his ear.
"Paul. I need a MacBook Pro. The 16-inch. Highest specs you can find in stock. Yes. And an iPad Pro with the pencil. Bring them to the house. Now."
He hung up before the person on the other end could answer.
Y/N stared at him. "Harry, what are you doing?"
"Solving the problem," he said simply. He reached out and closed the lid of her broken laptop. "This is distracting you. Distractions are inefficient."
"I can't accept a MacBook, Harry. That’s... that’s thousands of pounds."
"It's a business expense," he countered, walking over to the fridge to inspect the contents. "I am investing in your education. You cannot produce a First-class degree on third-class equipment."
"It's too much," she insisted, standing up. "The tuition is already too much. The allowance... Harry, I'm serious. I can't take it."
Harry turned slowly. He leaned back against the stainless steel fridge, crossing his arms. His expression went cool.
"Why?"
"Because!" She threw her hands up. "Because where does it stop? You pay for my school, my clothes, my food... if you buy me a computer, I literally own nothing. Everything I use belongs to you."
Harry’s eyes darkened. A shadow of a smirk played on his lips.
"And that is a problem because...?"
"Because I need to be my own person!" Y/N argued, though her voice wavered under his gaze. "I need to know that if this ends tomorrow, I can still function. I need... liability."
Harry pushed off the fridge. He walked toward her, invading her space again. He stopped when his thighs brushed against the island, trapping her between the marble and his body.
"If this ends," he said low and dangerous, "you keep the assets. I don't ask for refunds."
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"But while you are here, I don't want you struggling with broken tools. It offends me. It reflects poorly on my management."
"Your management?" she laughed incredulously. "I'm not a hedge fund, Harry."
"No," he agreed, his thumb grazing her jawline. "You're much more volatile."
The doorbell rang.
Harry checked his watch. "That will be Paul. Twenty minutes. Acceptable."
He pulled away from her and walked toward the hall.
"Harry!" she called after him.
He stopped and looked back.
"I'm keeping the job at the café," she said firmly. It was the only boundary she had left.
Harry’s jaw tightened. The warmth vanished from his eyes.
"We'll discuss the café later," he said tightly. "Set up the computer. Recover your essay. I expect you to be finished by six. I'm taking you out."
Y/N froze. "Out? Like... a date?"
"Dinner," Harry corrected, avoiding the word. "I have a reservation. Wear the dress I had sent over on Tuesday. And wear the coat I bought you. No trench coats."
He turned and walked away, leaving Y/N alone in the kitchen with a dead laptop and a sinking realization.
He wasn't just fixing her computer. He was upgrading her entire existence. And every time she accepted a gift, the door back to her old life got a little harder to open.
The car ride was electric.
Y/N sat in the back of the Mercedes, smoothing the velvet of the emerald green dress Harry had ordered for her. It was breathtaking—fitted to her waist with a slit that climbed dangerously high.
Harry sat next to her, checking emails, but his hand was resting firmly on her thigh, his thumb tracing the exposed skin.
"Stop fidgeting," he murmured without looking up.
"I feel like a Bond girl," Y/N admitted, watching the rainy streets blur by. "Or a spy. Like I’m about to infiltrate a casino."
Harry locked his phone and slid it away. He turned to her, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
"You look like trouble," he corrected, his eyes sweeping over her. "Which is exactly the point."
The car pulled up to Isabel. Harry guided her past the shivering line of people, his hand heavy and possessive on the small of her back. The maitre d’ greeted him by name, and they were whisked to a semi-circular booth in the back, shielded by velvet curtains.
It was intimate. Dark. Expensive.
Harry helped her off with her coat, his hands lingering on her bare shoulders for a second longer than necessary before he sat down opposite her.
"Relax," he said, picking up the wine list. "You look like you're waiting for the police to raid the place."
"I'm just not used to this," Y/N said, looking around at the gold-leaf decor. "Usually, my Saturday nights involve cheap vodka and arguing with my roommates about whose turn it is to buy toilet paper."
Harry peered at her over the top of his reading glasses (which he had just put on, looking devastatingly handsome).
"Toilet paper arguments," he mused. "How bohemian."
"It's visceral," she teased. "You wouldn't understand. Your toilet paper probably feels like cashmere."
Harry cracked a smile. It was rare, and it transformed his face. "It is triple-ply. I'm not a savage."
He ordered for them without asking, oysters, sea bass, and a bottle of white burgundy that cost more than her laptop. When the waiter left, he leaned back, crossing his arms.
"So," he said. "The laptop. Paul set it up?"
"Yes. It's amazing. Thank you, Harry."
"Good." He took a sip of his water. "Now, tell me. What does a twenty-one-year-old do for fun when she isn't arguing about toilet paper?"
Y/N rested her chin on her hand, looking at him playfully. "Are you doing market research? Trying to understand the youth demographic?"
"I'm trying to understand you," he countered smoothly.
"We go dancing," she said. "Places with sticky floors and music so loud you can't think. We eat kebabs at 3 AM. We make bad decisions."
Harry grimaced, looking genuinely pained. "Sticky floors. Kebabs. It sounds like purgatory."
"It's fun!" she laughed. "You should try it. When was the last time you made a bad decision, Harry?"
Harry looked at her. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. The air between them thickened.
"Four weeks ago," he murmured. "When I signed a contract with a student who asks too many questions."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "Was that a bad decision?"
"Financially? No. You're a depreciating asset, technically," he teased, his eyes dancing. "But for my blood pressure? Absolutely."
Y/N laughed, grabbing a breadstick. "I think you like the chaos. You're bored, Harry. You sit in your glass tower all day moving money around. You need a little... mess."
"I do not like mess," he insisted, though he was smiling. "I like order. Precision. Clean lines."
"Is that why you bought me this dress?" She gestured to the sleek cut. "To tidy me up?"
"I bought you that dress because I wanted to see if my imagination was accurate," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
"And?"
"It underestimated the reality."
Y/N felt a flush rise up her neck that had nothing to do with the wine. She looked away, pretending to watch the room.
"Look at them," she whispered, nodding toward a couple three tables away. An older man and a woman who looked bored. "What's their story?"
Harry glanced over, taking a sip of his wine. "Married twenty years. He's cheating on her with his secretary. She knows, but she won't leave because she likes the house in the Hamptons."
"Dark," Y/N laughed. "I was going to say they're arguing about what to watch on Netflix."
"My version is more accurate," Harry said cynically.
"You're such a snob."
"I'm a realist."
"You're a grump," she corrected, grinning. "A rich, handsome grump."
Harry paused. He swirled his wine. "Handsome, hmm?"
"Don't let it go to your head. It's mostly the suit."
"I can take the suit off," he challenged softly. "If you prefer."
"Harry!" she hissed, looking around. "We're in public."
"I don't care," he shrugged. "Let them look."
They fell into a rhythm. It was easy. He was witty, sharp, and surprisingly willing to be the butt of her jokes. Y/N forgot about the money. She forgot about the age gap. She just felt... connected.
But connection felt safe. And looking at Harry, so composed, so in control, sipping his wine like he owned the entire borough of Mayfair, she suddenly felt a reckless urge to see if she could shake him. To see if there was any fire behind that cool, corporate ice.
The waiter returned to the table, holding a bottle of sparkling water wrapped in a white napkin.
He was young, maybe twenty-five, with messy dark curls and a bright, eager smile that was the complete opposite of Harry’s dark intensity.
"More water for the table?" he asked, his voice pitching low. He didn't look at Harry. His eyes were fixed entirely on Y/N.
Y/N felt Harry’s gaze snap to her. She didn't look at him. Instead, she turned her full, glowing attention to the boy.
"Please," she hummed, shifting in her seat to face the waiter more fully. She leaned forward slightly, letting the candlelight catch the curve of her neck and the velvet strap of her dress.
The waiter poured the water, his hand lingering near her glass.
"And how is the sea bass?" he asked, stepping a fraction closer than necessary. "I told the chef to take special care with it."
"You did?" Y/N asked, widening her eyes playfully. "Well, you'll have to thank him for me. It’s incredible. The best I’ve ever had."
"I'm glad," the waiter grinned, leaning an elbow on the back of the empty chair next to their table, a casual, familiar gesture. "Though I think the company makes the meal, doesn't it?"
It was a cheesy line, the kind that usually made her roll her eyes. But tonight, with Harry watching her every move, she laughed. It was a warm, bright laugh that she usually reserved for her friends.
"You might be right," she teased, tilting her head. "Do you work here every weekend?"
"Every weekend," the waiter confirmed, his eyes dropping to her lips for a second. "Though it’s usually not this interesting."
Harry was dead silent across from her. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace, but she ignored it, intoxicated by the game.
"Well, I'm glad we could provide some entertainment," she said, looking up at the waiter through her lashes.
"Definitely," the waiter beamed, clearly emboldened by the attention of the most beautiful woman in the room. "If you have room for dessert, the chocolate fondant is—"
"Check," Harry said.
The word was a gunshot.
The waiter froze mid-sentence. Y/N’s smile faltered.
Harry wasn't playing. The playful banter was vaporized. He was staring at the waiter with cold, dead eyes, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently in his cheek. He looked like he was deciding exactly how to dismantle the boy's life, piece by piece.
"Sir?" the waiter stammered, the blood draining from his face as he finally looked at the man in the suit. "You... you didn't want to see the dessert menu?"
"We're leaving," Harry said, his voice low and vibrating with a terrifying threat. "Bring the bill. Now."
The waiter swallowed hard, looked between the furious man and the stunned woman, and nodded quickly. "Right away, sir."
He scrambled away, looking like he’d just walked into a lion's den.
Y/N turned to Harry, stunned by the sudden violence of the shift. "Harry? What are you doing? I was asking about dessert."
"Dinner is over," Harry said coldly. He threw his linen napkin onto the table, not even looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the kitchen door where the waiter had disappeared.
"Because he talked to me?" she whispered, incredulous, though a thrill of fear spiked through her. "Harry, come on. He's just a kid. I was just having a little fun."
Harry’s head snapped toward her. The green in his eyes was gone, swallowed by black pupils.
"Fun?" he repeated, the word sounding like a curse. "You call that fun?"
"I was just being nice! We were chatting."
"You weren't chatting," Harry snapped, his voice rising just enough to be dangerous. "You were flirting. You were inviting him in. You ignored me for two minutes to laugh at his bad jokes."
"I'm not a nun, Harry! I can be friendly."
"Not when you are with me," he hissed, leaning across the table until he was invading her space, his voice dropping to a velvet growl. "Tonight, you are mine. You are wearing the dress I bought. Eating the food I paid for. Drinking my wine. And I do not pay to watch you make eyes at teenage waiters while I sit right here like a ghost."
"You're jealous," she realized, her voice hushed. She felt a twisted sense of victory that she had shaken him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the intensity of his rage.
"I am protective of my assets," he corrected icily, pulling his wallet out and throwing his Black Amex onto the table with a clatter. "There is a difference."
He grabbed her hand across the tablecloth. His grip was tight. Too tight. It wasn't gentle anymore.
"We are going home," he growled, standing up and pulling her up with him, leaving the signed receipt and a stunned dining room behind them. "And I am going to remind you exactly who you belong to."
The car ride back was suffocating.
Harry didn't speak. He stared out the rain-streaked window, his jaw set in a hard line, his hand gripping his knee so tightly that his knuckles were stark white. He radiated a cold, furious energy that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the leather interior.
When the car pulled up to the curb, Harry didn't wait for the driver to open the door. He pushed it open himself and stepped out into the drizzle.
Y/N scrambled to follow him.
He was already at the front door, punching in the code with aggressive, jerky movements. The lock clicked, and he shoved the heavy black door open.
They stepped into the cavernous hallway. The moment the door slammed shut behind them, sealing them into the expensive silence of the house, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't just quiet; it was heavy.
Harry didn't look at her. He walked to the console table and dropped his keys into the bowl with a loud clatter. He began to undo his cufflinks, his movements precise but agitated.
"Harry," Y/N started, her voice sounding small in the large space. "Can we just talk about—"
"No," he cut her off. The word was a sharp crack.
He turned to face her properly for the first time since the restaurant. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, swallowing the green. He looked wrecked, angry, jealous, and dangerously unraveled.
He looked at her standing there in the emerald coat and the velvet dress, his gaze sweeping over her body like a physical touch.
"I don't want to talk," he rasped, stepping closer. He stopped just out of reaching distance. "I need... I need a minute."
He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style, looking at the ceiling as if asking for patience. Then he looked back at her, his expression hardening into a command.
"Go upstairs," he ordered, his voice dropping to that low, vibrating timber that went straight to her core.
"Harry—"
"Go to my room," he continued, ignoring her protest. "Take the dress off. Take everything off."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "Everything?"
"Everything," Harry confirmed, his eyes darkening further. "Get on the bed. Lie on top of the covers. I want you waiting for me."
He unbuttoned his collar, loosening his tie and pulling it free, tossing it onto the table.
"Don't turn the lights off," he added, his gaze locking onto hers. "I want to see you the second I walk in."
Y/N climbed the stairs, her legs feeling heavy. The house was dead silent.
Inside the master bedroom, the lights were blazing. Usually, Harry preferred the lamps low, creating a warm, golden atmosphere. Tonight, the overhead lights were on, casting stark, clinical shadows across the pristine white duvet.
It felt like an operating theatre. Or an interrogation room.
She didn't hesitate. She knew better than to make him wait when he was in this mood.
She dropped the coat onto the floor. She reached back and unzipped the emerald dress, letting it pool around her ankles. She stepped out of it. Off came the bra, then the black panties.
She stood there for a second, shivering in the cool air, completely exposed.
She climbed onto the massive bed. The duvet was cool against her back. She lay down right in the center, on top of the covers as he had ordered. She rested her hands by her sides, resisting the urge to cover herself.
She waited.
One minute passed. Then two.
She heard his footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.
The door handle turned.
Harry walked in.
He had abandoned his jacket and tie downstairs. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the dusting of dark hair and the sheen of sweat on his skin. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms.
He stopped at the foot of the bed.
He didn't say a word. He just looked at her.
His eyes raked over her body, starting at her toes and moving slowly, agonizingly up to her face. It wasn't a look of adoration. It was an inspection. He was looking at her like she was a piece of property he had misplaced and just recovered.
Y/N felt her skin heat up under his gaze, a flush spreading across her chest. Her breathing hitched.
Harry walked around to the side of the bed. He loomed over her, blocking out the harsh overhead light.
"You look pretty," he said, his voice void of any warmth. "Lying there. Waiting."
Y/N swallowed hard. "Harry..."
"Quiet," he snapped.
He reached for his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle echoed in the room. He unzipped his trousers and shoved them and his boxer briefs down in one rough motion.
He was fully hard. Thick, heavy, and twitching with anticipation.
He moved closer, his thighs pressing against the side of the mattress.
"Sit up," he commanded.
Y/N pushed herself up onto her elbows, then to a sitting position, looking up at him. She reached out, her hand instinctively going toward him, wanting to touch him.
Harry caught her wrist in mid-air. His grip was firm. He pushed her hand back down to the mattress.
"No," he said coldly. "You don't get to touch. You don't get to play."
He stepped in between her spread knees. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You enjoyed yourself tonight," he murmured, looking down at her. "Smiling at him. Letting him look at you. You think because I buy you pretty dresses and take you to dinner that you can forget who owns you?"
"No," she whispered.
"You forgot," he corrected. "And now you want me to fuck you? You want me to make you feel good?"
Y/N nodded, her eyes fixed on him. "Yes."
Harry let out a dark, cruel chuckle.
"That’s too bad."
He stepped closer, closing the gap. He took his cock in his hand, gripping the base.
"This isn't a reward, Y/N," he growled. "This is a punishment."
He leaned forward and swung his heavy length up. He pressed the head of his cock against her cheek.
It was hot. Shockingly hot against her cool skin.
Y/N gasped, her eyes fluttering shut at the contact. The scent of him, filled her nose.
Harry dragged the head slowly across her cheekbone, down to her jawline, leaving a wet trail on her skin. Then, with a sudden flick of his hips, he slapped his cock lightly against her face.
Thwack.
It wasn't painful, but it was degrading. It was a statement.
"Open your eyes," he ordered.
She opened them. His cock was right there, inches from her vision, demanding her total attention.
He grabbed a handful of her hair at the back of her head, tightening his grip to hold her steady.
"Now take it."
Y/N parted her lips, her breath hitching, and Harry didn't hesitate. He stepped in, his hips snapping forward to drive his length past her teeth and over her tongue.
He filled her completely.
Y/N let out a muffled, choked sound as he hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered instantly, the sensation of him stretching her jaw almost painful.
Harry groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that rumbled through his chest. He tightened his grip on her hair, angling her head back to straighten her throat, forcing her to accommodate him.
"That's it," he hissed, looking down at her. "Take all of it."
He didn't let her set the pace. He began to move his hips, dragging himself out until just the head remained behind her lips, then thrusting back in deep.
It was a slow, arrogant rhythm. He was fucking her face with the same possessive intensity he had used to drag her out of the restaurant.
"You were so chatty at dinner," Harry taunted, his voice rough and breathless. "You had so much to say to him."
He thrust deep, making her gag slightly.
"Now look at you," he growled. "Can't speak. Can't smile. You're just taking what I give you."
Y/N’s hands flew up to grip his thighs, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to stabilize herself against the onslaught.
"Open your throat," he commanded. "Don't you dare clamp down. Relax."
He picked up the pace. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth on him filled the quiet room. He watched her face with a terrifying intensity—the way her eyes glazed over, the way tears gathered in her lashes, the way she was utterly submissive to him.
"This is reality, Y/N," he told her, punctuating the words with sharp hips snaps. "Not the wine. Not the tablecloths. This."
He looked down at her, his expression dark and possessive.
"You don't get to act like a single girl when you belong to me," he snarled. "You don't get to bat your eyelashes at boys when you have a man who does this to you."
He fucked into her mouth for another minute, hard and unforgiving, until his breathing became ragged. He was close, the pleasure building to a breaking point.
He pulled out with a wet pop, leaving her gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her bruised lips to his hardening cock.
He didn't give her a second to recover. He needed to be deeper.
"Turn around," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
Y/N scrambled to obey, her limbs shaking. She moved to her hands and knees.
"No," Harry corrected sharply. He placed a heavy hand between her shoulder blades and shoved downwards. "Down. Chest to the mattress."
She lowered herself, pressing her cheek against the cool white sheets, her arms splayed out.
"Ass up," he commanded. "Higher."
She arched her back, lifting her hips until she was presenting herself to him completely. It was a position of total submission—head bowed, body open, waiting for him.
Harry stood behind her, breathing hard. The sight of her like that, vulnerable, exposed, and waiting for him, did something to his already frayed control.
"Good," he praised darkly. "Look at you. Ready for me."
He reached down and gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh to anchor her. He didn't warn her. He didn't tease. He lined himself up with her slick entrance.
"You wanted to play games tonight?" he growled. "Well, game over."
He thrust into her in one long, brutal slide.
Y/N cried out, the sound muffled by the mattress, as he filled her completely. He was huge, stretching her, hitting that deep, sensitive spot instantly.
Harry let out a ragged groan, his head falling back as the heat of her clamped around him.
"Mine," he gritted out, holding himself deep inside her for a moment to let her adjust to the intrusion. "You feel that? That’s me. Not him. Me."
He began to move. It wasn't the slow, sensual rhythm of their usual weekends. He snapped his hips forward, slamming against her buttocks, driving himself as deep as he could go.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back so she had to look at the wall, gasping.
"You," she sobbed, her body rocking with the force of his thrusts. "Harry."
"Say it louder."
"I belong to you!"
"That’s right," he snarled, increasing the pace, fucking her with a desperate, possessive fury. "And don't you ever forget it."
He drove into her harder, his hips snapping with a violence that shook the bedframe. The friction was unbearable, a perfect, blinding heat that had them both gasping for air.
"I'm close," Harry groaned, his voice wrecked. "God, Y/N, I'm close."
He didn't slow down. He sped up, chasing the release, needing to pour his frustration and his obsession out of his body.
"Take it," he snarled. "Take everything."
He pounded into her three more times. Deep, bruising thrusts that made her see stars and then, with a guttural roar, he ripped himself out.
He didn't give her a second to miss him.
He gripped his cock, aiming carefully. He released, spilling all over the curve of her ass and her lower back.
Y/N lay panting, her chest heaving against the mattress, feeling the hot pulses of him landing on her skin.
The room went quiet, save for their harsh, ragged breathing.
Harry stood there for a moment, chest heaving, staring down at the white fluid painting her golden skin. It was a stark, visual claim. Evidence.
"Come here.” he rasped.
Y/N pushed herself up on shaking arms, turning on the mattress to face him. She was a mess, hair wild, lips swollen from his earlier attention, eyes wide and glassy.
Harry didn't wait. He stepped closer to the edge of the bed. He cupped her jaw with his hand, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone, staring into her eyes with an intensity that made her weak.
"Kiss me," he demanded softly.
Y/N leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
It wasn't a hard kiss. It was deep and desperate. Harry made a noise of relief against her mouth, his other hand coming up to tangle in her hair, holding her close. He kissed her like he was trying to breathe her in, erasing the rest of the night, erasing the jealousy, until the only thing left in the world was the two of them.
In the corner of the living room stood a massive, ten-foot Nordmann Fir tree.
Harry was standing on a step ladder, wearing grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, struggling with the star for the top.
"Left a bit," Y/N directed from the sofa, holding a glass of mulled wine. "No, your other left."
Harry sighed, a dramatic, suffering sound. "This is a fire hazard. And the needles are going to ruin the Persian rug."
"Stop complaining, Scrooge," she teased. "You love it."
"I tolerate it," he corrected, finally jamming the star onto the top branch. He climbed down, dusting his hands off. "I tolerate it because you looked at me with those sad, big eyes when I said I didn't ‘do’ Christmas."
He walked over to the sofa. He didn't sit on the other end. He sat right next to her, pulling her legs into his lap seamlessly. His hand rested on her shin, his thumb rubbing the bone.
"It looks beautiful, Harry," she said softly, looking at the twinkling lights reflecting in the dark window.
It did. And the terrifying thing was, Harry wasn't looking at the tree. He was looking at her looking at the tree. He looked content. He looked settled.
"I have something for you," he said suddenly.
Y/N froze. "Harry, we said no gifts. You pay for my tuition. You bought me the laptop. That’s enough."
"Those are practicalities," he dismissed. "Tools for school. This is... different."
He reached behind a cushion and pulled out a heavy case. It was a dusty, pale mint green color. He set it on the coffee table and popped the latches.
Inside sat a typewriter.
It was beautiful—an Olivetti Lettera 22 from the fifties. It was pristine, the keys gleaming with chrome rims, the mint paint flawless.
"Harry..." she breathed, sitting up.
"You said looking at the screen was giving you migraines," he murmured, watching her face closely. "And you said you felt like you weren't writing, you were just 'processing data'. I found this at a dealer in Notting Hill. He restored the ribbon."
Y/N reached out, pressing down on the 'A' key. It made a satisfying, sharp clack.
"It's perfect," she whispered. "My God, Harry. It’s absolutely perfect."
She looked at him. This wasn't a gift you gave an employee. This wasn't a gift you gave a temporary asset. This was a gift you gave someone whose dreams you wanted to protect.
"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
"Write something good," he said gruffly, uncomfortable with the gratitude. "Something that isn't about tragic heroes."
Y/N leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft, tasting of wine and spices.
"I thought you were supposed to be in Aspen this week?" she asked, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Your flight was yesterday."
Harry stiffened slightly. He looked at the tree he hated. He looked at the fire he had lit for her. He looked at the girl wearing his jumper, playing with the typewriter keys.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I cancelled it," he admitted.
Y/N’s eyes widened. "What? Harry, you never miss your ski trip. You said it was non-negotiable."
"Plans change," he shrugged, trying to play it cool. "The market is volatile. I needed to stay close to the terminal."
"Liar," she smiled, seeing right through him. "You stayed for me."
Harry didn't deny it this time. He just captured her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a lingering kiss.
"I decided I preferred the view here," he murmured against her skin.
He wasn't just staying for the weekend. He was skipping his entire holiday routine to stay in grey, rainy London just to wake up next to her on Christmas morning.
"Merry Christmas, Y/N."
It was late friday night. They were at the national portrait gallery. It was a risk, and they both knew it. But Harry had been in a good mood for weeks. He had rented out a private viewing room at the National Portrait Gallery for a charity event, but they had arrived early to walk the main halls.
Y/N felt beautiful. She was wearing a floor-length black silk slip dress and diamond drop earrings which Harry insisted that they were just a loan.
They were standing in front of a massive oil painting of a Tudor king.
"He looks miserable," Y/N observed, sipping her champagne.
"He was powerful," Harry corrected, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "Heavy lies the crown, etcetera."
"I think he just needed a nap. And maybe a hug."
Harry chuckled—a low, genuine sound that vibrated against her side. "You think a hug solves everything."
"It solves a lot of things, Harry."
She turned to look at him, smiling. He looked devastating in his tuxedo. For a moment, standing there among the history and the wealth, she felt like she fit. Like they were just a normal couple out on a date.
"Harry?"
The voice was cool, elegant, and instantly shattered the bubble.
Harry went rigid against her. His hand on her back didn't drop, but his fingers tightened, almost painfully.
He turned slowly.
Standing a few feet away was a woman. She was stunning, tall, with sharp cheekbones, honey-blonde hair swept into a chignon, and wearing a cream pantsuit that screamed 'old money'. She looked to be about Harry’s age, perhaps a few years younger. She radiated a kind of icy perfection that made Y/N suddenly feel very young and very messy.
"Olivia," Harry said. His voice was polite, but dead. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I’m on the board, Harry," she said, her eyes drifting over him with a familiarity that made Y/N’s stomach twist. "You’d know that if you ever opened the newsletters."
Her gaze slid from Harry to Y/N. It wasn't a glare. It was an appraisal. She looked at the dress, the earrings, the fresh face, the age.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips. It was patronizing.
"And who is this?" Olivia asked.
"This is Y/N," Harry said. He didn't introduce her as his girlfriend. He didn't introduce her as an employee. He just said her name. "Y/N, this is Olivia."
"Hi," Y/N said, extending her hand.
Olivia took it. Her grip was weak, social, dismissive. "Charmed. Are you... interning at the company?"
The insult was wrapped in silk.
“I am not” Y/N corrected calmly, stepping forward before Harry could speak.
Olivia didn't take the extended hand. She just tilted her head, looking back at Harry with a raised eyebrow.
"Harry, honestly," she drawled, her voice loud enough for the nearby security guard to hear. "Who are you with? She looks straight out of high school. Do I need to check her ID ?”
Harry’s jaw clenched, his body radiating tension. "Olivia—"
"I’m twenty-one," Y/N interrupted, her voice sweet but sharp. "But thank you. I suppose when you reach a certain vintage, youth starts to look like childhood. It must be confusing for you."
Olivia’s smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed. The air between them crackled.
"Vintage," Olivia repeated, tasting the word. "Charming. I suppose he likes them feisty. It makes the transaction feel more like a courtship, doesn't it?"
"I wouldn't know," Y/N smiled back, mirroring Olivia's cool demeanor. "I've never treated people like transactions. But I hear that was a problem in your marriage."
Harry choked on his own breath next to her.
Olivia finally turned fully toward Y/N, dropping the bored socialite act. She looked impressed, in a cold, reptilian way.
"You're sharp," Olivia conceded “For a short-term investment.”
Y/N didn't flinch. She took a step closer, matching Olivia’s height with pure attitude.
"I'd rather be a short-term investment with high returns," Y/N countered smoothly, "than a sunk cost he's still trying to write off.”
Olivia’s mask slipped. For a second, she looked genuinely stunned. She stared at Y/N, then glanced at Harry, who was looking at Y/N with an expression of absolute shock and disguised pride.
"My God," Olivia breathed, dropping the bored socialite act. "She speaks finance. You must be so proud, Harry. Did you teach her that, or did she pick it up while counting your change?”
"I picked it up," Y/N smiled, "by paying attention. You should try it sometime.”
"Careful," Olivia warned, her voice dropping to a cool whisper. "You're showing your claws. Harry hates it when the pets bite.”
"I'm not a pet," Y/N said, her voice hard. "And unlike you, I don't need his net worth to make me interesting."
"No," Olivia murmured, glancing at Harry. "You have something much more dangerous than net worth. You have novelty."
She stepped back, smoothing her cream suit.
"But darling, novelty wears off. Leases expire. And Harry... well, Harry gets bored of everything eventually. Even the things that talk back."
"She's not a thing," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous, finally stepping in. "Walk away, Liv."
"I'm going," Olivia sighed, checking her diamond watch. She looked at Y/N one last time. "Good luck. Just a word of advice? Don't fall in love with the checkbook. It doesn't hug back."
"I'm not in love with the checkbook," Y/N said quietly.
"Then God help you," Olivia whispered. "Because that’s the only part of him that’s reliable."
She walked away, the click of her heels echoing on the hardwood floor.
If the restaurant in Mayfair was about control, and the bedroom was about possession, the kitchen in February was about something much more dangerous: intimacy.
It was raining again. A relentless London drizzle that battered the windows, but inside, the kitchen smelled of garlic, basil, and expensive red wine.
Harry was standing at the stove. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wasn't even wearing the crisp button-down. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a vintage band t-shirt that was soft with age. He was barefoot.
"You're doing it wrong," Y/N laughed from the island, where she was perched with a glass of Chianti.
"I am a master of finance," Harry retorted, stirring the tomato sauce with intense concentration. "I think I can manage a pasta sauce."
"You're burning the garlic, Styles. Turn the heat down."
Harry sighed, a dramatic, long-suffering sound, but he reached out and turned the dial down. He picked up his own wine glass and turned to lean against the counter, facing her.
His hair was messy, falling into his eyes. His face was relaxed, the lines of stress that usually bracketed his mouth completely smoothed out. He didn't look like a Managing Director. He looked like... a boyfriend.
"Better?" he asked, taking a sip.
"Much," she smiled.
Harry walked over to where she was sitting. He stepped between her knees—a movement that had become second nature to them now. He rested his forearms on her thighs, leaning in close.
"You know," he murmured, his eyes scanning her face. "I could have hired a private chef for tonight. We could be eating lobster thermidor right now."
"Too fussy," Y/N dismissed, reaching out to play with the hem of his t-shirt. "I prefer this. It’s... real."
Harry went still for a second. The word real usually made him flinch, made him retreat into his shell of contracts and assets. But tonight, fueled by wine and three months of having her in his life, he didn't pull away.
"It is," he admitted softly.
He leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn't hungry or rough like it had been in November. It was slow. It was a lazy, syrupy kiss that tasted of wine and comfort.
"Play some music," she whispered against his lips.
Harry pulled his phone from his pocket. a moment later, the soft, melancholic chords of Fleetwood Mac filled the kitchen.
He didn't go back to the stove. He pulled her off the stool.
"Harry, the sauce—"
"It can simmer," he murmured, pulling her flush against his body.
They swayed in the middle of the kitchen, under the dim recessed lighting. Y/N rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Harry’s chin rested on the top of her head, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the house—worth more than the art, more than the furniture.
"I used to hate this house," Harry said quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest into hers. "It was too big. Too quiet."
Y/N looked up at him. "And now?"
Harry looked down at her. His green eyes were wide open, unguarded. He looked terrified and happy all at once.
"Now," he whispered, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, "I don't like leaving it."
It was the closest he had ever come to saying I love you.
For a moment, the air was suspended. Y/N felt a surge of hope so bright it almost hurt. This was it. They had crossed the line. The contract was just a piece of paper in a drawer. This, the dancing, the cooking, the confession was the truth.
"Then don't leave," she whispered. "Stay here. With me."
Harry tightened his hold on her. He closed his eyes, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay."
They stood there for the rest of the song, swaying in the warmth of the kitchen, unaware that this was the high water mark. Unaware that this perfect, domestic Saturday was the very thing that would terrify Harry enough to burn it all down the following week.
The weeks following were the most dangerous kind of happy.
For the next two months, the "Arrangement" ceased to feel like a contract. It felt like a life.
They stopped going out to restaurants to avoid prying eyes (and jealous outbursts). Instead, they built a world inside. They developed a rhythm that felt terrifyingly permanent. Y/N would type on her mint-green machine in the library while Harry took conference calls, his eyes following her whenever she moved. They cooked dinner together on Saturdays or rather, Y/N cooked while Harry critiqued her chopping technique and kept her wine glass full.
The money still appeared in her account on the first of the month, but they stopped talking about it. The NDA sat in a drawer, gathering dust. The boundaries they had set in October had dissolved into lazy Sunday mornings and shared jokes.
Y/N let herself believe that the "transaction" had evolved into a "relationship." She let herself believe that the man who cancelled his ski trip to be with her was ready to be with her in the real world.
She was wrong.
Outside, London was gray and sleeting, but inside the master bedroom, it was warm.
The Sunday routine had become sacred. Harry read the Financial Times (paper copy, because he was old-fashioned), and Y/N lay across his legs, scrolling through her phone or reading.
Harry’s hand was resting idly on the curve of her waist, his thumb rubbing circles into the cotton of his t-shirt she was wearing. It was mindless, affectionate contact.
"You're humming," Harry murmured, not looking up from an article about interest rates.
"Am I?" Y/N smiled, looking up from her phone. "Sorry. I'm just looking at the calendar."
"Busy social schedule?"
"No. It’s the university dates. They just released the final schedule for the summer term." She sat up slightly, turning to face him. "My dissertation is due May 15th. And the graduation ceremony is June 20th."
Harry turned the page of his newspaper. "Congratulations. You’ll be finished."
"Yeah," she breathed, a mix of excitement and nerves. "I get four tickets for the ceremony at the Barbican. obviously my Mom and Dad are coming..."
She hesitated. She bit her lip, looking at Harry. He looked so domestic with his reading glasses and his messy hair. Over the last few months, the lines had blurred so much she had almost forgotten they were there. He wasn't just the man who paid her tuition anymore. He was the man who held her when she was stressed, who made her coffee, who knew exactly how she liked to be touched.
"I have two extra tickets," she said softly.
Harry hummed, still reading. "You should invite your roommates."
"I was thinking," Y/N said, her heart starting to beat faster. "I was thinking you could come."
Harry’s hand on her waist went still.
The rustle of the newspaper stopped.
For a long, agonizing silence, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he lowered the paper. He took off his reading glasses and placed them on the nightstand.
When he looked at her, the warmth was gone. The "Sunday Harry" had vanished, replaced instantly by the "Interview Harry" from months ago.
"Come?" he repeated, his voice devoid of inflection. "To your graduation?"
"Yes," Y/N said, her confidence wavering. "It’s a big day. I’d... I’d like you to be there."
"And the dinner afterward?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "With your parents?"
"Well, yes. They’d love to meet you. I’ve told them I’m seeing someone, I just haven't said who—"
"You told them you are seeing someone?"
The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Harry sat up, shifting his legs so she was no longer resting on him. He swung his feet to the floor and stood up, putting distance between them.
"Y/N," he said, turning to look at her with a look of genuine confusion mixed with cold annoyance. "What exactly do you think this is?"
Y/N felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She pulled her knees to her chest. "I think... I don't know. We're together, aren't we? It's been months. We spend every weekend together."
"We have an arrangement," Harry corrected sharply. "A contract."
"I know that!" she snapped, defensive now. "But it’s not just that anymore. You know it’s not."
"Do I?"
He walked over to the window, staring out at the sleet. He crossed his arms. A defensive posture.
"You want me to come to your graduation," he said, speaking to the glass. "You want me to shake your father’s hand. You want to introduce me as... what? Your boyfriend? Your partner?"
"Why not?"
Harry spun around. He laughed, but it was a dry, humorless sound.
"Because I am forty-five years old, Y/N. Because I am a Managing Director at a company who is currently paying for the degree you are graduating from. Do you have any idea how that looks?"
"I don't care how it looks!"
"I do!" he roared.
The volume made her jump. Harry breathed hard through his nose, reining himself in. He walked back toward the bed, leaning down, his hands bracing on the mattress on either side of her.
"You are confusing the luxury with the reality," he said, his voice low and cutting. "I pay for your time. I pay for your company. I enjoy it. Immensely. But I am not your boyfriend. I am not the man you bring home to meet Daddy."
Tears pricked Y/N’s eyes. "So that's it? I'm just... a transaction? After everything?"
Harry looked at her. For a split second, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. A crack in the armor. He looked like he wanted to reach out and wipe the tear that was falling down her cheek.
But then he remembered who he was. He remembered the Hubris. He remembered that allowing feelings was a liability.
He stood up straight, closing the distance between them emotionally, if not physically.
"We have strict terms for a reason," he said coldly. "To prevent exactly this kind of misunderstanding."
He turned and walked toward the bathroom.
"Get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "I'm calling the car. You should go home."
"Harry, it's Sunday," she whispered. "We have until noon."
"Not today," he said, not breaking stride. "The arrangement is terminated for the weekend. I think we both need to review the terms."
He slammed the bathroom door shut.
Y/N sat alone in the middle of the massive King bed, wearing his t-shirt, listening to the sound of the shower turning on to drown her out.
The breach was open. And it looked impossible to cross.
Y/N hadn’t heard a word from him all week. No texts. No check-ins. Just a notification from her bank on the 1st of the month that the allowance had cleared—plus an extra £2,000.
Hush money? Apology money? Or just a reminder of what she was?
She stood on the front step of the Kensington townhouse at 7:59 PM. It was raining again.
She felt sick. She was convinced he was going to open the door and hand her an NDA termination form. She had spent the whole week crying, preparing to lose him.
She punched the code. 0-1-2-9. The door clicked open.
She stepped inside. The house was silent. The smell of cedarwood hit her, making her chest ache.
"Harry?" she called out, her voice trembling.
He wasn't in the study. He wasn't in the kitchen.
She walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Harry?"
"Bedroom," his voice floated down. It wasn't warm. It wasn't angry. It was flat.
Y/N walked up the stairs. She found him in the master bedroom. He was standing by the window, looking out at the street. He was dressed in his suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, cuffs buttoned. He looked impeccable. Armored.
He turned when she entered. His face was a mask of indifference. The "Christmas Harry" who bought her a typewriter was gone. The "Jealous Harry" who fucked her against the mattress was gone.
This was the CEO.
"You're here," he said.
"Harry, I..." She stepped forward, her hands twisting together. "I wanted to talk about last Sunday. I'm sorry if I pushed you. I just thought—"
"There's nothing to talk about," he interrupted smoothly. He walked over to the nightstand. "I reviewed the terms of our agreement. It appears we allowed some... scope creep. Lines were blurred."
"Scope creep?" she repeated, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Is that what you call the last two months?"
"I call it a lapse in judgment," he corrected coldly. "On both our parts. It won't happen again."
He picked up an envelope from the nightstand and held it out to her.
"What is this?" she whispered.
"Your schedule for the rest of the term," he said. "Fridays, 8 PM to Saturdays, 10 AM. No Sundays. No dinners out. No 'hanging out'. You arrive, we fulfill the terms of the arrangement, and you leave."
Y/N stared at him. "You want to turn me into a prostitute?"
Harry didn't flinch. "I want to return to the arrangement we signed. It was efficient. It worked. Do you want the allowance or not?"
It was a test. A cruel, horrible test. He was daring her to walk away, while simultaneously praying she wouldn't.
Y/N looked at him. She saw the tension in his jaw. She saw the way his hand was clenching the envelope. She knew, deep down, that he was doing this because he was terrified of how much he loved her.
She could leave. She could throw the envelope in his face and walk out.
But she remembered the typewriter. She remembered the way he held her when she cried. She remembered the letter 'H' traced on her skin as he cuddled her while they dozed off.
She wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.
She took a deep breath, swallowing her pride. She walked forward and took the envelope from his hand.
"Fine," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Friday to Saturday."
Harry let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a week. His eyes flashed with a mix of relief and self-loathing.
He reached out, his hand grasping her chin, tilting her face up. He didn't kiss her. He just looked at her, his thumb tracing her bottom lip.
"Good girl," he murmured, the praise hollow and sharp. "Now take off your clothes".
i feel so bad for her.
everytime i read it.
I just want to give her a huge hug.
let me know what you think.
Could you Mabye do a fake dating story? Like they are friends and one of them needs help to pretend that they are dating. And they slowly realise that they are in love… 😻
I will definitely write one, anon:) Thank you for the request, I’ve just been a bit busy with exams coming up. As soon as I’m free I’ll get to it, xx.
Hii, do you have any new work or updates/follow ups in mind?🩷
I have got one request about fake dating to lovers, gotta work on that. But nothing for a bit as I have my exams soon! Wheel free after that, hopefully I get a lot of stuff out for you guys:)
Stitches and Second Chances- Doctor!harry styles x reader
Synopsis:- Harry never expects his ex to walk into his ER two months after their breakup, shaken from a minor car accident. Old habits return and unresolved feelings resurface, making them realize some bonds don’t break, they just wait to be found again.
A/N:- I know it's a little late, but how could I not write about doctor!harry being a med student? This is one of my favorite fics I've written, I hope you guys love it too. Please like and reblog to support.
Warnings: ER, blood, stitches, wounds, needles, car accident.
Word count: 6.3K
____________________________________
The emergency department was already awake when Harry walked in.
Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms. A stretcher rolled past him toward radiology. Someone called for a porter. Phones rang intermittently at the nurses’ station. It was controlled chaos, the kind he’d learned to move through without thinking.
He shoves his pen light into the pocket of his black scrubs, the stethoscope already around his neck.
“Morning,” he said, passing the triage desk.
“Morning,doc.” one of the nurses replied, glancing up with a tired smile. She was probably on her third cup of coffee, getting her last hours of night shift in.
“Here you go, Bed three’s all you.”, another nurse hands him a tab. “And five.”
“Right, thanks Mel.”, he says to her, already on his way towards bed 5.
He paused briefly outside the curtain, sanitised his hands, and stepped in.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Styles.” he said gently. “What brings you in today?”
The woman looked relieved. “I’ve had this chest discomfort since morning…”
He listened carefully, asking focused questions. Onset. Character. Radiation. Associated symptoms. He placed his stethoscope against her chest, listening to heart sounds, then lungs.
“We’ll get an ECG and some blood work,” he said calmly. “Just to be safe. Someone will be with you soon, yeah?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He stepped out, jotting quick notes.
“Can we get troponin, CBC, electrolytes?” he asked.
“On it,” the nurse replied.
He nodded and moved on. Onto bed 5. This was a kid with a tear streaked face, looked not more than 6 years old. His mother sat on the chair next to him, weaving her fingers through his hair. There was a dressing temporarily pressed to his knee, to stop bleeding from his wound.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Styles.”, he introduces, the mom smiling softly and he leans to meet the boy’s eyes. “Hi buddy, what’s your name?”
“Ron.”, he sniffles.
“What happened Ron, did you take a fall?”, Harry asks, putting on gloves. Ron nods and Harry looks at the mom for a better explanation.
“Foot ball practice, took a pretty nasty fall. Scraped his knee, twisted his ankle.”, she tells him.
“Alright, let me take a look yeah?”, he says softly to the boy. He pulls up a chair and removes the gauze to assess the injury. Ron winces as his fingers press against the margins of the wound. “Sorry..nothing to worry Ron, we’ll clean that and cover it up, it’s not too deep. I can see it’s painful though, you’re being very brave.”
“C-Can I go back to practice after this?”, Ron asks him and he chuckles as his mom sighs and shakes her head.
“Not right away, buddy, I’d like for you to get some rest. Your ankle hurts too?”
“Mhmm.”
Harry examined his ankle as well, and it could be a hairline fracture or a sprain, an x ray to confirm.
“I want an x ray on that. Clean and dress the knee, tetanus shot. You got it?”, he asked the resident who was sent his way by the nurse.
“Of course sir.”, he nods, putting gloves on, smiling at the mom and son, greeting them.
“Good job Ron, I’ll be back soon. High five?”
He puts his hand out and smiles as the kid gives him one.
“Harry, can you take bed 9? Just came in, accident, young female, got a laceration, possible concussion, I’ll give you an intern in a minute.”, the head nurse, Macie, asks him.
“Sure.”, Harry walks to the other side, towards bed 9. He does the same routine before meeting the patient. “Hi I’m Doctor-”, he stops mid sentence, his blood running cold as he sees who his patient was.
________________________________________
She shouldn’t have been driving.
She knew that.
Her eyes burned, head heavy, limbs slow. Her days were stretched endlessly, meetings, deadlines, skipped breakfast, coffee slowly replacing all her meals. But she had to work. She was working for a position she was so close to getting. That was her only motivation.
Besides, it was all a good distraction from the ache in her heart. No, it couldn’t fill the huge empty space he had left her behind with, but it was something. Something so that she doesn’t drive herself crazy in her loneliness.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to stay alert. Turned the radio up. Cracked the window slightly. The cool air helped for a moment.
Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. She didn’t look.
Her eyelids drooped.
Only for a second.
A microsleep, barely noticeable, barely there.
But long enough.
The car drifted slightly, tires grazing the divider. The sudden vibration jolted her awake, but she overcorrected instinctively. The steering jerked, the car swerved, and the front bumper clipped the side railing with a dull, scraping impact.
Her head slammed against her window, her right wrist trapped between the steering wheel and airbag as it deployed with a loud pop.
Everything stopped.
Silence filled the car, thick and disorienting. Her ears rang faintly. The smell of deployed airbags ,sharp, chemical, lingered in the air.
She blinked slowly. Her heart raced, breath shallow, but she didn’t immediately register what had happened. Her hands still rested on the wheel, fingers trembling slightly.
Someone knocked on the window.
She turned her head slowly. A man gestured, concerned.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded automatically, though she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts felt sluggish, distant. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the motion clumsy, and pushed the door open.
The night air felt cooler outside.
“You okay?” another voice asked.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It was just… I think I just drifted a little.”
“You hit the divider,” the man said gently.
She looked back at the car. The front bumper was dented. The glass of her window was cracked, one part completely broken. Not terrible. Not catastrophic. Just… inconvenient.
“I’ll call someone for the car,” she murmured, more to herself. “It’s fine.”
“You sure you’re alright?” someone else asked.
She nodded again. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Her mind jumped immediately to practical things. The car. Insurance. Getting to office. Today’s work.
She took a step forward, and someone grabbed her arm lightly.
“Wait.”
She looked down as pain slowly seared through her arm. She was bleeding.
A thin line ran along her forearm, but it was flowing from the cut fast. Tiny specks of glass clung to her sleeve. The blood wasn’t pouring, but it was enough to stain the fabric.
She stared at it, confused.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“You’re bleeding,” the woman beside her said.
“I… I think it’s just a scratch.”
“You should get that checked.”
“It’s fine,” she replied automatically. “I just need to-”
“You were just in an accident,” the woman said gently. “You might be in shock, you have a bruise on your forehead too.”
She blinked slowly, processing the words with delay.
“I’m okay,” she repeated, though it sounded less certain now.
The woman stepped closer. She was middle-aged, kind-eyed, her voice calm and reassuring. “There’s a hospital five minutes away. Just get checked. It’s better.”
“I don’t think-”
“You look pale,” the woman added softly. “And you might not notice everything right now.”
She glanced down at her arm again. The blood had spread slightly. It still didn’t hurt much. Mostly just… strange. Her wrist was hurting a bit though.
“I was just going to call someone for the car,” she murmured.
“They can wait. You come first.”
She hesitated.
Her thoughts still felt slow, like they were moving through fog. The woman’s calm presence grounded her.
“I can take you,” the woman said. “My car’s right there.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted gently.
She looked at the dented car once more, then back at the woman.
“…Okay.”
The drive was quiet.
She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her tired, more tired than before. Her arm throbbed faintly now, but it still didn’t feel serious. Her head was starting to ache too. She tried to remember what had happened in that millisecond when she closed her eyes, but it just made her more tired so she stopped.
“You feeling dizzy?” the woman asked.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. We’re almost there.”
Her thoughts drifted, unfocused. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled shakily.
“You live nearby?” the woman asked softly.
“Yeah… about fifteen minutes.”
“You’ll be home soon.”
She nodded.
The hospital came into view, the emergency department glowing. The woman pulled into the drop-off lane and parked.
“We’re here.”
She blinked, grounding herself again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. Come on.”
They walked inside together. The fluorescent lighting felt harsh after the dark outside. A nurse glanced up from triage.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Minor car accident,” the woman replied. “She’s got some bruises, her arm’s bleeding and she seems a bit shaken.”
The nurse nodded. “Have a seat. We’ll call you.”
She turned to the woman. “You really didn’t have to stay…”
“I wanted to make sure you got in,” she said warmly.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you. Really.”
The woman squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re welcome, dear.”
She watched her leave, then sat down in the waiting area, finally noticing how tired she felt.
Her arm rested loosely in her lap, blood slowly drying along the cut. Her wrist was starting to swell up now. Neither did she realize which hospital she had been brought into, nor did she realize who might have been on shift.
“Come on love, let’s get you to a bed. Right this way.”, a kind nurse comes up to her. She stands shakily, swaying lightly, and the nurse slips her hand around her arm as she guides her to a bed, pushing back the curtains.
“What’s your name?”, she asks.
“Y/N.”
“Y/N, I’m gonna get your vitals, okay? Do you remember what happened?”
Y/N tries to recollect as much as she can as the kind nurse takes her vitals, and then helps her pull up her sleeve to see the wound in her arm. Now it was starting to hurt, she had to bite her lip in pain as the fabric grazed it. She almost passed out when she looked at it. Blood oozed out from it.
“Can I call anyone for you?”, she asks her.
y/n shakes her head slowly. She didn’t want to scare her poor parents who lived away, she’d tell them about it after she’s out of the hospital. Her best friend was out of town.
“No one, thanks.”
“Alright, a doctor will be with you in a minute.”
It took her less than a minute to assign a doctor to her, probably seeing the extent of her injury. The nurse was back with her again, this time with a doctor following her.
Y/N felt like passing out for the third time that morning when she saw who her doctor was.
“Hi I’m Doctor-”, he pauses too, green eyes wide as he stops mid movement, fingers gripping his tab. “Y/N?”
Harry didn’t move for a second.
This was his worst nightmare.
Someone he loved, still loved, he realised instantly, sitting in an ER bed. Pale. Hurt. Blood on her arm.
“Hey.”, she mumbled.
“What the hell happened?”
Y/n swallows, her voice coming out softer than she intended it too. “Drove my car into a divider.”
He forced himself to breathe, grounding himself in what he could see.
She was conscious. Talking. Breathing normally. No obvious distress.
She’s fine.
The thought repeated in his head like a mantra.
She’s fine. No major bleeding. Just superficial injuries. She’s fine.
“Oh, you two know each other?”, the nurse asks.
Oh they knew each other better than anyone else.
It physically hurt seeing him.
Two months. Two months of silence, of pretending she was okay, of not hearing his voice, not seeing him, not texting him. And now he was standing in front of her like nothing had changed except everything had.
Y/N fidgets with her hands, she wasn’t prepared to see him, not today of all the days.
Harry gives the nurse a look, and she looks at the name of their patient again, then it clicks. Harry had told all of them about his y/n.. He was the happiest he’d ever been when she was in his life. She also remembers that he’s now single.
“Oh. Oh that y/n..”, she murmurs as it clicks. “I’m sorry, I can assign someone else.”
“No.”, Harry said immediately, already pulling gloves on. He looks at her, looking so small, so scared, hurt. The protective instinct hit before logic did. He didn’t want anyone else touching her. Examining her. Deciding things about her.
But then, this wasn’t just about him.
He looked at her properly, searching her face. “Do you… want another doctor?” he asked quietly. “I can ask someone else to take over.”
The question hung between them.
She shook her head almost immediately.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
He studied her, making sure.
She hesitated, then added, “I’d rather… have a familiar face.”
The nurse glanced between them, reading the tension. “Vitals, Macie?”, Harry asks, shifting into doctor mode as his eyes wandered from the wound on her head, to her arm, and then her hand that laid limply in her lap. Her wrist had a bit of swelling.
“Pulse 104, BP 142 over 88, sats normal. She’s a bit tachy, probably just shaken.”
Harry nodded, moving to her side. “Thanks.”
“Doctor Styles, I was told to assist you-”, someone comes inside the curtain, an intern and Harry stops him before he can complete. “I’ve got it, you can get me an update on bed 3’s labs.”
“Alright.” Macie, the nurse and the intern step away, leaving only Harry and y/n.
Harry pulled the curtain closed fully, shutting out the rest of the ER. The sounds muted immediately, leaving them in a quieter bubble.
The silence returned.
It was awkward now. Different from before. Heavy with things unsaid.
Harry forced himself to focus, reaching gently for her chin.
“You hit your head?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Against the window when the airbag opened, I think the glass broke a little..”
He reached for her chin, tilting her face slightly toward the light.
The contact was brief, clinical, but it sent a familiar warmth across her skin. Her breath caught faintly. She hadn’t realised how much she missed that, his touch, the way he always held her carefully, like she was something fragile.
He noticed the hesitation in her eyes.
She looks scared, he thought.
Not panicked, just shaken. Vulnerable. Tired. Her lashes slightly clumped, her skin pale, a faint bruise forming near her temple. She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
He cleared his throat.
“There’s some dried blood,” he murmured softly.
He used gauze, gently wiping along her temple. She flinched slightly.
“Sorry,” he whispered immediately.
His other hand stayed against her face, steadying her. His thumb brushed absent circles along her cheek without him even realising. The motion was instinctive, comforting, grounding.
She noticed. Her eyes flickered to his briefly. He realised what he was doing and almost pulled back, but she relaxed slightly under his touch, so he left his hand there, just for a moment longer.
He carefully brushed away a few tiny glass fragments caught near her hairline.
“This one’s superficial,” he said quietly. “Just a small wound. No stitches.”
She nods, watching him squeeze out some ointment onto his finger and apply it to her wound. “Any headache?”, he asks.
“A-A bit.”, she replies. It stings again, for a second, and then he’s pressing a bandage to it. “Done.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, the absence of contact noticeable to both of them.
“I’m going to check for concussion symptoms, okay?” he added.
She nodded.
He asked the questions gently.
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Blurred vision?”
She shook her head.
He checked her pupils, shining the penlight briefly. “Follow my finger.”
Her eyes tracked smoothly.
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
She answered correctly, voice soft.
He nodded, reassured. “You’re okay. No signs of concussion.”
She exhaled quietly. “Let’s see the arm.”
She let him gently turn her arm towards him, and as she looked at it, she felt slightly dazed again. It wasn’t bleeding as much now, but it still freaked her out a bit. His fingers gently palpated the skin around the deep cut, observing its depth. She winces, and his eyes move to her face, seeing how she looks a bit pale.
“Hey, don’t look..look at me.”, he coos, and she does, how can she not when he sounds like that?
“I-I’m sorry I’m just freaked out..”, she admits, biting her bottom lip.
“It’s okay, love, you’re safe now, take some deep breaths. I’ll fix you up soon, don’t worry.”, he assures, and she gives him a small smile back, how could she not? The term of affection just rolled off his tongue. She was starting to relax after everything, finally. The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
“It’s going to need stitches but it’ll be over before you know it.”, he says, pulling up a chair and rolling over the small table where there were supplies he’ll need, and where she could place her arm so he could work. He brings over the lamp so that it shines light over her arm.
“Will it hurt?”, she asks as he picks up the saline.
“I’ll numb you up for the stitches so that’ll be just a bit of pressure. Now I’m gonna clean it and remove some glass pieces I can see, it’ll sting just a little bit. You’re strong, you got this.”
He reached for saline and began irrigating the wound. Cool liquid ran over her skin. She tensed slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low.
He worked methodically, removing tiny glass pieces with forceps. His touch remained careful, almost overly gentle.
“How did you drive into the divider?” he asked quietly.
“I… dozed off,” she said. “Just for a second.”
His jaw tightened. “You fell asleep at the wheel?”
She nodded faintly.
He continued cleaning, then asked softly, “Have you been sleeping?”
She hesitated.
“…Not really.”
He paused.
“How much?”
“Few hours. Here and there.”
Concern surged immediately. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell her she couldn’t keep doing this. Wanted to remind her she always pushed herself too hard. He remembered the arguments, him telling her that the job wasn’t worth it, that they were overworking her, delaying her promotion.
“Still doing that job huh?”
Her fingers curled slightly, as she looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
He swallowed the words that were coming up. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.
“Something like this was exactly what I was afraid of.”, he murmurs, not able to keep that quiet.
She wasn’t in the mood for more arguing. “What do you want to hear, Harry? That you were right?”
“Well, about this, I was. You’re tired of it too.”
“But I’m gonna have to start from the beginning someplace else, if I leave now. I can’t do that.”
“You just have to find the right place, y/n. Sacrificing your health for whatever reason doesn’t make sense to me, it shouldn’t to you either.”, he says, preparing her anesthetic.
She just sighed. “Small sting.”, he warns. The needle slid in.
She sucked in a breath immediately, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it. “Fuck. That’s s-small?”
He cracked a small smile, apologizing. “Sorry, sorry, this is the worst part, hang in there.”
She turned her face slightly away, shoulders tensing. He injected slowly to minimise the burn, but he could still see the discomfort in her expression. Her brows pinched, lips pressed together.
“How’s… how’s Milo?”
The question slipped out before he thought too hard about it.
Her eyes flickered back to him in surprise.
“Milo?” she repeated softly. Milo was their dog. Well now, it was hers, after their breakup.
He nodded, still working carefully. “Yeah. He still stealing socks?”
A faint smile appeared despite the sting. “All the time.”
He huffed quietly. “Figures.”
She winced again as he finished the injection, her eyes were burning with tears now. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself.
“Sorry,” he murmured again, his thumb brushing lightly against her wrist in reassurance. “Almost done.”
He withdrew the needle and gently pressed gauze over the area.
“Give that a minute to numb,” he said softly.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing as the burning sensation faded. She blinks, small tears that were welled up sliding down her cheeks and Harry’s heart aches for her as he reaches for a tissue and dabs them away, without second thoughts. “You’re being very brave.”
She chuckles, taking the tissue from him. “Crying over injections? Kids probably do better than me.”
“That must have hurt like hell, love, and you just went through a lot. It’s totally fine. You’re doing great, trust me.”, he assures and she lets that sink in. He lifts the ice pack from her wrist to check on it.
“How bad does that hurt?”, he asks, palpating against the joint.
“Not too bad.”, she murmurs. “Can you move it?”
“Mhm..but it hurts when I move it.”
He checks her range of motion. “It’s probably just a sprain, but we’ll do an x ray to confirm.”
She nods.
“He’s gotten bigger,” she said after a moment. “Milo.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Still refuses to sleep in his own bed.”
“He never did,” Harry said quietly. “Always ended up between us.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
They both fell silent for a moment.
“Still scared of thunderstorms?” he asked softly.
“Yeah. Crawls under the blanket.”
He smiled, eyes soft. “Dramatic.”
“He gets that from you.”
Harry huffed quietly. “I’m not dramatic.”
She gave him a small look.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted.
He gently touched around the wound, checking sensation.
“Can you feel this?”
“Pressure,” she said.
“Sharp?”
“No.”
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re numb.”
He reached for the suture kit, opening it carefully.
“It’s a clean cut, so it should heal well.”
She nodded.
He positioned her arm again, steadying it gently with his hand. His touch was slow, deliberate, careful. The needle passed through the skin, and she didn’t flinch this time.
“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He tied the first knot neatly, cutting the thread.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Will it scar?”
“Zero to minimal, love, I’m trying my best to make sure of that.”
“Thanks.”, she whispers. She hoped there wouldn’t be an ugly scar running down her arm.
“I’ll place a few more,” he said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
She watched him while he stitched.
He was completely focused, brows drawn together slightly, lips pressed in concentration. His curls fell forward just a little as he leaned closer, and he pushed them back absently with the back of his wrist before tying another neat knot. His hands were steady, precise, gentle in a way that made her chest tighten.
He looked the same.
Maybe a little more tired. Maybe slightly more guarded. But still him.
Still the same green eyes. Still the same careful touch. Still the same quiet concentration he slipped into when he wanted everything to be perfect.
She hadn’t realised how much she missed seeing him like this.
“How’ve you been?” she asked softly.
He paused for the briefest second before continuing the stitch.
“Busy,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“Work’s… been a lot,” he added.
“Your mum?”
He smiled softly. “Good. Asks about you though, always on me for letting you go.”
Her throat tightens.
“All done,” he murmured, pulling off his gloves and disposing of them. He puts away the light, table, chair and goes to her side again, picking up his stethoscope.
“I’m just going to listen to your heart and lungs,” he said. “Make sure everything’s okay.”
She was sure he’d hear her heart beating abnormally fast, but she sat up straight as the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope touched her chest through her shirt. She inhaled softly.
“Deep breath, love,” he murmured.
She breathed in slowly. “Any difficulty breathing?”
“Nope.”
“Chest pain? Any sort of pain when you breathe?”
“No..”
TThat means her ribs are alright. He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope to different positions, front, then back. His hand rested lightly against her shoulder to steady her as she leaned forward.
“Tell your mum I miss her too.”, she tells him, while he palpates her abdomen. His fingers pause slightly, then his lips twitch into a smile, nodding. “Only my mum?”, he teases.
“Of course. Who else?”, she teased back, and he chuckled. “Right. When was your last tetanus shot?”
She blinks. “I don’t remember..probably in school.”
“More than 5 years, we’ll give you a booster.”
She makes a face. “I thought I was done with needles.”
“This should be easy compared to that. Nurse Macie is very gentle too.”, he says. Soon nurse Macie’s ready to give her the shot, swabbing her upper arm.
“Don’t look.”, Harry says to her again, and she turns towards him, fist uncurling. Harry slips his hand into hers, patting it with his other hand, smiling. “I’ll give you a sticker if you don’t cry.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
He laughed. The nurse smiles at their exchange, it was rare to see Harry laughing with patients like that. Clearly, this one was special to him. She flinched as the needle went in, moving her head further away, it bumped into Harry’s arm. He steadied her as she squeezed his hand, bringing his other one to the back of her head. “It’s okay, almost done.”
Soon, it was done. The nurse placed a small bandage and stepped back. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”, Harry asks as y/n pulls back.
“Still bad. Thank you.”, she tells the nurse who smiled. “Of course.” She checks her tab. “Radiology’s ready for the wrist.”
Harry realized they were still holding hands. “Right.”, his thumb brushed her knuckles before he let go.
He helped her off the bed instinctively, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she felt dizzy. He withdrew slightly once she steadied.
“I’ll see you after,” he said softly.
_____________________________
A few minutes later, she was back. Harry re-entered the cubicle with the X-ray report in hand.
“Good news,” he said quietly. “No fracture. Just a sprain.”
She exhaled in relief.
He picked up a crepe bandage and moved closer.
“I’m going to wrap this for support,” he explained.
He gently lifted her hand, careful not to twist the wrist. His touch was slow, deliberate. He wrapped the bandage snugly but not tight, checking circulation.
“Tell me if this feels too tight.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’re you getting home?”
“Um..cab?”
He frowns, not happy with that answer. “You could call Sherin?”, he asks, Sherin was her best friend.
“She’s not here, went to her dad’s for the weekend.”
He couldn’t let her go home alone, in this state. He secured the end of the bandage neatly, then lightly checked her fingers.
“Move them.”
She flexed slightly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep this on for a couple of days,” he said softly. “Rest the wrist. Ice if it swells more. Elevate when you can.”
She nodded.
“And the stitches,” he added, gesturing to her arm. “Keep it dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can gently clean around it. No soaking.”
She listened quietly.
“Come back in seven days, I’ll remove them for you, and check on the wrist, yeah?”
“Alright.”
He pulled out something from his pocket then, smirking. “Which one does my brave patient want?”
She laughs as he shows her his sticker collection. “I thought you were joking about that.”
“Not at all, you’ve deserved it.”
She hums as she looks at them, pointing to a jellyfish one. “Can I have that one?”
“Sure.”, he removes it carefully and sticks it over her bandage. “Cute.”
“Thank you.”, she smiled.
“Course. Oh and I don’t want you going back to work tomorrow, or day after. You need to rest for two days, at least."
“But-”
“No buts, y/n, I’ll email you a note, send it to that asshole boss of yours, Doctor’s orders.”, he completes, and she can’t help but smile. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor Styles.”
“Anything for you.”, he smirks, patting her shoulder. “Wait just a minute, I’ll drive you home.”
“What-no, Harry you’ve already done so much, I can get myself home.”
“I want to. It’s no big deal.”, he says, and leaves before she can protest more. Harry had already spoken to his ER head while she was taken for the x ray, he could slip away for a few hours. He’ll make it up later. He had to sign some discharge papers for his earlier patients, and once he’s done with that, he’s guiding her towards his car.
“You didn’t have to.”, she murmurs, but she is grateful, as he opens the passenger seat for her.
“I’ll sleep better knowing you’ve settled in safe at your place.”, he replies.
The soft hum of the engine filled the space. She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaustion settling deeper now that everything was over.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked after a minute.
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He glanced at her briefly. She looked pale, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped. He remembered how she always looked like this after pushing herself too far.
“You should sleep when you get home,” he murmured.
“Planning to,” she said softly.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“You scared me there for a minute, you know.”, he admits. “Seeing you like that, god.”
“I’m sorry.”, she whispered. “I scared myself.”
He nods. “You’re okay now though.”
They pulled up outside her building.
He parked, then stepped out before she could protest, walking around to her side. He opened the door and offered his hand instinctively. She took it, stepping out carefully.
The walk inside was quiet. He stayed close again, ready if she wobbled, though she didn’t. As soon as she opened the door, nails clicked rapidly against the floor.
A blur of fur came skidding around the corner.
“Milo-” she started, but the dog had already reached them.
He stopped short for half a second, head tilted, like he was processing. Then his entire body lit up, tail wagging so hard his whole back end swayed. He let out a soft excited whine and bounded forward.
Straight to Harry.
Harry barely had time to react before Milo jumped up, paws pressing against his thighs, tail wagging uncontrollably. A small, surprised laugh left him as he crouched instinctively.
“Hey, hey, buddy.” he murmured, hands immediately moving to scratch behind his ears.
Milo whined happily, licking at his hands, nudging his face, circling him like he’d just returned from a long trip rather than two months of absence.
“You remember me, huh?” Harry said softly.
The dog leaned into him, tail still going, completely content.
Y/N stood near the door, watching.
A small smile appeared on her face.
It was like nothing had changed. Milo didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just ran to him like he always had, like Harry still belonged here.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed seeing them together. Harry crouched on the floor, Milo practically climbing into his lap, Harry laughing quietly, rubbing his sides, letting him nuzzle into his shoulder.
“You got bigger,” Harry murmured. “Or you’re just heavier.”
Milo wagged harder in response.
“He’s definitely heavier,” she said softly.
Harry glanced up at her, still petting him. “You been feeding him extra?”
“He begs.”
“You always gave in.”
“You did too.”
He smiled faintly.
Milo finally settled, pressing close to Harry’s leg like he was claiming his spot again. Harry scratched under his chin absentmindedly, the motion familiar.
She watched them for another second, smile lingering, but there was a quiet sadness beneath it too. It felt warm, comforting… and a little painful. Like glimpsing something that used to be hers.
Harry stood slowly, Milo immediately following, staying close. “You can stay for a bit, I’ll make you something to drink.”, she said.
He blinked at her.
“You were just in an accident,” he said, half incredulous.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
He rolled his eyes softly. “You haven’t changed.”
She gave a tired smile.
“You should lie down,” he said gently, stepping inside. “You look exhausted.”
“I can make tea,” she insisted.
“Absolutely not.”
She looked at him.
“You’re going to sit,” he said softly but firmly. “Or lie down. I’ll make tea.”
She hesitated, then nodded, too tired to argue.
He guided her toward the couch, then paused. “Actually… bed.”
She blinked.
“You need rest,” he added.
She didn’t protest this time.
He watched her walk toward the bedroom, slower now, exhaustion catching up. Something protective tightened in his chest again.
“I’ll bring it in,” he called softly.
She nodded, disappearing inside.
Harry stood in the quiet apartment for a moment, taking in the familiar space. Some things had changed. Some hadn’t.
Then he moved toward the kitchen, already filling the kettle. Milo followed him halfway, then settled near the doorway, keeping watch like he always did.
The apartment felt familiar. Too familiar. The mugs were still in the same cabinet. The tea box still tucked in the corner. He didn’t need to search for anything.
He made the tea the way she liked it, lighter, just a splash of milk. He carried the two mugs carefully toward the bedroom.
She was sitting against the headboard now, shoes off, exhaustion clear in the way her shoulders sagged. She kept her injured wrist elevated on a pillow. Milo had jumped onto the bed beside her, curled protectively near her legs.
Harry stepped inside quietly. “Here.”
She looked up, offering a tired smile. “Thank you.”
He handed her the mug carefully, making sure she didn’t strain her wrist. Their fingers brushed briefly.
He sat down beside her, leaving a small space, not too close, not too far. The silence settled softly between them as they both took a sip.
The warmth helped. The quiet helped.
After a moment, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“For… everything. Today. Being there. Taking care of me.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured.
She shook her head slightly. “I do.”
He looked down at the tea in his hands, then back at her.
“I’d always be there for you,” he said quietly. “No matter what’s going on between us.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“You’d never have to face anything scary alone,” he added softly.
The words settled deep.
She leaned back slightly against the headboard, and without realising it, her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
It felt natural. Like muscle memory.
Their arms rested close, warmth seeping through the thin space between them. She leaned just a little more, not fully, just enough that their sides touched.
Harry went very still.
Seeing her in that hospital bed had terrified him. For a moment, when he’d first pulled back the curtain, his mind had gone blank, just fear, sharp and immediate. Someone he loved hurt. Vulnerable. Alone.
And now she was here, beside him, safe.
He exhaled slowly, tension easing.
She noticed.
She also realised something else, the calm she’d felt the moment she saw him in the ER. The way her racing thoughts slowed. The way she trusted him instantly. The way she knew she was okay because he was there.
Things had happened. They’d broken up. They’d hurt each other.
But none of that had changed this. Their bond was still there. Stronger than the distance.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime?” she asked softly. “Just… start again?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’d like nothing more,” he said quietly.
Relief softened her expression. He set the mug aside, turning slightly toward her. His hand lifted almost instinctively, hesitating only a second before he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
He leaned forward gently and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, next to her bandage.
“I never stopped loving you, Y/N,” he murmured.
Her eyes closed briefly, the words settling deep.
“I didn’t either,” she whispered.
Her eyes were still slightly closed from the forehead kiss, her breathing slow, calm. Harry stayed close, watching her for a moment, memorising the way she looked when she was relaxed like this.
He had missed this.
Missed her.
Milo, who had been curled near her legs, suddenly lifted his head. His tail thumped once against the mattress, like he’d decided something. He stood, turned in a small circle, and climbed his way directly between them, nudging insistently until he fit himself into the narrow space.
She let out a soft surprised laugh.
“Hey-”
Milo pushed his nose against Harry’s arm, then turned and leaned his back against y/n, completely satisfied with his placement. His tail wagged lazily as he settled.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Still needs to be in the middle.”
“Always,” she said softly.
Milo sighed contentedly, wedged between them like he’d always belonged there.
Harry rested his hand gently over Milo’s head, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the process. Neither of them pulled away.
The dog shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, effectively trapping them in place.
She smiled, tired but warm.
“Guess he’s decided,” she murmured.
Harry smiled faintly. “Boss man.”, he said, making her laugh. She reaches for Harry’s hand, tangling her fingers through his and he brings it up to her lips, looking at her, smiling so wide his dimples were out. He didn’t need to say it. Everything felt like home again.
You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harry’s possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but it’s the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.
Author’s Note: Surprise! I’m posting Chapter 1 of Baby early so you guys can start requesting tags. This is a 10-part one-shot that I’m still finishing up over on Patreon (Part 8 goes up tomorrow!). I’ll start posting the remaining chapters here once the Patreon run is finished, but if you can’t wait to see what happens next, you can read ahead for $2 by joining my Patreon!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
📌 all of my work :)
📌 w.c -> 10k
The city looked better from forty stories up. From here, London was just a grid of amber lights and rain-slicked streets, silent and manageable. It was the only time Harry liked looking at it, when he was far enough away that he couldn't hear the noise.
Harry Styles adjusted the cuff of his shirt, the movement sharp and precise. His office was a cavern of glass and mahogany, smelling faintly of leather polish and the aged scotch sitting untouched in the crystal tumbler on his desk.
He stared at the spreadsheet on his monitor, but his focus was broken by the vibration of his phone against the wood. It buzzed like an angry insect.
Olivia.
His ex-wife.
Harry didn’t even blink. He simply reached out and silenced the call, flipping the device face down. She would be calling about the house in Surrey, or the alimony adjustment. He made a mental note to have his assistant handle it in the morning. He didn’t have the energy for the argument tonight.
He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the roughness of stubble against his palm. Forty-five years old. He had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, but right now, all he felt was the throb of a headache behind his left eye.
A soft knock at the glass door made him look up.
"Harry?"
He suppressed a sigh, forcing his expression into something neutral. It was Camille. She was thirty-two, an art dealer he’d been seeing for three months. She was beautiful, intelligent, and currently, looking at him with an expectation he knew he couldn't meet.
She pushed the door open, balancing two takeout boxes from that Thai place she liked.
"I saw the light was still on," she said, stepping inside with a soft smile. She placed the food on the edge of his desk. She walked around to his chair, her hands finding his shoulders. "You’ve been here since seven this morning. You need to eat."
Harry sat still. He didn't lean into her touch, but he didn't pull away either. He just felt... heavy.
"I have another hour of work, Camille," he said, his voice low.
"It can wait," she murmured, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Come on. Let’s go back to yours. We haven't had a proper night together in two weeks. I bought that lingerie set you liked...”
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was sweet. It was domestic. And it made Harry feel absolutely suffocated.
He gently took her hand, removing it from his shoulder, and stood up.
"Camille," he said softly. He waited until she looked at him. "We need to stop."
She blinked, her smile faltering. "Stop working? I agree."
"No," Harry said. He kept his voice even, calm. "Us. This."
The silence in the room was instant.
"What?" She laughed nervously. "Where is this coming from?"
"You want a partner," Harry said. He walked over to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "You want weekends in the country. You want dinner conversation. You want someone who is going to be present." He turned back to her. "I am not that person. I don't have that to give you."
"Harry, I'm not asking for marriage," she argued, though her voice was tight. "I just want to spend time with you."
"And I don't want to waste yours," he cut in. It wasn't malicious; it was just a fact. "You’re a lovely woman, Camille. But I’m not interested in a relationship. I thought I could manage it, but I can’t."
She stared at him for a long moment. She was looking for anger, or sadness, or passion. But Harry just looked composed. Detached.
"Wow," she breathed, shaking her head. "You really are made of ice, aren't you?"
Harry didn't argue. "My driver is downstairs. He’ll take you home."
She grabbed her purse, her eyes shiny with tears, but she held her head high. She didn't slam the door when she left, but the click of the latch echoed in the empty office like a gunshot.
Harry stood there for a moment. He didn't feel relieved, exactly. Just... resolved.
He sat back down at his desk. He picked up the scotch and took a slow sip.
He didn't want the mess. He didn't want the guilt of disappointing someone just by being himself. He wanted something simple. Something honest.
Transaction.
He woke his computer. He ignored the market trends and opened a new private browser window. He typed in the URL he’d heard two senior partners joking about in the elevator last week.
Mutually Beneficial Arrangements.
The site loaded. Sleek. Discreet.
Create Account.
Harry began to type.
Name: H.
Age: 45
Net Worth: Verified.
Looking For: Discretion. Obedience. No emotional attachments.
He hit enter. The screen refreshed, showing him a grid of profiles. He scrolled past the ones that looked too eager, too flashy.
And then he stopped.
A profile with no face. Just a silhouette. The bio was three sentences long.
University student. 21. Serious inquiries only. I have a tuition deadline, you have needs. Let’s not waste time.
Harry stared at the screen. Practical. Desperate. Perfect.
He clicked Message
If Harry’s world was defined by silence, Y/N’s was defined by noise.
The bass from the flat upstairs was thumping through the ceiling, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that shook the dust off the light fixture. Down the hall, one of her roommates was laughing loudly on the phone, the sound carrying through the paper-thin walls.
Y/N pulled her oversized hoodie tighter around herself and curled her legs up on the second-hand sofa. Her laptop sat on her knees, the fan whirring loudly as it struggled to keep up with the twenty tabs she had open.
JSTOR. Shakespearean Criticism. The evolution of the sonnet.
She rubbed her temples. Her dissertation proposal was due in three days, and she had written exactly two hundred words.
Ping.
A notification slid onto the top right of her screen. It wasn't an email from her professor. It was from the University Bursar.
Subject: URGENT: Outstanding Tuition Balance - Final Notice.
Y/N’s stomach dropped. She didn't want to open it. She knew what it said. She opened it anyway.
Dear Y/N,This is a final reminder regarding the outstanding balance of £3,400 for the Spring Term. Please be advised that if payment is not cleared by Friday, your access to university facilities will be suspended and you will be unable to sit for exams.
Friday.
Three days.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the sofa cushion. She had £42.50 in her bank account. Her shift at the café tomorrow would bring in maybe another £60 if the tips were good. She had already sold her old clothes on Depop. She had already asked for an extension on her rent.
There was nothing left to sell. Nothing except...
She bit her lip, looking at the incognito tab minimized in the corner of her browser.
She had made the account two nights ago, after a panic attack in the library bathroom. Her friend Molly had joked about it once, how she went on "dinner dates" with older men who paid for her textbooks. It sounded sleazy. It sounded dangerous.
But being kicked out of university three months before graduation sounded worse.
With a shaky breath, she maximized the window.
SugarBabyConnect.
The interface was pink and tacky. Her inbox had four unread messages. She clicked on them, wincing.
BigDaddy69: hey bby u want some fun? (Delete.)
RichGuy_London: send pics. (Delete.)
TravelLover: I can fly you to Dubai tomorrow. (Delete. Too scary.)
Then, she saw the fourth one.
It had come in twenty minutes ago. The profile had no photo, just a grey silhouette. The username was simple: H.
She clicked it.
H: I value discretion and punctuality. I am looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement. No drama. No emotional attachments. If you are real, and you are serious about your financial needs, reply.
Y/N stared at the screen.
It was... different. The grammar was perfect. The tone was cold, almost corporate. It didn't sound like a creep trying to get nudes; it sounded like a business transaction.
No emotional attachments.
That was exactly what she wanted. She didn't want a boyfriend. She didn't want to be wined and dined and romanced. She wanted to pay her tuition, finish her degree, and disappear.
She looked at the calendar on her wall. The red circle around FRIDAY mocked her.
She typed. Her fingers trembled slightly over the keys.
Y/N: I am real. And I am serious. I have a deadline this Friday, so I don't have time for games either.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
Almost immediately, the three dots appeared. He was typing.
H: Meet me. Tomorrow, 6 PM. The Cobalt Bar at the InterContinental. Ask for the booth in the back. Dress appropriately.
Y/N let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The InterContinental. That was fancy. Public. Safe.
She typed one last message.
Y/N: I'll be there.
She closed the laptop and hugged her knees to her chest. The music upstairs was still thumping, but the knot in her stomach had tightened into something else. Fear? Excitement?
She wasn't sure. But for the first time in weeks, she had a plan.
The hotel smelled of expensive perfume and old money. Y/N smoothed her hands down the front of her dress for the tenth time. It was the nicest thing she owned, a simple midi dress she’d bought for a cousin’s wedding, but walking across the marble lobby, she felt like she was wearing a costume.
People here moved differently. They didn't rush. They glided.
She checked her phone. 5:59 PM.
Punctuality. He had been specific about that.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the Cobalt Bar. The lighting dropped as she entered, the space intimate and hushed, filled with the low murmur of business deals and illicit affairs.
"I’m meeting someone," she told the hostess, her voice sounding thin in her own ears. "A booth in the back?"
The hostess didn't even check a list. She just nodded, her eyes flickering over Y/N’s outfit with professional indifference, and led the way past velvet armchairs and crystal glasses.
"Here you are, miss."
Y/N stepped forward.
He was already there.
He was reading something on his phone, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked... nothing like she expected. And exactly like she feared.
He was older, yes. The silver at his temples caught the low light, shining against his dark hair. He was wearing a navy suit that fit him so perfectly it looked like a second skin, crisp and sharp. He wasn't soft. He wasn't smiling. He looked hard, composed, and devastatingly handsome.
He sensed her presence and looked up. He took the glasses off, folding them slowly. His eyes were green, piercing, and completely unreadable.
He checked his watch. "Six o'clock. Exactly."
His voice was deep, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between them.
"I can't afford to be late," Y/N said, gripping the strap of her bag. She tried to keep her voice steady, but the dryness in her throat betrayed her.
"Sit." Harry gestured to the waiter hovering nearby. "Sparkling water. Lime." He looked at Y/N. "And for you?”
"The same," she said quickly as she sat.
The waiter vanished. Harry turned his full attention back to her. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He was dissecting her. She could feel his gaze tracing the cheap fabric of her dress, the way she had pinned her hair back, the nervous clasp of her hands.
"You look terrified," Harry observed flatly.
Y/N straightened her spine. "I'm not terrified. I'm... apprehensive. This isn't exactly a standard job interview."
"No," Harry agreed, a flicker of amusement touching his lips. "It isn't. Tell me, Y/N, why are you here? And don't tell me it's just for the money. There are easier ways to make money than selling your time to a stranger."
"Are there?" Y/N countered. "I have a tuition bill of three thousand pounds due on Friday. If I don't pay it, I don't graduate. I work twenty hours a week at a café and I still can't make rent. So, yes. It is about the money."
The leather was cool against her legs. She felt small. She felt out of her depth.
"You're younger than you sounded in your message," he observed.
"I'm twenty-one," she said quickly. "I have ID."
"I don't need your ID," Harry said, his tone clinical. "I need to know if you understand what this is."
He reached into a leather portfolio next to him and slid a thick cream envelope across the table, along with a heavy fountain pen.
"First," he said. "Sign this."
Y/N blinked, looking down at the paper. "What is it?"
"A Non-Disclosure Agreement," Harry said calmly. "It states that anything discussed at this table, and anything that happens between us moving forward, remains completely private. You do not mention my name. You do not post about me online. You do not tell your friends."
He leaned back, watching her. "If you breach it, the financial penalties will ruin you. If you aren't comfortable with that, leave now."
Y/N didn't move. She picked up the pen. She felt the weight of his gaze on her hand as she signed the bottom of the page. Y/N Y/L/N.
She pushed it back to him. Harry checked the signature, nodded, and put the document away. The air shifted. It felt... heavier.
"Good," he said. "Now we can speak freely."
He took a sip of his whiskey. "I’ve read your profile. English Literature student. Tuition debt. Correct?"
"Yes."
"A romantic degree," he mused, his tone bordering on condescending. "You spend your time analyzing stories that aren't real.”
"I spend my time analyzing human nature," Y/N corrected him, surprising herself with her own boldness. "Which is useful. Even in rooms like this.”
Harry stopped swirling his glass. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. The coldness in his eyes thawed just a fraction, replaced by sharp interest.
"Touché," he murmured.
The waiter returned, depositing the waters. Harry waited until he was gone before he shifted, his demeanor hardening back into business.
"I am not looking for a girlfriend, Y/N," he began, his voice clinical. "I have a demanding career in investment banking. I manage assets worth billions. My days are spent making high-stakes decisions. My evenings are often spent managing the expectations of an ex-wife who feels entitled to my energy.”
He took a sip of his drink. "I am tired of expectations. I require a release. I require companionship on my terms. Someone who is there when I want them, and gone when I need silence.”
He paused, his eyes darkening. "And I require control."
Y/N felt a flush rise up her neck. "Control?"
"In my professional life, I have to be diplomatic. In my private life, I don't want to negotiate," Harry said calmly. "In the bedroom, I want to be obeyed. Does that scare you?”
Y/N swallowed hard. She looked at his hands—large, strong, resting on the table. She imagined them on her. A shiver went down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.
"No," she whispered.
"We need to discuss your history. For my safety and yours." He didn't look embarrassed; he looked bored, like this was standard procedure. "When was your last sexual partner?”
Y/N choked on air. She grabbed her glass of water. "Is that necessary?”
"It is a health question. And a compatibility one," he said. "Answer it.”
"Six months ago," she whispered, her voice small.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And how many partners have there been in total?"
"Two," she said, her face burning hot. "Just... two."
Harry sat back, a look of genuine satisfaction crossing his face. "Inexperienced. Good. I prefer not to have to undo bad habits.”
"I know what I'm doing," she defended quickly.
"Do you?" Harry’s voice dropped an octave, turning velvety. "We’ll see. Do you have any hard limits? Anything you refuse to do?”
Y/N thought about it. She looked at his hands, large, strong, resting on the table. She imagined them on her. A shiver went down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.
"I... I'm not into pain," she said quietly. "Not real pain."
"I don't hurt women," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave, turning velvety. "But I will own you while you are with me. I will tell you what to wear, when to speak, and how to touch me. Are you comfortable with that dynamic?"
Y/N felt dizzy. The conversation was incredibly clinical and incredibly erotic at the same time. She thought of her debt. She thought of the way he was looking at her, like he wanted to devour her, but only if she gave him permission.
"Yes," she breathed. "I think so."
"Don't think," Harry commanded softly. "Know. Because once we start, I won't want to stop to reassure you."
"I know," she said firmly. "I can handle it."
Harry held her gaze for a long moment, assessing her. He seemed to come to a decision.
"The terms," he said, switching back to business mode instantly. "I will pay your remaining tuition balance directly to the university tomorrow morning. In addition, you will receive a monthly allowance of £15,000."
Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. That wasn't just tuition money. That was life-changing money. That was freedom.
"Fifteen... thousand?" she stammered.
"Tax-free. Cash or wire, your preference," Harry said indifferently, as if the amount was nothing to him.
"In exchange," Harry cut her off, "I want your weekends. Not just Friday nights. You arrive here Friday at 8 PM. You leave Sunday at noon. For those forty hours, you are mine. You don't make plans with friends. You don't study. You focus entirely on me."
Harry pulled a stack of cash from his pocket—crisp £50 notes—and placed it on the table.
"For a taxi. And a new dress. Something black. Something easier to take off."
He stood up, buttoning his jacket. He towered over the booth.
"A car will collect you on Friday at 8 PM. Don't be late."
He turned and walked away without looking back, leaving Y/N trembling in the booth with a signed contract and a racing heart.
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of anxiety and surrealism.
On Wednesday morning, Y/N had woken up convinced she had dreamt the entire meeting. It seemed impossible—the dark bar, the handsome older man, the talk of "owning" her.
But then she opened her banking app.
Balance: £1,242.50.
Harry hadn't wired the allowance yet—that was for the start of the arrangement—but the cash he had left on the table was real. And when she logged into her university portal, the red warning banner was gone.
Tuition Status: PAID IN FULL.
Y/N had sat on her bed and cried for ten minutes. The crushing weight that had been sitting on her chest for three years was just... gone. Vaporized by a man she barely knew.
Now, it was Thursday. The reality of what she had to do in return was setting in.
She was standing in the changing room of a boutique in Covent Garden. It wasn't the kind of shop she usually dared to enter; nothing had a price tag visible.
She held up the black dress. It was silk, cut on the bias, with thin spaghetti straps and a back that dipped dangerously low. It was elegant and undeniably sexy.
Easier to take off.
His voice echoed in her head, making her skin prickle.
She slipped the dress on. It felt like water against her skin. She looked in the mirror. She didn't look like a student anymore. She looked like a woman who belonged in Harry’s world.
She bought the dress. She bought the matching lingerie, black lace, expensive, sheer. She bought a new perfume that smelled like vanilla and amber.
When she got back to the flat, her roommate Josh was in the kitchen making toast.
"Hey!" Josh chirped. "You look fancy. What’s in the bag?"
Y/N felt a spike of guilt. She hugged the bag tighter. "Oh, just... I picked up a shift at a private event this weekend. Catering. High-end stuff. They made us buy a specific uniform.”
The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.
"Oh, nice,"Josh said, unbothered. "Does it pay well?"
"Yeah," Y/N whispered, thinking of the £15,000. "It pays really well."
"Cool. Want some toast?"
"No, I'm... I'm going to go study."
Y/N retreated to her room. She packed her overnight bag. Toothbrush. Makeup. The lingerie. The dress.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Friday at 8 PM.
She was terrified. But beneath the fear, there was something else. A dark, thrumming anticipation. She kept replaying the way Harry had looked at her in the booth. The way he had said I want to be obeyed.
She had never been with a man like that. Her ex-boyfriend, a fellow student named Ben, had been sweet but clueless. Sex had been awkward, hurried, and mostly for his benefit.
Harry didn't seem like the type to hurry.
Harry sat in his office, staring at a merger agreement worth four hundred million pounds. He had read the same paragraph six times.
He checked his watch.
Four hours.
He closed the file. He couldn't focus. This was rare for him. Usually, he could compartmentalize anything. But the image of Y/N, her wide eyes, her nervous hands, the way she had challenged him about her degree, kept intruding.
She was young. Innocent. But there was a spark in her. A defiance. He liked that. Breaking that defiance down, layer by layer, until she was unraveling for him... that was going to be the real pleasure.
He hit the intercom button.
"Cancel my dinner with the Tokyo partners," he said.
"Sir?" his assistant’s voice crackled, confused. "That’s been on the books for months."
"Reschedule it. Say I have a family emergency. I'm leaving early."
"Of course, Mr. Styles."
Harry stood up and grabbed his coat. He needed to go home. He needed to shower. He needed to make sure the wine was breathing and the steaks were prepped.
He wanted everything to be perfect.
He wasn't just acquiring an asset tonight. He was starting a game. And he intended to win.
The car Harry sent was not a taxi. It was a black Mercedes S-Class with tinted windows and an interior that smelled of fresh leather. The driver, a stoic man named Paul, had opened the door for her without a word.
Y/N sat in the back seat, clutching the handles of her overnight bag until her knuckles turned white.
The drive from her cramped, noisy street in Hackney to the leafy, silent avenues of Mayfair felt like crossing a border between two different countries. The graffiti and neon lights faded, replaced by wrought-iron gates, white stucco facades, and trees that looked like they were manicured with nail scissors.
The car slowed, turning onto a private street that didn't even have a street sign. It stopped in front of a massive, double-fronted townhouse with a glossy black door.
"We’re here, miss," Paul said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.
Y/N took a shaky breath. "Thank you."
She stepped out into the cool evening drizzle. The house was imposing. It looked like a fortress. There were no lights on in the windows that she could see, giving it a dormant, brooding quality.
She walked up the stone steps. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it pulsing in her throat. She reached for the brass knocker, but before her skin could graze the metal, the lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Harry stood there.
The air left Y/N’s lungs in a rush.
He looked different than he had at the hotel. He wasn't wearing the suit jacket. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, but the top two buttons were undone, exposing the tanned skin of his throat and a hint of chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate tattoos on his forearms.
He looked less corporate and more... dangerous. Domestic, but in the way a tiger is domestic in its own cage.
He held a crystal tumbler of whiskey in one hand. He didn't smile.
"You're on time," he murmured. His voice was lower than she remembered, vibrating through the quiet street.
"I..." Y/N started, but her voice failed her. She nodded instead.
Harry stepped back, opening the door wider. "Inside."
Y/N stepped over the threshold. The hallway was cavernous, dark brown wooden floors, a sweeping staircase with a mahogany banister, and a chandelier that cast a dim, golden light.
It smelled of him. Cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain.
Harry closed the door behind her. The heavy thud of the locks sliding into place echoed in the large space. It was a sound of finality.
"Coat," Harry said.
Y/N fumbled with the buttons of her trench coat. She felt clumsy under his gaze. She shrugged it off, revealing the black silk dress.
Harry’s eyes darkened. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze traveling from her strappy heels, up the curve of her calves, over the bias-cut silk that clung to her hips, and finally resting on her face.
"Good," he said softly. "You listen to instructions."
He took the coat from her hand and hung it in a closet, dismissing it. Then he turned back to her. He didn't touch her. He just stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Leave your bag there. Follow me."
He turned and walked down the hallway. Y/N abandoned her bag on the marble and followed him.
They entered a kitchen that was bigger than her entire apartment. It was a masterpiece of industrial design—dark charcoal cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a massive island made of veined marble.
But what surprised her was the smell. Rosemary. Garlic. Seared meat.
"You... you cook?" she asked, surprised.
Harry walked around the island to where a bottle of red wine was breathing. "I live alone, Y/N. I don't like staff in the house in the evenings. If I want to eat well, I do it myself."
He poured a large glass of wine and slid it across the marble toward her.
"Sit."
She sat on one of the high velvet stools. Harry picked up a pan from the stove. He plated two steaks with a precision that bordered on surgical, adding asparagus and roasted potatoes.
He placed a plate in front of her.
"Eat," he commanded.
Y/N picked up her fork. She took a sip of the wine first. It was rich, velvety, and clearly cost more than her monthly rent.
"So," Harry said, taking his seat opposite her. He cut into his steak, his movements precise. "Tell me about your week."
Y/N blinked. "My week?"
"We have forty hours, Y/N," Harry said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. "I don't intend to spend them all in silence. I want to know who is in my house."
"I thought you didn't want emotional attachment," she challenged, the wine giving her a sudden burst of courage.
Harry’s lips quirked in a ghost of a smirk. It made him look devastatingly handsome. "Knowing your day isn't an emotional attachment. It's intelligence gathering. Speak."
"It was... stressful," Y/N admitted. She cut a piece of steak. It melted in her mouth. "I had a customer at the café throw a latte at me because the foam was 'too airy.' And I spent three days staring at a blank screen trying to write a thesis proposal on the evolution of the tragic hero."
Harry paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "The tragic hero. Aristotle?"
"Mostly," she said, surprised. "Though I'm focusing on the modern adaptation of hubris."
Harry hummed, a low sound in his throat. "Hubris. Excessive pride. A dangerous thing." He looked at her pointedly. "Men destroy themselves because they refuse to know their place. Do you know your place, Y/N?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and charged.
Y/N put her fork down. Her heart skipped a beat. "I think so."
"You think so?" Harry repeated softly.
He turned his body fully toward her. He didn't stand up. He didn't ask permission.
His large hand shot out, gripping the metal base of her velvet stool. With a sudden, forceful jerk, he yanked her sideways.
Y/N gasped as her stool scraped across the floor, colliding with his. The impact jarred her, bringing her flush against his side. Her knees knocked against his thighs, her space completely invaded by him.
He was right there.
He didn't give her a second to recover. He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
"You're too far away," he murmured, his voice rough with impatience.
His hand came up to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the loose hair there, holding her steady. He tilted his head and crushed his mouth onto hers.
It wasn't a tentative first kiss. It was starving. It was a collision of teeth and lips. He tasted of the red wine and something darker—smoke and desire. He bit down gently on her lower lip, urging her to open for him, and when she did, he groaned, a low vibration that she felt in her own chest.
Y/N’s hands fluttered uselessly for a moment before landing on his shoulders, gripping the cotton of his white shirt. He felt solid, warm, and overwhelming.
Harry broke the kiss for a split second, just to change the angle, his nose brushing against hers.
"I've been wanting to do that since you walked into the hotel," he confessed against her mouth, his voice a breathless growl. "Since we first met."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming her. His free hand moved from the stool to her waist, squeezing the silk-clad flesh possessively, pulling her even closer until there was absolutely no air left between them.
For a moment, the world dissolved. There was no tuition, no contract, no NDA. Just the heat of his hand on her waist and the taste of him on her tongue.
Harry pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked like he was in pain, or ecstasy, or both.
"I'm done eating," he rasped, opening his eyes. The green was swallowed by black pupils. "And so are you."
He stood up, taking her hand and pulling her up from the stool in one fluid motion.
"Bed. Now."
Harry led her up the staircase. It wasn't the creaky wooden stairs of a Victorian home; these were floating steps of pale oak and glass, suspended in the air. The house was silent, smelling of filtered air and cedar.
He opened the door at the end of the hall.
The master bedroom was vast and brutally minimalist. There was no clutter, no personal photos, nothing soft. The floors were bleached oak, covered partially by a large, textured grey rug. A low-profile platform bed dominated the center of the room, made up with crisp, white linens that looked like they had never been slept in.
One entire wall was glass, looking out over the rain-slicked city.
Harry walked over to a small touch panel on the wall. He tapped it once. The automated blackout shades hummed softly, descending to block out the world, plunging the room into a moody, low-lit intimacy.
He turned to her. He didn't embrace her. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on the firm mattress. He leaned back on his hands, his legs spread wide, looking perfectly at ease in the stark, expensive space.
Y/N stood in the middle of the room, her heels clicking on the wood floor. She felt exposed in the open space.
"Come here," Harry said. His voice was quiet, absorbed by the acoustics of the room.
Y/N walked forward until she was standing between his spread knees. She could see the reflection of the room in the dark window behind him.
He looked up at her, his face serious.
"You're shaking," he observed. He didn't sound sympathetic; he sounded like he was stating a fact to be analyzed.
"I'm nervous," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I've never... I've never done this before. Not like this."
"Not like what?" Harry asked, tilting his head.
"With a contract," she whispered. "With... you."
Harry reached out. His hands settled on her hips. His thumbs rubbed small, soothing circles into the silk of her dress.
"I am just a man, Y/N," he said softly. Then his eyes darkened, shifting the mood.
He dropped his hands from her hips.
"Take the dress off."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "Now?"
"Yes. Now. I want to watch."
She reached for the zipper at her side. Her fingers were clumsy. The sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafeningly loud. She shrugged the straps off her shoulders. The silk pooled at her feet in a black puddle against the pale wood floor.
She stood there in the lingerie she had bought. It was black lace, sheer and high-cut. It hid nothing. The air in the room was climate-controlled and cool, making her nipples peak against the lace.
She instinctively moved to cover herself with her arms.
"Ah," Harry tutted, reaching out and gripping her wrists gently but firmly. He pulled her arms away from her body. "None of that. No hiding. Not here."
He pulled her a step closer until her thighs were pressed against the inseam of his trousers. He looked at her stomach, her breasts, the curve of her hips. He took his time. It was agonizing.
"Did you buy this for me?" he asked, his eyes tracing the lace edge of her bra.
"Yes," she managed to say.
"Turn around."
She turned. She felt his hands land on her bare ass, squeezing the flesh firmly through the lace. She gasped.
"Good," Harry murmured. "You have a beautiful body, Y/N. Soft. Unmarked."
He spun her back around to face him. His face was level with her stomach. He reached out and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his white sleeves up further. The sight of his forearms—strong, veined, and tanned—contrasting with her pale skin made her knees weak.
"But you're stiff," he noted. He looked up at her face. "You're holding your breath. You're waiting for me to hurt you."
"I..."
"I told you," Harry said, his voice dropping to a low, teaching tone. "I’m not going to hurt you. But I do need you to relax. Because if you're this tight, this isn’t going to work”.
He patted his thighs.
"Sit on my lap. Facing me."
Y/N hesitated. "Like... straddle you?"
"Yes. Leg on either side. Sit."
She climbed onto him awkwardly. The bed was low, so his knees were high, creating a cradle for her. She settled onto his lap. The intimacy was shocking. She could feel the hardness of his erection beneath his suit trousers, pressing right against her core.
Harry didn't kiss her immediately. Instead, he reached up and began to pull the pins out of her hair, one by one.
"We need to get rid of this," he murmured, dropping the pins onto the floor. Her hair fell around her shoulders. "Much better."
He combed his fingers through the strands, then cupped the back of her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse.
"Now," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "We are going to learn how to kiss. Because what you did in the kitchen was messy."
Y/N flushed. "I thought you liked it."
"I liked the enthusiasm," Harry corrected. "But you were rushing. You were grabbing. I want you to feel everything."
He leaned in slowly. "Open your mouth."
She opened her lips. Harry brushed his mouth against hers—feather-light. He teased the corner of her lips, then the center. He didn't deepen it. He just hovered there, making her wait.
"Kiss me," he commanded against her lips. "Slowly."
Y/N pressed her lips to his, trying to match the slow, agonizing rhythm he had set. It was difficult. Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy, and every instinct screamed at her to rush, to grab, to get closer.
But she forced herself to be slow. She softened her mouth. She moved her lips against his with a gentle, exploring pressure.
Harry made a low noise in his throat—a vibration that she felt in her chest.
"Good," he murmured against her mouth. "Just like that."
He allowed the kiss to deepen, his tongue sliding against hers, not invading this time, but dancing. His large hands slid from her waist up her ribcage, his thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts.
Y/N gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking instinctively against his lap. The friction of the lace against her sensitive skin and the hardness of his erection beneath her created a jolt of electricity.
Harry broke the kiss. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
"You're sensitive," he noted.
"I... yes," she breathed.
"And impatient."
He moved his hands fully over her breasts, cupping the weight of them in his palms. The black lace was sheer, offering no protection. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching her face closely as she bit her lip to stifle a moan.
"Don't hide it," Harry commanded softly. "I want to hear you."
He pinched lightly.
"Harry," she whimpered.
"That’s it."
He gripped her waist again and lifted her easily, shifting her position. He leaned back, guiding her backwards until she was lying flat on the crisp white duvet.
The change in perspective was dizzying. The ceiling was high and shadowed. Harry loomed over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. He looked like a giant from this angle, his white shirt glowing in the dim light, his face shadowed and severe.
He looked down at her, spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but black lace and fear.
"Breathtaking," he whispered.
He moved down the bed, crawling over her. He didn't take his clothes off. He stopped when he was kneeling between her legs.
He reached for her ankles. His grip was firm as he pulled her legs apart, widening her stance until she was completely open to him.
Y/N tried to close her legs instinctively—it was too exposed, too much light, but Harry clicked his tongue.
"Ah," he warned. "Stay open. You belong to me right now, remember?"
"I remember," she whispered, relaxing her muscles with effort.
Harry looked at the scrap of black lace covering her core. He reached out, tracing the seam with one finger. Y/N arched her back, a shockwave going through her.
"Wet," Harry observed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're soaking through the lace."
He looked back up at her face.
"Have you ever come from oral sex, Y/N?"
The question was so direct, so clinical yet filthy, that Y/N blushed crimson. "I... no. Not really. It usually takes too long, and guys..."
"Guys are lazy," Harry finished for her. He sounded disgusted. "And selfish."
He reached for the waistband of her panties.
"I am neither."
He pulled the lace down slowly, dragging it over her hips, down her thighs, and off her ankles. He tossed the underwear onto the floor without looking at it.
Y/N lay completely naked now. She felt like she was vibrating.
Harry didn't touch her immediately. He unbuttoned his cuffs completely and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, revealing the full ink of his tattoos. It was a deliberate, methodical gesture that built the anticipation to a breaking point.
"I'm going to teach you something," Harry said, his voice dropping to a velvet growl. He placed his hands on her inner thighs, pushing them wider. "I'm going to teach you that your pleasure isn't something you have to apologize for. But you have to earn it."
"How?" she gasped. "How do I earn it?"
"By staying still," Harry said. "And by keeping your eyes open. I want you to watch me while I taste you."
He lowered his head.
Y/N cried out as his breath hit her damp skin, hot and erratic. And then, his tongue was there.
It wasn't tentative. It was masterful.
He licked a long, slow stripe from her entrance up to her clitoris, savoring her. Y/N’s hands flew to the sheets, gripping the white cotton in tight fists. Her hips tried to lift, to grind against him.
Harry’s hands tightened on her thighs, pinning her down.
"Still," he commanded against her skin. The vibration of his voice on her most sensitive point made her sob.
He began to work. He knew exactly what he was doing. He alternated between broad, flat licks and targeted pressure that made her head spin. He didn't rush. He treated her like a fine meal he had been waiting all week to eat.
"Harry," she panted, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Harry, please."
He pulled back for a second, looking up at her. His mouth was wet. His eyes were blown wide.
"Please what?" he asked. "Please stop?"
"No," she begged. "Please... more."
"Ask properly," he murmured. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," she cried, tears pricking her eyes from the sheer intensity of it. "I want you to make me come."
Harry smirked. It was a dark, victorious thing.
"Good girl."
He went back down, and this time, he didn't tease. He increased the pressure, his tongue moving in a relentless rhythm that stripped her of every thought. He sucked gently, and Y/N felt the tension coil in her belly, tighter and tighter, like a rubber band about to snap.
"Don't close your eyes," Harry warned, sensing her climax approaching. "Look at me."
Y/N forced her eyes open. She looked down at the top of his dark head, at the movement of his shoulders between her legs. The sight of this powerful, wealthy man on his knees for her pushed her over the edge.
"Harry!"
She shattered as waves of pleasure crashing through her so hard her toes curled. She cried out, a loud, broken sound that echoed in the silent, modern room.
Harry stayed with her, drinking every drop of her release, only stopping when her tremors finally subsided into soft twitches.
He pulled back slowly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at the mess he had made of her with absolute pride.
He crawled up the bed, looming over her panting form. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. He tasted like her.
"See?" he whispered against her mouth. "You can be taught."
Y/N lay on the white sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs feeling like melted wax. The aftershocks of the orgasm still tingled in her fingertips. She watched Harry through half-lidded eyes.
He didn't give her long to recover.
He stood up from the bed, towering over her again. He looked down at her naked, flushed body with a proprietary dark gaze.
He reached for the buttons of his shirt. He undid them with maddening slowness—one, two, three—revealing a chest that was tanned and defined, dusted with dark hair. He shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle.
Y/N swallowed hard. He was... magnificent. In the suit, he looked powerful. Naked from the waist up, he looked like a brawler. A faint scar ran along his ribs. The tattoos on his arms seemed to flow onto his chest—a swallow, a cross, ink that spoke of a life before boardrooms and tailored suits.
His hands moved to his belt buckle. The metallic clink echoed in the room. He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down, stepping out of them and his boxer briefs in one motion.
Y/N’s eyes widened involuntarily. He was thick, heavy, and fully erect.
Harry saw her look. He didn't hide. He stood there for a moment, letting her see exactly what she had agreed to.
"I won't hurt you," he promised again, his voice rougher now. "But I am going to fill you. All of me."
He walked to the bedside table and opened the drawer. He pulled out a condom, tearing the packet with his teeth. He rolled it on quickly, efficiently.
He climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. He crawled over her, settling between her spread thighs, bracing his weight on his forearms so he didn't crush her.
The heat of his skin against hers was a shock. Chest to chest. Hip to hip.
He reached down, guiding himself to her entrance. He pressed the head against her, testing the fit.
Y/N gasped, her hands flying up to grip his biceps. "Harry..."
"Shh," he soothed, brushing the hair off her forehead. "Breathe for me, Y/N. Deep breath."
She inhaled shakily. On her exhale, he pushed forward.
It was slow. Agonizingly slow. He stretched her, inch by inch. Y/N whined low in her throat, a mix of discomfort and fullness.
"That's it," Harry praised, his jaw clenched tight. He was holding himself back with visible effort, the cords in his neck straining. "You're so tight. fuck."
He pushed one last time, sinking all the way to the hilt.
Y/N let out a sharp cry, arching her back.
Harry froze. He held completely still, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent while her body adjusted to him.
"I've got you," he whispered against her skin. "I'm not moving. You're okay."
He waited until her muscles relaxed, until the initial sting faded into a dull, throbbing pressure. He kissed her throat, then her jaw, then her lips.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Y/N opened her eyes. Harry was staring down at her with an intensity that made her soul shiver.
"Good."
He pulled back almost all the way, then thrust back in. A long, smooth stroke.
Y/N’s breath hitched. It didn't hurt anymore. It felt... incredible.
Harry set a rhythm. It wasn't frantic. It was heavy and deliberate. He ground his hips against hers with every thrust, hitting a spot deep inside her that made her vision blur.
"Wrap your legs around me," he groaned.
She obeyed, locking her ankles behind his back. This pulled him deeper, eliminating any space between them.
The friction was overwhelming. Harry’s control began to slip. His thrusts got harder, faster. His hands gripped the pillow on either side of her head, his knuckles white.
"You take it so well," he growled, his voice guttural.
Y/N couldn't speak. She could only moan, meeting his thrusts, her nails digging into his shoulders. The pleasure was building again, a dark, heavy coil in her stomach.
"That’s it," he encouraged roughly. "Use me. Squeeze me."
He leaned down, bracing his weight on his elbows so he could frame her face with his hands. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips.
But after a few minutes, the angle wasn't enough for him. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He pulled out of her slowly, leaving her feeling suddenly, achingly empty.
Y/N made a small noise of protest, reaching for him. "Harry?”
"Hush," he soothed, catching her hands. "I'm not done. I just want to see you.”
He sat back on his heels, kneeling between her legs. He looked at her flushed chest, her swollen lips, the way her thighs were trembling.
"Turn over," he commanded softly. "On your hands and knees.”
Y/N rolled over, her muscles heavy and lethargic. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. The cool air of the room hit her back, contrasting with the heat radiating from Harry.
She felt his hands on her hips, large and grounding. He gripped her firmly, pulling her hips back until she was positioned exactly how he wanted her.
"Arch your back," he instructed. He ran a hand down her spine, tapping the base of it. "show yourself to me.”
She arched, her stomach sinking toward the mattress.
"Beautiful," Harry murmured.
He didn't enter her immediately. He leaned over her back, his chest pressing against her spine. He moved her hair to one side, exposing her neck. He bit down on the sensitive cord of muscle there—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark.
"Do you know how good you look like this?" he whispered into her ear. "Waiting for me? Submissive?”
"Yes," she gasped.
"Tell me you like it."
"I like it," she whimpered.
"Good girl."
He reached between her legs, finding her wetness, prepping her again. Then, he lined himself up. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
He pushed into her from behind.
This angle was different. It was deeper. Intense. Y/N buried her face in the pillow to stifle a scream as he seated himself fully to the hilt.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, his head falling back. "You feel... tighter like this."
"Count them," he ordered suddenly.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. "What?"
"Count the strokes," he growled, thrusting harder. "Focus on what I'm doing to you.Every time I'm inside you. Count.”
"One," she gasped as he hit deep. "Two." "Three."
"Louder," he commanded. He reached around, his hand finding her breast, weighing it, teasing the nipple while he pounded into her.
"Four!" she cried out. "Five... oh god, Harry..."
"Don't stop counting," he warned, his voice rough with pleasure. "Be a good girl for me."
"Six... seven..."
He let go of her breast and moved his hand down, sliding it between her legs to find her clitoris. He began to rub her in time with his thrusts.
The sensation was blinding. Being filled by him, held down by him, and touched by him all at once was too much.
"Harry, please," she begged, losing count. "I can't... I can't hold it."
"Then don't," he said against her ear. "Give it to me. Show me how much you like my cock."
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming snappy and hard. He wasn't gentle anymore. He was claiming her.
"Whose is this?" he demanded, punctuating the question with a deep thrust.
"Yours!" she sobbed.
"That's right," he snarled. "Mine."
He twisted his hand, adding pressure to her clit, and she fell apart.
Her climax hit her like a physical blow. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, milking him, pulsing in a wild, erratic rhythm. Her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto her stomach, burying her face in the sheets, screaming his name into the fabric.
The sensation of her tightening around him shattered Harry’s last restraint.
He groaned, a loud, ragged sound of surrender. He let go of her hips and wrapped his arms around her chest, pulling her back against him, holding her tight as he drove into her one, two, three more times—hard, deep, desperate.
He froze, his entire body going rigid against her back. He buried his face in her neck, shaking with the force of his release, emptying himself into the condom.
"Y/N," he groaned, her name sounding like a prayer and a curse.
They stayed like that for a long time. The only sound in the room was their harsh, synchronized breathing and the hum of the city outside the window.
Harry didn't pull away immediately. He stayed inside her, keeping her close, his heart hammering against her back. He kissed her shoulder, his lips damp.
"Fuck," he breathed, sounding exhausted and exhilarated.
He slowly withdrew. Y/N felt the loss of him instantly, a coldness rushing in where he had been.
Harry rolled onto his back next to her. He threw an arm over his eyes, his chest heaving.
Y/N lay on her stomach, unable to move. Her body felt hummed, rewired. She felt... different.
After a moment, Harry reached out blindly. His large hand found hers on the sheets. He interlaced their fingers, his grip tight and possessive.
He turned his head to look at her. His hair was messy, sticking to his forehead. His eyes were soft again, the black receding to reveal the green.
"You did good, Y/N," he rasped, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Very good."
"Harry?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Hmm?"
"Is it... is it always like that?"
Harry let out a low, dark chuckle. He pulled on her hand, urging her to scoot closer until she was curled into his side, her head on his chest.
"With me?" he murmured, stroking her hair. "Yes. Always like that."
The first thing Y/N noticed was the smell of coffee.
She blinked her eyes open. The room was filled with grey morning light filtering through the edges of the blackout shades.
She was alone in the massive bed.
For a second, panic flared. Had she dreamt it? Had he kicked her out?
Then she saw the note on the pillow next to her. It was written on thick, cream stationery in sharp, angular handwriting.
There’s a robe in the bathroom. Come downstairs when you’re ready. Coffee is hot.- H
Y/N sat up. Her body felt different. Sore in places she hadn't expected, heavy, but... good. She looked at the empty side of the bed. The sheets were rumpled.
She got up and walked to the bathroom. It was entirely marble. She found the robe—a thick, white waffle-knit hotel robe that swallowed her whole. She brushed her teeth with the spare toothbrush that had been laid out (still in its packaging).
She walked downstairs. The house was quiet.
She found him in the kitchen.
Harry was sitting at the island, reading a newspaper (an actual physical newspaper, the Financial Times). He was wearing grey sweatpants and a soft-looking t-shirt. He looked unfairly domestic. He looked younger in the morning light, his hair messy, glasses perched on his nose.
He looked up when she entered. His eyes swept over her disheveled hair and the oversized robe.
He didn't smile, but his expression softened.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Y/N whispered, tightening the robe belt. She suddenly felt shy. Last night, she had been naked and screaming his name. Now, standing in his kitchen on a Saturday morning, the reality of the arrangement hit her.
Harry stood up. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured a mug. He brought it to her.
"Black?" he asked. "Or do you need sugar?"
"Milk, please," she said.
He added a splash of milk and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed. The spark was still there, buzzing under the surface.
"Sit," he said, nodding to the stool she had occupied last night. "I made eggs."
He put a plate in front of her. Scrambled eggs, toast, fruit.
Y/N took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect.
"So," Harry said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms. "How do you feel?"
He wasn't asking about the eggs.
Y/N looked down at her plate, blushing. "I feel... okay. Sore."
Harry nodded. "That's to be expected. We'll take it easy today."
He took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes shifting from her face to the pile of books she had left in her bag by the door the night before.
"You mentioned a thesis," he said, shifting gears effortlessly. "Hubris. The tragic hero."
Y/N blinked, surprised he remembered. "Yes. I'm struggling with the proposal. My professor thinks my scope is too broad."
"Who is your professor?"
"Dr. Aris. He's brilliant, but... impossible to please."
Harry hummed, setting his mug down. "Aris. I know him. He consults for a firm I work with. He’s a pedant. He doesn't want broad; he wants specific. He wants you to argue a point he hasn't thought of yet."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the marble island.
"Don't write about the tragic hero in general, Y/N. That’s been done to death. Write about the moment the hero realizes they’ve lost. The transition from power to ruin. That’s where the human element is."
Y/N stared at him. She had spent weeks banging her head against a wall trying to figure that out, and he had just unlocked it in thirty seconds over scrambled eggs.
"That’s..." She grabbed a napkin, looking for a pen. "That’s actually perfect."
Harry watched her scramble to write it down with a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "I told you. I'm not just here for the physical aspect. I expect you to excel, Y/N. If I'm paying for your education, I expect a First."
"No pressure," she laughed nervously, but she felt a swell of pride.
"Pressure creates diamonds," Harry countered smoothly. "And I have very high standards."
He stood up then, the moment of academic mentorship vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the dominant protector.
"Paul has deposited the tuition," he said casually, dropping the bomb like it was nothing. "And your allowance is in your account. You might want to check."
Y/N froze. She pulled her phone out of her robe pocket. She opened her banking app.
Balance: £16,242.50.
She stared at the number. It was real.
She looked up at Harry. He wasn't looking at her phone; he was looking at her face, gauging her reaction.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Harry, I... thank you."
"Don't thank me," Harry said, his voice dropping to that familiar, possessive low rumble. "You earned it."
He set his mug down and walked over to her. He kissed the top of her head.
"Eat your eggs, Y/N. We have a long weekend ahead of us."
let me know if you want to get tagged please! and let me know what you think! love. to hear your comments!
A jealous argument at a club explodes into a night of rough, possessive hate sex . But the tender aftercare that follows forces you both to admit there’s no going back .
author's note: just wanted to write something for you! i hope you enjoy! happy reading!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
📌 all of my work :)
📌 w.c -> 7.8k
Tom’s flat in Hackney always smelled the same before a night out: a distinct, heady mixture of expensive cologne, burnt hair straightener, and the sharp tang of cheap vodka mixed with lemonade.
You checked your reflection in the hallway mirror one last time, smoothing down the front of your dress. It was shorter than what you usually wore. It was a slip of black silk that ended dangerously high on your thighs and dipped low in the back. It was armor. Tonight was about feeling good. Tonight was about getting drunk enough to tolerate the inevitable headache that was currently sitting on Tom’s velvet sofa.
"You’re going to freeze," Cassie said, emerging from the bathroom with a cloud of hairspray following her. She looked you up and down, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "But you’re going to look hot doing it. I approve."
"I have a coat," you said, grabbing your leather jacket from the hook. "And I have tequila. I’ll be fine."
"Famous last words," Jay called out from the kitchen, raising a red solo cup in a mock toast.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and walked into the living room.
The music was already thumping. It was some remix Tom had found that was rattling the windows, but the atmosphere shifted the second you stepped onto the rug.
Harry was sprawled on the sofa like he owned the building. He was wearing black trousers and a shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing a chaotic roadmap of tattoos and the glint of a gold cross. His rings clicked against the glass of whiskey he was holding as he looked up.
He didn’t smile. He never smiled at you. Instead, his green eyes narrowed slightly, tracking you from the strap of your heels up to the curve of your hip, lingering on the hem of the dress before finally meeting your eyes.
The silence between you two was loud enough to drown out the bass.
"You’re late," Harry drawled, his voice rough. He didn't sit up. He just watched you with that heavy, lidded gaze that always made you feel like you had something on your face.
"I’m fashionably on time," you corrected, walking past him to the drinks table. You made a point not to look at him, though you could feel his eyes burning a hole between your shoulder blades. "Something you wouldn’t understand, seeing as you just roll out of bed and put on whatever shirt is least wrinkled."
"This is Saint Laurent, actually," Harry shot back, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And at least I’m wearing a whole outfit. I think you forgot the rest of yours."
You froze, the bottle of vodka hovering over your cup. The room went quiet. Jay winced in the kitchen. Cassie stopped applying her lip gloss.
You turned around slowly, fixing Harry with a glare that could strip paint. "Excuse me?"
Harry gestured vaguely at your legs with his glass, a smirk playing on his lips. It wasn't a nice smirk. It was the one he used when he knew he’d gotten under your skin. "The dress. It’s... ambitious. Planning on catching a cold? Or are you just fishing for attention tonight?"
"Harry," Tom warned from the corner, looking exhausted already. "Don't."
"I'm just saying," Harry said, shrugging, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It’s a lot of skin for a Tuesday."
"It’s Friday, you idiot," you snapped, your grip tightening on your cup. "And for your information, I dress for myself. Not for you. Never for you."
Harry hummed, low and vibrating in his chest. He set his glass down on the coffee table and finally stood up. He towered over the room, broad-shouldered and imposing. He took a step toward you, invading your personal space with the casual arrogance of someone who knew you wouldn't back down.
"Good," he murmured, close enough that you could smell him. Tobacco, vanilla, and the expensive whiskey. It was infuriating how good he smelled. "Because if you dressed like that for me, I’d tell you to go put some clothes on."
"If I dressed for you," you hissed, tilting your chin up to hold his gaze, "I’d wear a muzzle so I wouldn’t have to hear your voice."
Harry’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then snapped back up to your eyes. For a second, just a split second, the air in the room felt electric. Volatile. Like someone had struck a match in a room full of gas.
"Alright! Okay!" Cassie clapped her hands loudly, physically stepping between the two of you like a referee. "Time out. Both of you. We are not doing this tonight."
"He started it," you muttered, stepping back and downing your vodka shot without a chaser. It burned, but the heat in your chest was already there.
"I don't care who started it," Cassie said, pointing a manicured finger at Harry. "You, stop being a prick." She pointed at you. "You, stop baiting him."
Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting his rings. "I'm not baiting anyone. I'm just making conversation."
"Your conversation sucks," Jay noted helpfully, throwing you a beer.
"We are going to the club," Tom announced, grabbing his keys and shepherding everyone toward the door. "We are going to drink, we are going to dance, and if I hear one argument about politics, fashion, or whose turn it is to buy a round, I am leaving you both on the curb. Understood?"
"Loud and clear," you said, grabbing your jacket.
You walked to the door, brushing past Harry. He didn't move out of the way. His shoulder knocked against yours. Hard, solid, intentional.
"After you," he whispered, his voice dropping to that mock-polite tone he used when he wanted to strangle you.
"Go to hell, Styles," you whispered back.
"Ladies first."
He held the door open, his face a mask of polite indifference, but as you walked past him, you saw his hand clench into a fist at his side, the knuckles white.
You hated him. You really, truly hated him.
The club was a sensory assault. It was vibrating, the bass heavy enough to rattle your teeth, the air thick with the smell of dry ice and sweat.
You had lost the group within five minutes. Tom and Cassie had disappeared toward the VIP booths, and Jay was somewhere near the DJ booth. You didn't care. You needed to move. You needed to shake off the irritation that had settled under your skin back at the apartment.
You were on the edge of the dance floor, letting the music dictate your movements. You weren't drunk yet, not really, but the two tequila shots were buzzing pleasantly in your blood, making everything feel loose and hazy.
Across the room, bathed in strobing purple light, was the booth.
Harry was holding court. Of course he was. He was sitting in the corner of the leather banquet, legs spread wide, looking bored out of his mind despite the two blonde girls leaning over him, laughing at something he’d said. He held a drink in one hand, his other arm draped along the back of the seat.
As if he could feel your eyes on him, he looked up.
Even through the strobe lights and the crush of bodies, his gaze locked onto yours instantly. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just watched you. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes dropping to your legs, then back up to your face. He looked... hungry. And angry about it.
You turned your back on him. Let him watch, you thought. Let him choke on it.
You pushed deeper into the crowd, closing your eyes and letting the rhythm take over. You were having fun. You were proving a point.
"Dance with me?"
The voice was hot and wet against your ear. You opened your eyes to see a guy, tall, sweaty, wearing a shirt that cost more than your rent, grinding entirely too close to your back.
"No thanks," you shouted over the music, trying to step away.
"Come on," he insisted, his hand landing heavy on your waist. His grip was clammy. "Just one song. You look lonely."
"I'm not lonely," you snapped, prying his fingers off your hip.
You turned to leave, aiming for the bar, but he moved faster. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. The crowd was so dense that no one noticed. He crowded you, boxing you in.
"Don't be a bitch," he sneered, his charm evaporating. He reached out, grabbing your arm this time, hard enough to pinch. "I'm just trying to..."
Suddenly, the guy was gone.
He wasn't just pushed; he was removed.
A large hand had clamped onto the guy's shoulder and yanked him backward with a force that looked effortless but was clearly violent. The guy stumbled, disappearing into the thrashing crowd.
In his place stood Harry.
He looked murderous. His jaw was set so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek. He wasn't looking at the guy he’d just shoved; he was looking at you.
He stepped into your space, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the club. He loomed over you, effectively caging you against a pillar.
"Having fun?" he shouted over the bass, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm.
"I was," you yelled back, adrenaline spiking. "Until you showed up."
"Didn't look like fun," Harry said. He stepped closer. His chest brushed against yours. He smelled like smoke now, and danger. "Looked like you were getting handled."
"I can handle myself."
"Clearly," he scoffed. His hand shot out, not to grab you, but to brace against the pillar next to your head. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. The intimacy of it, the heat of his body, the way he shielded you from the room, made your knees weak, which only made you angrier.
"You’re a mess," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your neck. "Wandering around here alone. Dressed like that."
"My dress isn't the problem," you said, your voice low and sharp. You didn't shove him this time. You stood your ground, meeting his gaze with ice in your veins. "And I don't remember asking for your opinion on it."
"I'm not talking about the dress," he murmured. "I'm talking about the way you're practically begging for trouble."
"The only trouble I have right now is you breathing down my neck," you countered, staring him down. "I was handling it."
Harry caught your wrist. He didn't squeeze; he just held it, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. He looked down at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
"I know," Harry said. His gaze dropped to your mouth. For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you right there on the dance floor.
Instead, his grip on your wrist tightened. He leaned back, a cruel, mocking smirk twisting his lips.
"Come on, pet," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a curse. "Let's get you a water. You look flushed."
The word hit you like a physical blow. Pet. It was patronizing. It was belittling. And god, the way he said it, low and gravelly, made heat pool low in your stomach.
"Don't call me that," you warned.
"Why?" Harry challenged, tugging you toward the exit. He didn't let go of your hand. "Fits, doesn't it? Small. Yappy. Need looking after."
"I didn't ask for your help," you said, your voice cold, trying to wrench your hand back. "And I certainly don't need a babysitter."
"Could have fooled me," he deadpanned, towing you through the crowd like a unruly child. "Now walk. Before I carry you, and we both know you'd hate that."
The air outside hit you like a slap in the face.
Harry didn't stop at the main entrance. He towed you around the corner, into the quieter, grittier alleyway where the smokers huddled under the overhang. It was drizzling, a miserable, fine London mist that stuck to your skin immediately.
He finally let go of your wrist, but only to turn and block your path, putting his back to the brick wall.
"You’re welcome," he said, his voice flat. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, looking infuriatingly calm for someone who had just dragged you out of a club.
"For what?" you demanded, rubbing your wrist. "For making a scene? For acting like you own the pavement I walk on?"
Harry lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He took a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that mixed with the mist. "For saving you from having to reject a guy who wasn't listening. You looked panicked."
"I looked bored," you corrected, your voice steady. "I was handling it. I didn't need you to swoop in just to mark your territory."
Harry laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't flatter yourself, pet. I wasn't marking anything. I just didn't want to spend the rest of the night listening to Cassie whine about how you got groped by some finance bro."
"You are such a prick," you said, stepping closer. You were shivering now, the adrenaline fading and leaving you exposed to the cold in your thin dress. "You just can't stand it. You can't stand seeing me have a good time without you supervising."
Harry’s eyes snapped to yours. He flicked ash onto the ground. "Is that what you call fun? Grinding on strangers? It looked desperate."
"It looked like I was enjoying my night," you shot back. "Something you wouldn't understand because you're too busy judging everyone else from the corner."
"I don't judge," Harry said, his voice dropping. He took a step off the wall, invading your space again. The heat radiating off him was the only warm thing in the alley. "I observe. And what I observed tonight was you acting like a child."
"I am not a child."
"Then stop acting like one," Harry roared back, his composure finally cracking. "Stop wearing things that barely cover you and getting shocked when men look. Stop picking fights with me just to get a reaction."
"I don't want a reaction from you," you said, your voice raising to match his volume. "I want you to leave me alone. I want you to disappear."
Silence crashed down between you.
For a moment, the only sound was the muffled bass from the club and the distant wail of a siren. Harry stared at you, his chest heaving, his cigarette burning down to the filter in his hand. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and dangerous.
"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly. "You want me to leave?"
"Yes," you lied. Your heart was pounding in your throat.
"Fine." Harry dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'll get Tom to come get you. I'm leaving."
You crossed your arms, looking away, waiting for him to walk away. You waited for the sound of his boots on the pavement.
Instead, you heard a scoff.
"Unbelievable," Harry muttered.
"What now?" you snapped, turning back.
Harry turned his phone screen toward you. A text message from Tom was glowing on the display.
Tom (Group Chat): I said no fighting. We left 10 mins ago. Going back to mine. Don't kill each other. x
You scrambled for your own phone. Sure enough, three missed texts from Cassie. Where are you? We're leaving. You guys sort it out.
"They left us," you whispered, staring at the screen. "They actually left us."
"Looks like it," Harry said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at the sky. The drizzle was turning into actual rain now, heavy drops splashing against the puddles.
"Great," you groaned, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. "Just great."
Harry sighed, a long, suffering exhale. He unbuttoned his jacket. Before you could protest, he peeled it off and draped it over your shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled overwhelmingly of him.
"I don't need your coat," you said stiffly.
"Shut up," he said, cutting you off. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking down the street, scanning for a taxi light. His white shirt was instantly damp from the rain, sticking to his shoulders. "Just wear the jacket. I'm not having you freeze to death on my watch. Tom would never let me hear the end of it."
"Fine," you muttered, pulling the jacket tighter despite yourself.
"So you've said." Harry pulled out his phone again. "Uber is 3 minutes away. Try not to speak until then."
You stood there in the rain, side by side, not touching. The anger was still there, buzzing in the air between you, but it had shifted. It wasn't the sharp, shouting anger anymore. It was something heavier. Something thicker.
You watched a drop of rain trace the line of his throat, running down to the ink on his chest. You looked away quickly before he could catch you.
Three minutes later, a black sedan pulled up to the curb.
Harry opened the back door. He didn't offer you a hand. He just jerked his head toward the dark interior.
"Get in."
You slid across the leather seat. Harry followed, closing the door and sealing you both inside.
The silence in the car was deafening. It was dark, intimate, and suffocating. You were pressed against the door, trying to keep distance, but the backseat was small. Harry’s leg brushed against yours every time the car turned.
You were trapped. And you were starting to realize, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that you didn't actually want him to disappear at all.
The rain battered the roof of the Uber, a rhythmic drumming that filled the heavy silence between you.
It was suffocating in the backseat. The heater was blasting, turning the air thick and humid. It was too hot. You shrugged the heavy leather jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the seat between you. It became a barrier neither of you dared to cross.
You were pressed against the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring out at the blurred city lights. Harry was doing the same on his side. You could see his reflection in the window: jaw clenched tight enough to snap, eyes narrowed, staring at nothing.
The night was ruined. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a chance to let loose with the group, but it had ended in disaster before the real drinking even started. Now, the anger was a physical weight in the car.
Harry shifted, letting out a sharp, frustrated sigh that sounded like a growl.
"Stop huffing," you snapped, not turning your head.
"I didn't say a word," Harry shot back, his voice rough. "Don't start."
"I’m not starting anything. You’re the one who—"
"I said drop it." He turned then, glaring at you. The streetlights flashed across his face, highlighting the fury in his eyes. "Just... drop it."
You bit your tongue, tasting blood. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to tell him to stop the car so you could get out and walk in the rain just to be away from him. But you didn't. You just sat there, fuming, letting the silence stretch until it felt like it would snap your ribs.
The car finally jerked to a halt.
"Here we are, mate," the driver said, sounding relieved to be getting rid of you both.
Harry threw the door open without waiting. "Out."
You scrambled out into the downpour, ignoring him as he paid the driver. You didn't wait for him. You marched toward the awning of his building, your heels clicking angrily on the wet pavement. Harry followed a step behind, his presence looming large and dark at your back.
You were at his building. Of course you were. Yours was another twenty minutes away and neither of you had the patience for that.
The elevator ride was the breaking point.
You stood on opposite sides of the small metal box, watching the numbers tick up. The air was charged, vibrating with everything that had gone wrong tonight.
"You're unbelievable," Harry muttered, almost to himself.
You whipped your head around. "Me? You're the one who made a scene because my dress was too short.”
"I made a scene?" Harry pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in two long strides. "You never know when to shut up, do you?"
"If you actually listened to me...”
"I am listening!" He was in your space now, crowding you into the corner. "I listen to you constantly picking fights, constantly pushing me—"
"I hate you," you spat, the words trembling with rage.
"Good." Harry’s eyes dropped to your mouth. "I hate you too."
Then, he crashed his mouth onto yours.
It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a collision. It was months of arguments and insults pouring into a kiss that tasted like violence. He bit your lower lip, hard, forcing a gasp from your throat that he immediately swallowed.
Your hands flew up, not to push him away, but to grab the front of his shirt, bunching the expensive fabric in your fists. You pulled him closer, kissing him back with the same ferocity, matching his anger, your tongue tangling with his.
"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair to tilt your head back further.
Ding.
The doors slid open.
You broke apart, chests heaving, lips swollen and red. The sudden lack of contact left you cold.
Harry stared at you, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged. He reached for your hand, but you stepped back.
The anger was gone, replaced by a sudden, crushing exhaustion.
"No," you whispered. You stepped out into the hallway, wrapping your arms around yourself.
Harry followed, confused. He fumbled for his keys, unlocking his apartment door. "What?"
"I can't do this, Harry," you said, your voice shaking. You looked at the open door, then back at him. "I’m going home. I'm just... I'm so tired of fighting with you. I can't keep doing this every night."
You turned away, intending to head back to the elevator. "I'm calling a car."
"The hell you are."
Harry didn't let you take another step. He reached out, his hand clamping around your wrist, and yanked you toward him.
"Harry!"
He didn't listen. He pulled you through the doorway, shoving you into the dark apartment. He followed you in, kicking the door shut behind him with a deafening slam.
"You're not leaving," he breathed, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. "We're done fighting. But you are not leaving."
The audacity of it made your blood boil. The exhaustion you had felt in the hallway evaporated, replaced by a fresh, white-hot spike of adrenaline.
"Get off me!" You shoved Harry backward, your hands slamming against his solid chest. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to shake that arrogant look off his face. He stumbled, hitting the opposite wall with a heavy thud, and before he could recover, you were on him, closing the distance. "You think you can just drag me around like a prop? You arrogant, controlling prick!"
Harry snarled, a low, animalistic sound that vibrated right through the floorboards. His hands snapped to your waist, spinning you around so fast it made the room blur. He didn't pin you against the wall this time; he scooped you up.
Your stomach dropped. It was a humiliating reflex, but your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist to keep from falling. You hated the way he handled you so easily, like you weighed nothing, like your anger was cute.
He carried you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open. He didn't bother with the lights. He walked straight to the bed and threw you onto the mattress. Hard.
You bounced against the springs, the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You scrambled to sit up, panic and fury warring in your chest, but he was already there. He crawled over you, fully dressed, his knees caging your hips, his weight pressing you down into the duvet.
He grabbed the neckline of your silk dress. There was no fumbling for zippers, no hesitation. He yanked the fabric down with a sharp tear, the sound of ruining expensive silk echoing in the quiet room.
"Are you out of your mind?" you screamed, trying to shove his heavy shoulders off you as the cool air hit your exposed skin. "That dress cost a fortune!"
He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with effortless strength. He loomed over you, his eyes adjusting to the dark, looking absolutely lethal.
"Red," he stated, his voice low and devoid of negotiation. "That’s your safe word."
You glared at him, your chest heaving against the ruined silk. The word hung in the air, confusing you. He was furious, he was drunk, and he was currently ruining your clothes, but he was still giving you the power to stop it. It was a twisted kind of care that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"I don't need a safe word," you hissed, thrashing your legs. "I need you to get the hell off!"
"You have it," he snapped, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. "Remember it. Use it if you want me to stop. Otherwise, shut up and take it."
He released your wrists only to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
"Because I’m losing my mind," he growled, holding your gaze. "I’m drunk, I’m furious, and you have been testing every last shred of restraint I have left."
He let go of your face to grab the torn bodice of your dress, ripping it the rest of the way down to your waist. He looked at your exposed skin with a mix of hunger and fury that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.
"You need to be taught a lesson desperately," he murmured, his eyes snapping back to yours. "You've been acting so bratty all night. Prancing around that club. Running your mouth."
The accusation stung because it was true. You had been pushing him. You had been begging for a reaction all night, and now that you had it, you weren't sure if you were scared or thrilled.
"So teach me then," you challenged, your voice sharp, breathless. "Stop talking about it and do it."
Harry smirked, a dark, dangerous curve of his lips. "Oh, I'm going to.”
He reached down and slapped your thigh, hard. The sting was sharp, shocking a gasp out of you.
"Spread them," he ordered.
"Make me."
Harry didn't argue. He moved his hand between your legs, over your panties. He didn't touch you gently; he pressed the heel of his hand against you, grinding down slowly.
"You're a liar," he whispered, feeling the heat radiating off you. "You act tough, but you're soaking wet for the man you hate."
"I was just trying to protect you," he seethed, his voice rough with frustration. "That's all I was doing in that club. But you just want to fight. You just want to scream at me over stupid shit.”
He grabbed the lace of your panties and ripped them aside, his eyes burning into yours.
He didn't go down on you. Instead, his hand fisted tightly in your hair, yanking your head back against the mattress until your neck was bared to him. He dragged his body up, pressing his heavy torso against yours, his mouth hovering right beside your ear.
"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice wet and guttural. "You have no idea how many times I've imagined this. Watching you shake your ass in that dress... wondering if you were pink and wet underneath.”
He moved his hand down, parting your legs roughly. He didn't prep you; he didn't need to. He shoved two thick fingers straight inside you, burying them to the knuckles in one sharp thrust.
You gasped, your hips bucking off the bed, but he used his grip on your hair to pin you down.
"Fuck," he hissed against your neck.
He started to move his hand, twisting his wrist, curling his fingers inside you to hit that rough, sensitive spot on your front wall. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you was obscene, wet and loud in the quiet room.
"Look at you," he taunted, biting your earlobe hard enough to sting. "Torn open. Completely exposed. You look like a wreck, baby. My messy wreck.”
He pulled his hand almost all the way out, letting the cool air hit your slick entrance, before slamming his fingers back in, harder this time. You cried out, a broken sound of pleasure.
"That’s it," he praised, the anger in his voice bleeding into pure lust. "You take my fingers so well.”
He used his thumb to grind down on your clit while his fingers pumped inside you, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm.
"I can feel you throbbing around me," he groaned. "Tell me how good it feels to have my hand in your pussy. Tell me.”
"It feels so good," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the pillow.
“You're close, aren't you?”
"Yes," you choked out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. "Harry, yes.”
"Then cum for me," he ordered, his voice dark and commanding. He picked up the pace, his fingers curling aggressively inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. "Come on, baby. Be a good girl.”
The pressure was too much. Your walls clamped down on his fingers.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, holding your gaze as he brought them to his mouth to lick them clean, savoring the taste of you.
"Delicious," he hummed, his eyes dark and predatory.
He crawled down the mattress, gripping your knees and forcing them wider apart until your muscles strained. He buried his face in the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right near the crease of your hip.
He sank his teeth into the tender flesh. Hard. It was a sharp, stinging pain that made you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets. He held the bite for a second, marking you, claiming you, before soothing the spot with a wet swipe of his tongue.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, looking up at you with a wicked smirk, "when you're sore and aching, and you look down. You remember exactly whose tongue did this to you. You remember who owns you.”
"Harry, please," you whimpered, the sensitivity between your legs becoming unbearable.
"Please what? Please stop? Or please taste you?”
He didn't wait for an answer. He moved inward and buried his face between your legs.
He groaned against your slick entrance, the sound vibrating through your entire body.
Then his tongue was there, broad and flat and relentless. He didn't start slow. He knew you were already primed, your nerves exposed and raw from the first orgasm, so he showed no mercy. He licked a long, punishing stripe from your entrance up to your clit, making your hips jerk off the mattress.
"Stay still," he commanded, his hands gripping your thighs to pin you down. "Don't you run from me."
He began to feast on you, eating you out with a hunger that bordered on violence. He sucked on your clit, his tongue flickering rapidly, teasing the bundle of nerves until you were tossing your head from side to side, a mess of moans and pleas.
He pulled back suddenly, leaving you cold and needy. He rested his chin on your thigh, watching you unravel.
"Look at you," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Legs spread. Shaking. Whimpering." He reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "For a girl who claims she hates me, you sure taste like you love this."
"I hate you," you gasped, though it sounded like a lie even to your own ears.
"Liar." Harry chuckled darkly. "You love my tongue on you. You love being my good girl."
He dove back in, harder this time. He hooked your legs over his shoulders to open you up completely, granting him deeper access.
"I'm going to drain you dry," he mumbled against your skin. "I'm going to make you cum again, and again, until you forget why you were ever angry. Until the only thing you know is my name."
He didn't let you come down from the high. He didn't even let you catch your breath.
Harry pulled back from between your legs, leaving you cold and aching. He stood up, rapidly shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down his thighs until he was free. He was hard, thick, and twitching with anticipation.
He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Turn over," he commanded. "On your hands and knees. Now.”
You scrambled to obey, turning over on the mattress and pushing yourself up onto all fours. You felt exposed, vulnerable, your back arched and your soaked entrance on display for him.
Harry didn't touch you immediately. You could feel his eyes burning into you, assessing the damage, looking at the redness of your skin.
Then, his hand connected with your ass.
Smack.
The sound cracked through the room like a whip. The sting was immediate and sharp, shocking a cry from your throat.
"You were so unsafe tonight," he growled, not giving you a second to recover. "Wandering off to the bar alone. Leaving my sight.”
Smack.
He hit the other cheek, harder this time. Your skin flushed pink instantly.
"And that prick," he hissed, moving closer, his body radiating heat behind you. "That random asshole who put his hand on your waist. I saw him touch you.”
Smack.
"Do you like that?" he shouted, losing control. "Do you like having other men look at you? Do you like making me insane?"
"No," you sobbed, the mixture of pain and pleasure making you dizzy. "Harry, no."
"Shut up."
He reached down and grabbed both of your wrists, wrenching your arms behind your back. He secured them in one large hand, pinning them against the small of your back. This forced your chest down into the mattress and pushed your ass high in the air, leaving you completely helpless.
He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right at your ear.
"You keep saying it," he whispered, his voice cracking with a desperate sort of rage. "You keep screaming that you don't need me. That you're fine on your own."
He used his free hand to guide his cock to your entrance. He was leaking, just as wet as you were. He lined himself up, the broad head of his length teasing your opening.
"But I need you," he admitted, the words sounding like a curse. "I need this. I need to know that no one else gets to touch you but me."
He didn't give you a count. He didn't ask if you were ready. He gripped your waist with his free hand and thrust his hips forward.
He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.
You moaned into the pillow, the feeling of him stretching you so suddenly overwhelming your senses. He was so big, filling every empty space inside you, possessing you completely.
"Mine," he snarled against your neck, holding himself deep inside you, waiting for your body to adjust to his invasion. "You are fucking mine."
He held you there for a moment, letting you feel the full, intrusive weight of him. Then, he began to withdraw, inch by tantalizing inch, before snapping his hips forward and slamming back into you.
"Tell me," he grunted, the friction making his voice ragged. "Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you want me to pull out and let you go back to your 'independence'."
"No," you gasped, your head falling forward onto the mattress.
"No?" He thrust harder, the slap of his thighs against your ass echoing in the room. "I thought you didn't need me?"
You turned your head to the side, pressing your cheek into the pillow so he could hear you. The pleasure was sharpening your edges, making you bold.
"I don't need you talking," you moaned, pushing back against him to take him deeper. "That random guy couldn't handle me. He wouldn't know how to fuck me like this."
Harry paused for a split second, the words hitting him exactly where you intended. A dark, arrogant smirk curled his lips in the shadows.
"Is that right?" he murmured, sounding pleased. "He couldn't handle you?"
"No," you cried out as he hit a particularly deep spot. "Only you. I only get this wet for you, Harry. I need you to ruin me with it."
"Fuck," Harry swore, his ego stroking perfectly alongside his lust. "You hold on tight then."
He released your wrists, but only to grab your hips with bruising force. He shoved you downward, flattening your stomach against the mattress, changing the angle so he could go even deeper.
He began to piston into you, wild and unhinged. He wasn't holding back anymore. He was fucking you hard, his fingers digging into your flesh, pushing your hips down into the springs to meet his thrusts, claiming you with every violent stroke.
Time lost all meaning.
Harry was relentless. He was a machine, his stamina fueled by the whiskey and the months of pent-up aggression. He didn't just fuck you; he used you. He used your body to work out every frustration, every argument, every moment of jealousy.
He pounded into you until your thighs were shaking so hard they couldn't support you anymore. You collapsed flat against the mattress, but he didn't stop. He just followed you down, his weight covering you like a heavy blanket, his hips grinding against your buttocks as he continued to drive deep inside you.
"Fuck pet," he grunted, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your shoulder. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."
He dragged another orgasm out of you, your third? Fourth? You had lost count. This one left you crying, your walls clamping down so hard it must have been painful for him, but he just groaned and thrust through it.
You were wrecked. Your mind was a white haze of pleasure and exhaustion. You were limp beneath him, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged whimpers. You couldn't move. You couldn't speak.
Harry sensed the shift.
He slowed his rhythm, but didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep inside you, pulsing, his chest heaving against your back.
He reached up and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back gently so he could see your face in the darkness.
"Hey," he barked, shaking you slightly. "Stay with me."
You blinked, trying to focus on him, but the room was spinning.
"Red," he demanded, his voice rough and breathless. "Give me the word and I’ll stop. You're barely conscious."
"No," you wheezed, the word barely audible.
"No?" Harry chuckled, a dark, incredulous sound. "You're trembling. You can't even lift your head. Are you still there, baby? Or is your brain completely fried?"
"I'm here," you whispered, trying to push back against him, though your muscles were jelly. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered, sounding equal parts impressed and horrified. "You really are a glutton for punishment."
"Fine," he growled, reaching down to spread your ass cheeks, preparing to hammer into you again. "Then you better brace yourself, because I haven't even started to cum yet."
He didn't wait. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to anchor you, and he began to move with a desperate, frantic energy.
He wasn't pacing himself anymore. He was chasing his own release, hammering into you with short, sharp thrusts that hit that deepest spot.
You whimpered into the pillow, the friction becoming overwhelming. It wasn't pain; it was pure, blinding intensity. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, needing him just as much as he needed you.
"Christ," he encouraged, his voice breaking.
He leaned down, his heavy chest pressing against your back, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of your neck. He bit down, not to hurt, but to ground himself.
"I’m close," he warned, his hips stuttering as he drove into you harder. "I’m gonna... fuck!"
Harry shouted your name, a raw, guttural roar that filled the room. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt and holding you there, crushed beneath his weight.
You felt him pulse inside you, hot and heavy. He poured himself into you, his body jerking with every spasm, emptying months of frustration and anger and desire straight into your core.
He held you through the aftershocks, refusing to pull out, needing to stay connected to you for as long as possible. Finally, with a long, shuddering exhale, he collapsed on top of you, his face burying in the crook of your neck, his heart hammering against your back like a trapped bird.
The room fell silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the rain still beating against the window, the only witnesses to the storm that had just passed.
Eventually, the heaviness of the moment shifted.
Harry pulled away slowly, a groan vibrating in his chest as he withdrew from you. The loss of him was a physical ache, followed immediately by the rush of cool air hitting your damp, overheated skin.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, head in his hands, recovering. Then, he stood up.
You couldn't take your eyes off him. Illuminated by the faint light spilling in from the street, he was breathtaking. Broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, the strong columns of his legs. But it was the evidence of what you had done to him that kept your gaze fixed.
His back was a canvas of your desperation. Angry red welts were raked down his shoulder blades where your nails had dug in.
Harry didn't seem to notice your staring. He walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards.
A moment later, you heard the rushing sound of water from the en-suite bathroom. The faint scent of his expensive body wash, sandalwood and amber, wafted into the bedroom, mixing with the scent of sex.
He returned a minute later, holding a tall glass of ice water. He walked to your side of the bed and knelt down, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"Here," he murmured, his voice still raspy from shouting.
He helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips. The water was freezing, shocking your system in the best way. You drank greedily, some of it spilling down your chin, but Harry just caught the droplet with his thumb, wiping it away gently.
He set the glass down on the nightstand and turned back to you. His expression was unreadable, softer now, the rage completely spent.
"You're a mess," he whispered, though there was no bite in it.
He reached out, his large hands cupping your face. He used his fingers to gently comb your hair back from your forehead, untangling the sweaty strands that were plastered to your cheeks. He tucked the hair behind your ears, studying your face with a quiet, intense focus, as if making sure you were still all there.
"Come on," he said softly.
He didn't wait for you to move. He slid his arms under you, one beneath your knees, the other supporting your back, and lifted you effortlessly.
You let your head fall against his bare shoulder, your skin brushing against the scratches you had left there. He carried you into the bathroom, where the room was already filling with steam.
"I ran a bath," he said, walking toward the large tub. "You're going to soak. And I'm going to take care of you."
He lowered you slowly into the tub, the steaming water rising to engulf your aching muscles. It stung slightly against the bite mark on your thigh and the scratches on your back, but it was a soothing, grounding heat.
Harry didn't step away. He knelt beside the tub, ignoring the water soaking into his knees. He reached for a washcloth, dipping it into the water and wringing it out before bringing it to your shoulder, gently wiping away the sweat and the memories of the last hour.
You watched him, this man who had been a demon in the bedroom ten minutes ago, now touching you with the reverence of a saint. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, his expression concentrated and calm.
It was confusing. It was terrifying.
"You went from ripping my clothes off to playing nurse," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You tilted your head, catching his gaze. "Have you gone soft on me, Harry?"
Harry paused, the washcloth hovering over your collarbone. A surprise ripple of amusement crossed his face, breaking the serious mask. He let out a low, soft laugh, a sound that vibrated with a terrifying amount of affection.
"Don't push your luck, Pet," he whispered, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I just need you in one piece so I can do it all again tomorrow."
He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your wet forehead, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.
You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite every warning bell ringing in your head. You thought about the fighting in the car, the violence in the elevator, the sex that felt like war, and now this tender quiet in the bathroom.
You let out a shaky breath, opening your eyes to look at him.
"We are so fucked," you whispered.
Harry didn't deny it. He just smirked, tracing the line of your jaw.
Stitches and Second Chances- Doctor!harry styles x reader
Synopsis:- Harry never expects his ex to walk into his ER two months after their breakup, shaken from a minor car accident. Old habits return and unresolved feelings resurface, making them realize some bonds don’t break, they just wait to be found again.
A/N:- I know it's a little late, but how could I not write about doctor!harry being a med student? This is one of my favorite fics I've written, I hope you guys love it too. Please like and reblog to support.
Warnings: ER, blood, stitches, wounds, needles, car accident.
Word count: 6.3K
____________________________________
The emergency department was already awake when Harry walked in.
Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms. A stretcher rolled past him toward radiology. Someone called for a porter. Phones rang intermittently at the nurses’ station. It was controlled chaos, the kind he’d learned to move through without thinking.
He shoves his pen light into the pocket of his black scrubs, the stethoscope already around his neck.
“Morning,” he said, passing the triage desk.
“Morning,doc.” one of the nurses replied, glancing up with a tired smile. She was probably on her third cup of coffee, getting her last hours of night shift in.
“Here you go, Bed three’s all you.”, another nurse hands him a tab. “And five.”
“Right, thanks Mel.”, he says to her, already on his way towards bed 5.
He paused briefly outside the curtain, sanitised his hands, and stepped in.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Styles.” he said gently. “What brings you in today?”
The woman looked relieved. “I’ve had this chest discomfort since morning…”
He listened carefully, asking focused questions. Onset. Character. Radiation. Associated symptoms. He placed his stethoscope against her chest, listening to heart sounds, then lungs.
“We’ll get an ECG and some blood work,” he said calmly. “Just to be safe. Someone will be with you soon, yeah?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He stepped out, jotting quick notes.
“Can we get troponin, CBC, electrolytes?” he asked.
“On it,” the nurse replied.
He nodded and moved on. Onto bed 5. This was a kid with a tear streaked face, looked not more than 6 years old. His mother sat on the chair next to him, weaving her fingers through his hair. There was a dressing temporarily pressed to his knee, to stop bleeding from his wound.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Styles.”, he introduces, the mom smiling softly and he leans to meet the boy’s eyes. “Hi buddy, what’s your name?”
“Ron.”, he sniffles.
“What happened Ron, did you take a fall?”, Harry asks, putting on gloves. Ron nods and Harry looks at the mom for a better explanation.
“Foot ball practice, took a pretty nasty fall. Scraped his knee, twisted his ankle.”, she tells him.
“Alright, let me take a look yeah?”, he says softly to the boy. He pulls up a chair and removes the gauze to assess the injury. Ron winces as his fingers press against the margins of the wound. “Sorry..nothing to worry Ron, we’ll clean that and cover it up, it’s not too deep. I can see it’s painful though, you’re being very brave.”
“C-Can I go back to practice after this?”, Ron asks him and he chuckles as his mom sighs and shakes her head.
“Not right away, buddy, I’d like for you to get some rest. Your ankle hurts too?”
“Mhmm.”
Harry examined his ankle as well, and it could be a hairline fracture or a sprain, an x ray to confirm.
“I want an x ray on that. Clean and dress the knee, tetanus shot. You got it?”, he asked the resident who was sent his way by the nurse.
“Of course sir.”, he nods, putting gloves on, smiling at the mom and son, greeting them.
“Good job Ron, I’ll be back soon. High five?”
He puts his hand out and smiles as the kid gives him one.
“Harry, can you take bed 9? Just came in, accident, young female, got a laceration, possible concussion, I’ll give you an intern in a minute.”, the head nurse, Macie, asks him.
“Sure.”, Harry walks to the other side, towards bed 9. He does the same routine before meeting the patient. “Hi I’m Doctor-”, he stops mid sentence, his blood running cold as he sees who his patient was.
________________________________________
She shouldn’t have been driving.
She knew that.
Her eyes burned, head heavy, limbs slow. Her days were stretched endlessly, meetings, deadlines, skipped breakfast, coffee slowly replacing all her meals. But she had to work. She was working for a position she was so close to getting. That was her only motivation.
Besides, it was all a good distraction from the ache in her heart. No, it couldn’t fill the huge empty space he had left her behind with, but it was something. Something so that she doesn’t drive herself crazy in her loneliness.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to stay alert. Turned the radio up. Cracked the window slightly. The cool air helped for a moment.
Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. She didn’t look.
Her eyelids drooped.
Only for a second.
A microsleep, barely noticeable, barely there.
But long enough.
The car drifted slightly, tires grazing the divider. The sudden vibration jolted her awake, but she overcorrected instinctively. The steering jerked, the car swerved, and the front bumper clipped the side railing with a dull, scraping impact.
Her head slammed against her window, her right wrist trapped between the steering wheel and airbag as it deployed with a loud pop.
Everything stopped.
Silence filled the car, thick and disorienting. Her ears rang faintly. The smell of deployed airbags ,sharp, chemical, lingered in the air.
She blinked slowly. Her heart raced, breath shallow, but she didn’t immediately register what had happened. Her hands still rested on the wheel, fingers trembling slightly.
Someone knocked on the window.
She turned her head slowly. A man gestured, concerned.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded automatically, though she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts felt sluggish, distant. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the motion clumsy, and pushed the door open.
The night air felt cooler outside.
“You okay?” another voice asked.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It was just… I think I just drifted a little.”
“You hit the divider,” the man said gently.
She looked back at the car. The front bumper was dented. The glass of her window was cracked, one part completely broken. Not terrible. Not catastrophic. Just… inconvenient.
“I’ll call someone for the car,” she murmured, more to herself. “It’s fine.”
“You sure you’re alright?” someone else asked.
She nodded again. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Her mind jumped immediately to practical things. The car. Insurance. Getting to office. Today’s work.
She took a step forward, and someone grabbed her arm lightly.
“Wait.”
She looked down as pain slowly seared through her arm. She was bleeding.
A thin line ran along her forearm, but it was flowing from the cut fast. Tiny specks of glass clung to her sleeve. The blood wasn’t pouring, but it was enough to stain the fabric.
She stared at it, confused.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“You’re bleeding,” the woman beside her said.
“I… I think it’s just a scratch.”
“You should get that checked.”
“It’s fine,” she replied automatically. “I just need to-”
“You were just in an accident,” the woman said gently. “You might be in shock, you have a bruise on your forehead too.”
She blinked slowly, processing the words with delay.
“I’m okay,” she repeated, though it sounded less certain now.
The woman stepped closer. She was middle-aged, kind-eyed, her voice calm and reassuring. “There’s a hospital five minutes away. Just get checked. It’s better.”
“I don’t think-”
“You look pale,” the woman added softly. “And you might not notice everything right now.”
She glanced down at her arm again. The blood had spread slightly. It still didn’t hurt much. Mostly just… strange. Her wrist was hurting a bit though.
“I was just going to call someone for the car,” she murmured.
“They can wait. You come first.”
She hesitated.
Her thoughts still felt slow, like they were moving through fog. The woman’s calm presence grounded her.
“I can take you,” the woman said. “My car’s right there.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted gently.
She looked at the dented car once more, then back at the woman.
“…Okay.”
The drive was quiet.
She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her tired, more tired than before. Her arm throbbed faintly now, but it still didn’t feel serious. Her head was starting to ache too. She tried to remember what had happened in that millisecond when she closed her eyes, but it just made her more tired so she stopped.
“You feeling dizzy?” the woman asked.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. We’re almost there.”
Her thoughts drifted, unfocused. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled shakily.
“You live nearby?” the woman asked softly.
“Yeah… about fifteen minutes.”
“You’ll be home soon.”
She nodded.
The hospital came into view, the emergency department glowing. The woman pulled into the drop-off lane and parked.
“We’re here.”
She blinked, grounding herself again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. Come on.”
They walked inside together. The fluorescent lighting felt harsh after the dark outside. A nurse glanced up from triage.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Minor car accident,” the woman replied. “She’s got some bruises, her arm’s bleeding and she seems a bit shaken.”
The nurse nodded. “Have a seat. We’ll call you.”
She turned to the woman. “You really didn’t have to stay…”
“I wanted to make sure you got in,” she said warmly.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you. Really.”
The woman squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re welcome, dear.”
She watched her leave, then sat down in the waiting area, finally noticing how tired she felt.
Her arm rested loosely in her lap, blood slowly drying along the cut. Her wrist was starting to swell up now. Neither did she realize which hospital she had been brought into, nor did she realize who might have been on shift.
“Come on love, let’s get you to a bed. Right this way.”, a kind nurse comes up to her. She stands shakily, swaying lightly, and the nurse slips her hand around her arm as she guides her to a bed, pushing back the curtains.
“What’s your name?”, she asks.
“Y/N.”
“Y/N, I’m gonna get your vitals, okay? Do you remember what happened?”
Y/N tries to recollect as much as she can as the kind nurse takes her vitals, and then helps her pull up her sleeve to see the wound in her arm. Now it was starting to hurt, she had to bite her lip in pain as the fabric grazed it. She almost passed out when she looked at it. Blood oozed out from it.
“Can I call anyone for you?”, she asks her.
y/n shakes her head slowly. She didn’t want to scare her poor parents who lived away, she’d tell them about it after she’s out of the hospital. Her best friend was out of town.
“No one, thanks.”
“Alright, a doctor will be with you in a minute.”
It took her less than a minute to assign a doctor to her, probably seeing the extent of her injury. The nurse was back with her again, this time with a doctor following her.
Y/N felt like passing out for the third time that morning when she saw who her doctor was.
“Hi I’m Doctor-”, he pauses too, green eyes wide as he stops mid movement, fingers gripping his tab. “Y/N?”
Harry didn’t move for a second.
This was his worst nightmare.
Someone he loved, still loved, he realised instantly, sitting in an ER bed. Pale. Hurt. Blood on her arm.
“Hey.”, she mumbled.
“What the hell happened?”
Y/n swallows, her voice coming out softer than she intended it too. “Drove my car into a divider.”
He forced himself to breathe, grounding himself in what he could see.
She was conscious. Talking. Breathing normally. No obvious distress.
She’s fine.
The thought repeated in his head like a mantra.
She’s fine. No major bleeding. Just superficial injuries. She’s fine.
“Oh, you two know each other?”, the nurse asks.
Oh they knew each other better than anyone else.
It physically hurt seeing him.
Two months. Two months of silence, of pretending she was okay, of not hearing his voice, not seeing him, not texting him. And now he was standing in front of her like nothing had changed except everything had.
Y/N fidgets with her hands, she wasn’t prepared to see him, not today of all the days.
Harry gives the nurse a look, and she looks at the name of their patient again, then it clicks. Harry had told all of them about his y/n.. He was the happiest he’d ever been when she was in his life. She also remembers that he’s now single.
“Oh. Oh that y/n..”, she murmurs as it clicks. “I’m sorry, I can assign someone else.”
“No.”, Harry said immediately, already pulling gloves on. He looks at her, looking so small, so scared, hurt. The protective instinct hit before logic did. He didn’t want anyone else touching her. Examining her. Deciding things about her.
But then, this wasn’t just about him.
He looked at her properly, searching her face. “Do you… want another doctor?” he asked quietly. “I can ask someone else to take over.”
The question hung between them.
She shook her head almost immediately.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
He studied her, making sure.
She hesitated, then added, “I’d rather… have a familiar face.”
The nurse glanced between them, reading the tension. “Vitals, Macie?”, Harry asks, shifting into doctor mode as his eyes wandered from the wound on her head, to her arm, and then her hand that laid limply in her lap. Her wrist had a bit of swelling.
“Pulse 104, BP 142 over 88, sats normal. She’s a bit tachy, probably just shaken.”
Harry nodded, moving to her side. “Thanks.”
“Doctor Styles, I was told to assist you-”, someone comes inside the curtain, an intern and Harry stops him before he can complete. “I’ve got it, you can get me an update on bed 3’s labs.”
“Alright.” Macie, the nurse and the intern step away, leaving only Harry and y/n.
Harry pulled the curtain closed fully, shutting out the rest of the ER. The sounds muted immediately, leaving them in a quieter bubble.
The silence returned.
It was awkward now. Different from before. Heavy with things unsaid.
Harry forced himself to focus, reaching gently for her chin.
“You hit your head?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Against the window when the airbag opened, I think the glass broke a little..”
He reached for her chin, tilting her face slightly toward the light.
The contact was brief, clinical, but it sent a familiar warmth across her skin. Her breath caught faintly. She hadn’t realised how much she missed that, his touch, the way he always held her carefully, like she was something fragile.
He noticed the hesitation in her eyes.
She looks scared, he thought.
Not panicked, just shaken. Vulnerable. Tired. Her lashes slightly clumped, her skin pale, a faint bruise forming near her temple. She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
He cleared his throat.
“There’s some dried blood,” he murmured softly.
He used gauze, gently wiping along her temple. She flinched slightly.
“Sorry,” he whispered immediately.
His other hand stayed against her face, steadying her. His thumb brushed absent circles along her cheek without him even realising. The motion was instinctive, comforting, grounding.
She noticed. Her eyes flickered to his briefly. He realised what he was doing and almost pulled back, but she relaxed slightly under his touch, so he left his hand there, just for a moment longer.
He carefully brushed away a few tiny glass fragments caught near her hairline.
“This one’s superficial,” he said quietly. “Just a small wound. No stitches.”
She nods, watching him squeeze out some ointment onto his finger and apply it to her wound. “Any headache?”, he asks.
“A-A bit.”, she replies. It stings again, for a second, and then he’s pressing a bandage to it. “Done.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, the absence of contact noticeable to both of them.
“I’m going to check for concussion symptoms, okay?” he added.
She nodded.
He asked the questions gently.
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Blurred vision?”
She shook her head.
He checked her pupils, shining the penlight briefly. “Follow my finger.”
Her eyes tracked smoothly.
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
She answered correctly, voice soft.
He nodded, reassured. “You’re okay. No signs of concussion.”
She exhaled quietly. “Let’s see the arm.”
She let him gently turn her arm towards him, and as she looked at it, she felt slightly dazed again. It wasn’t bleeding as much now, but it still freaked her out a bit. His fingers gently palpated the skin around the deep cut, observing its depth. She winces, and his eyes move to her face, seeing how she looks a bit pale.
“Hey, don’t look..look at me.”, he coos, and she does, how can she not when he sounds like that?
“I-I’m sorry I’m just freaked out..”, she admits, biting her bottom lip.
“It’s okay, love, you’re safe now, take some deep breaths. I’ll fix you up soon, don’t worry.”, he assures, and she gives him a small smile back, how could she not? The term of affection just rolled off his tongue. She was starting to relax after everything, finally. The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
“It’s going to need stitches but it’ll be over before you know it.”, he says, pulling up a chair and rolling over the small table where there were supplies he’ll need, and where she could place her arm so he could work. He brings over the lamp so that it shines light over her arm.
“Will it hurt?”, she asks as he picks up the saline.
“I’ll numb you up for the stitches so that’ll be just a bit of pressure. Now I’m gonna clean it and remove some glass pieces I can see, it’ll sting just a little bit. You’re strong, you got this.”
He reached for saline and began irrigating the wound. Cool liquid ran over her skin. She tensed slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low.
He worked methodically, removing tiny glass pieces with forceps. His touch remained careful, almost overly gentle.
“How did you drive into the divider?” he asked quietly.
“I… dozed off,” she said. “Just for a second.”
His jaw tightened. “You fell asleep at the wheel?”
She nodded faintly.
He continued cleaning, then asked softly, “Have you been sleeping?”
She hesitated.
“…Not really.”
He paused.
“How much?”
“Few hours. Here and there.”
Concern surged immediately. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell her she couldn’t keep doing this. Wanted to remind her she always pushed herself too hard. He remembered the arguments, him telling her that the job wasn’t worth it, that they were overworking her, delaying her promotion.
“Still doing that job huh?”
Her fingers curled slightly, as she looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
He swallowed the words that were coming up. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.
“Something like this was exactly what I was afraid of.”, he murmurs, not able to keep that quiet.
She wasn’t in the mood for more arguing. “What do you want to hear, Harry? That you were right?”
“Well, about this, I was. You’re tired of it too.”
“But I’m gonna have to start from the beginning someplace else, if I leave now. I can’t do that.”
“You just have to find the right place, y/n. Sacrificing your health for whatever reason doesn’t make sense to me, it shouldn’t to you either.”, he says, preparing her anesthetic.
She just sighed. “Small sting.”, he warns. The needle slid in.
She sucked in a breath immediately, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it. “Fuck. That’s s-small?”
He cracked a small smile, apologizing. “Sorry, sorry, this is the worst part, hang in there.”
She turned her face slightly away, shoulders tensing. He injected slowly to minimise the burn, but he could still see the discomfort in her expression. Her brows pinched, lips pressed together.
“How’s… how’s Milo?”
The question slipped out before he thought too hard about it.
Her eyes flickered back to him in surprise.
“Milo?” she repeated softly. Milo was their dog. Well now, it was hers, after their breakup.
He nodded, still working carefully. “Yeah. He still stealing socks?”
A faint smile appeared despite the sting. “All the time.”
He huffed quietly. “Figures.”
She winced again as he finished the injection, her eyes were burning with tears now. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself.
“Sorry,” he murmured again, his thumb brushing lightly against her wrist in reassurance. “Almost done.”
He withdrew the needle and gently pressed gauze over the area.
“Give that a minute to numb,” he said softly.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing as the burning sensation faded. She blinks, small tears that were welled up sliding down her cheeks and Harry’s heart aches for her as he reaches for a tissue and dabs them away, without second thoughts. “You’re being very brave.”
She chuckles, taking the tissue from him. “Crying over injections? Kids probably do better than me.”
“That must have hurt like hell, love, and you just went through a lot. It’s totally fine. You’re doing great, trust me.”, he assures and she lets that sink in. He lifts the ice pack from her wrist to check on it.
“How bad does that hurt?”, he asks, palpating against the joint.
“Not too bad.”, she murmurs. “Can you move it?”
“Mhm..but it hurts when I move it.”
He checks her range of motion. “It’s probably just a sprain, but we’ll do an x ray to confirm.”
She nods.
“He’s gotten bigger,” she said after a moment. “Milo.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Still refuses to sleep in his own bed.”
“He never did,” Harry said quietly. “Always ended up between us.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
They both fell silent for a moment.
“Still scared of thunderstorms?” he asked softly.
“Yeah. Crawls under the blanket.”
He smiled, eyes soft. “Dramatic.”
“He gets that from you.”
Harry huffed quietly. “I’m not dramatic.”
She gave him a small look.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted.
He gently touched around the wound, checking sensation.
“Can you feel this?”
“Pressure,” she said.
“Sharp?”
“No.”
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re numb.”
He reached for the suture kit, opening it carefully.
“It’s a clean cut, so it should heal well.”
She nodded.
He positioned her arm again, steadying it gently with his hand. His touch was slow, deliberate, careful. The needle passed through the skin, and she didn’t flinch this time.
“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He tied the first knot neatly, cutting the thread.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Will it scar?”
“Zero to minimal, love, I’m trying my best to make sure of that.”
“Thanks.”, she whispers. She hoped there wouldn’t be an ugly scar running down her arm.
“I’ll place a few more,” he said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
She watched him while he stitched.
He was completely focused, brows drawn together slightly, lips pressed in concentration. His curls fell forward just a little as he leaned closer, and he pushed them back absently with the back of his wrist before tying another neat knot. His hands were steady, precise, gentle in a way that made her chest tighten.
He looked the same.
Maybe a little more tired. Maybe slightly more guarded. But still him.
Still the same green eyes. Still the same careful touch. Still the same quiet concentration he slipped into when he wanted everything to be perfect.
She hadn’t realised how much she missed seeing him like this.
“How’ve you been?” she asked softly.
He paused for the briefest second before continuing the stitch.
“Busy,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“Work’s… been a lot,” he added.
“Your mum?”
He smiled softly. “Good. Asks about you though, always on me for letting you go.”
Her throat tightens.
“All done,” he murmured, pulling off his gloves and disposing of them. He puts away the light, table, chair and goes to her side again, picking up his stethoscope.
“I’m just going to listen to your heart and lungs,” he said. “Make sure everything’s okay.”
She was sure he’d hear her heart beating abnormally fast, but she sat up straight as the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope touched her chest through her shirt. She inhaled softly.
“Deep breath, love,” he murmured.
She breathed in slowly. “Any difficulty breathing?”
“Nope.”
“Chest pain? Any sort of pain when you breathe?”
“No..”
TThat means her ribs are alright. He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope to different positions, front, then back. His hand rested lightly against her shoulder to steady her as she leaned forward.
“Tell your mum I miss her too.”, she tells him, while he palpates her abdomen. His fingers pause slightly, then his lips twitch into a smile, nodding. “Only my mum?”, he teases.
“Of course. Who else?”, she teased back, and he chuckled. “Right. When was your last tetanus shot?”
She blinks. “I don’t remember..probably in school.”
“More than 5 years, we’ll give you a booster.”
She makes a face. “I thought I was done with needles.”
“This should be easy compared to that. Nurse Macie is very gentle too.”, he says. Soon nurse Macie’s ready to give her the shot, swabbing her upper arm.
“Don’t look.”, Harry says to her again, and she turns towards him, fist uncurling. Harry slips his hand into hers, patting it with his other hand, smiling. “I’ll give you a sticker if you don’t cry.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
He laughed. The nurse smiles at their exchange, it was rare to see Harry laughing with patients like that. Clearly, this one was special to him. She flinched as the needle went in, moving her head further away, it bumped into Harry’s arm. He steadied her as she squeezed his hand, bringing his other one to the back of her head. “It’s okay, almost done.”
Soon, it was done. The nurse placed a small bandage and stepped back. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”, Harry asks as y/n pulls back.
“Still bad. Thank you.”, she tells the nurse who smiled. “Of course.” She checks her tab. “Radiology’s ready for the wrist.”
Harry realized they were still holding hands. “Right.”, his thumb brushed her knuckles before he let go.
He helped her off the bed instinctively, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she felt dizzy. He withdrew slightly once she steadied.
“I’ll see you after,” he said softly.
_____________________________
A few minutes later, she was back. Harry re-entered the cubicle with the X-ray report in hand.
“Good news,” he said quietly. “No fracture. Just a sprain.”
She exhaled in relief.
He picked up a crepe bandage and moved closer.
“I’m going to wrap this for support,” he explained.
He gently lifted her hand, careful not to twist the wrist. His touch was slow, deliberate. He wrapped the bandage snugly but not tight, checking circulation.
“Tell me if this feels too tight.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’re you getting home?”
“Um..cab?”
He frowns, not happy with that answer. “You could call Sherin?”, he asks, Sherin was her best friend.
“She’s not here, went to her dad’s for the weekend.”
He couldn’t let her go home alone, in this state. He secured the end of the bandage neatly, then lightly checked her fingers.
“Move them.”
She flexed slightly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep this on for a couple of days,” he said softly. “Rest the wrist. Ice if it swells more. Elevate when you can.”
She nodded.
“And the stitches,” he added, gesturing to her arm. “Keep it dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can gently clean around it. No soaking.”
She listened quietly.
“Come back in seven days, I’ll remove them for you, and check on the wrist, yeah?”
“Alright.”
He pulled out something from his pocket then, smirking. “Which one does my brave patient want?”
She laughs as he shows her his sticker collection. “I thought you were joking about that.”
“Not at all, you’ve deserved it.”
She hums as she looks at them, pointing to a jellyfish one. “Can I have that one?”
“Sure.”, he removes it carefully and sticks it over her bandage. “Cute.”
“Thank you.”, she smiled.
“Course. Oh and I don’t want you going back to work tomorrow, or day after. You need to rest for two days, at least."
“But-”
“No buts, y/n, I’ll email you a note, send it to that asshole boss of yours, Doctor’s orders.”, he completes, and she can’t help but smile. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor Styles.”
“Anything for you.”, he smirks, patting her shoulder. “Wait just a minute, I’ll drive you home.”
“What-no, Harry you’ve already done so much, I can get myself home.”
“I want to. It’s no big deal.”, he says, and leaves before she can protest more. Harry had already spoken to his ER head while she was taken for the x ray, he could slip away for a few hours. He’ll make it up later. He had to sign some discharge papers for his earlier patients, and once he’s done with that, he’s guiding her towards his car.
“You didn’t have to.”, she murmurs, but she is grateful, as he opens the passenger seat for her.
“I’ll sleep better knowing you’ve settled in safe at your place.”, he replies.
The soft hum of the engine filled the space. She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaustion settling deeper now that everything was over.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked after a minute.
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He glanced at her briefly. She looked pale, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped. He remembered how she always looked like this after pushing herself too far.
“You should sleep when you get home,” he murmured.
“Planning to,” she said softly.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“You scared me there for a minute, you know.”, he admits. “Seeing you like that, god.”
“I’m sorry.”, she whispered. “I scared myself.”
He nods. “You’re okay now though.”
They pulled up outside her building.
He parked, then stepped out before she could protest, walking around to her side. He opened the door and offered his hand instinctively. She took it, stepping out carefully.
The walk inside was quiet. He stayed close again, ready if she wobbled, though she didn’t. As soon as she opened the door, nails clicked rapidly against the floor.
A blur of fur came skidding around the corner.
“Milo-” she started, but the dog had already reached them.
He stopped short for half a second, head tilted, like he was processing. Then his entire body lit up, tail wagging so hard his whole back end swayed. He let out a soft excited whine and bounded forward.
Straight to Harry.
Harry barely had time to react before Milo jumped up, paws pressing against his thighs, tail wagging uncontrollably. A small, surprised laugh left him as he crouched instinctively.
“Hey, hey, buddy.” he murmured, hands immediately moving to scratch behind his ears.
Milo whined happily, licking at his hands, nudging his face, circling him like he’d just returned from a long trip rather than two months of absence.
“You remember me, huh?” Harry said softly.
The dog leaned into him, tail still going, completely content.
Y/N stood near the door, watching.
A small smile appeared on her face.
It was like nothing had changed. Milo didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just ran to him like he always had, like Harry still belonged here.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed seeing them together. Harry crouched on the floor, Milo practically climbing into his lap, Harry laughing quietly, rubbing his sides, letting him nuzzle into his shoulder.
“You got bigger,” Harry murmured. “Or you’re just heavier.”
Milo wagged harder in response.
“He’s definitely heavier,” she said softly.
Harry glanced up at her, still petting him. “You been feeding him extra?”
“He begs.”
“You always gave in.”
“You did too.”
He smiled faintly.
Milo finally settled, pressing close to Harry’s leg like he was claiming his spot again. Harry scratched under his chin absentmindedly, the motion familiar.
She watched them for another second, smile lingering, but there was a quiet sadness beneath it too. It felt warm, comforting… and a little painful. Like glimpsing something that used to be hers.
Harry stood slowly, Milo immediately following, staying close. “You can stay for a bit, I’ll make you something to drink.”, she said.
He blinked at her.
“You were just in an accident,” he said, half incredulous.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
He rolled his eyes softly. “You haven’t changed.”
She gave a tired smile.
“You should lie down,” he said gently, stepping inside. “You look exhausted.”
“I can make tea,” she insisted.
“Absolutely not.”
She looked at him.
“You’re going to sit,” he said softly but firmly. “Or lie down. I’ll make tea.”
She hesitated, then nodded, too tired to argue.
He guided her toward the couch, then paused. “Actually… bed.”
She blinked.
“You need rest,” he added.
She didn’t protest this time.
He watched her walk toward the bedroom, slower now, exhaustion catching up. Something protective tightened in his chest again.
“I’ll bring it in,” he called softly.
She nodded, disappearing inside.
Harry stood in the quiet apartment for a moment, taking in the familiar space. Some things had changed. Some hadn’t.
Then he moved toward the kitchen, already filling the kettle. Milo followed him halfway, then settled near the doorway, keeping watch like he always did.
The apartment felt familiar. Too familiar. The mugs were still in the same cabinet. The tea box still tucked in the corner. He didn’t need to search for anything.
He made the tea the way she liked it, lighter, just a splash of milk. He carried the two mugs carefully toward the bedroom.
She was sitting against the headboard now, shoes off, exhaustion clear in the way her shoulders sagged. She kept her injured wrist elevated on a pillow. Milo had jumped onto the bed beside her, curled protectively near her legs.
Harry stepped inside quietly. “Here.”
She looked up, offering a tired smile. “Thank you.”
He handed her the mug carefully, making sure she didn’t strain her wrist. Their fingers brushed briefly.
He sat down beside her, leaving a small space, not too close, not too far. The silence settled softly between them as they both took a sip.
The warmth helped. The quiet helped.
After a moment, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“For… everything. Today. Being there. Taking care of me.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured.
She shook her head slightly. “I do.”
He looked down at the tea in his hands, then back at her.
“I’d always be there for you,” he said quietly. “No matter what’s going on between us.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“You’d never have to face anything scary alone,” he added softly.
The words settled deep.
She leaned back slightly against the headboard, and without realising it, her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
It felt natural. Like muscle memory.
Their arms rested close, warmth seeping through the thin space between them. She leaned just a little more, not fully, just enough that their sides touched.
Harry went very still.
Seeing her in that hospital bed had terrified him. For a moment, when he’d first pulled back the curtain, his mind had gone blank, just fear, sharp and immediate. Someone he loved hurt. Vulnerable. Alone.
And now she was here, beside him, safe.
He exhaled slowly, tension easing.
She noticed.
She also realised something else, the calm she’d felt the moment she saw him in the ER. The way her racing thoughts slowed. The way she trusted him instantly. The way she knew she was okay because he was there.
Things had happened. They’d broken up. They’d hurt each other.
But none of that had changed this. Their bond was still there. Stronger than the distance.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime?” she asked softly. “Just… start again?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’d like nothing more,” he said quietly.
Relief softened her expression. He set the mug aside, turning slightly toward her. His hand lifted almost instinctively, hesitating only a second before he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
He leaned forward gently and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, next to her bandage.
“I never stopped loving you, Y/N,” he murmured.
Her eyes closed briefly, the words settling deep.
“I didn’t either,” she whispered.
Her eyes were still slightly closed from the forehead kiss, her breathing slow, calm. Harry stayed close, watching her for a moment, memorising the way she looked when she was relaxed like this.
He had missed this.
Missed her.
Milo, who had been curled near her legs, suddenly lifted his head. His tail thumped once against the mattress, like he’d decided something. He stood, turned in a small circle, and climbed his way directly between them, nudging insistently until he fit himself into the narrow space.
She let out a soft surprised laugh.
“Hey-”
Milo pushed his nose against Harry’s arm, then turned and leaned his back against y/n, completely satisfied with his placement. His tail wagged lazily as he settled.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Still needs to be in the middle.”
“Always,” she said softly.
Milo sighed contentedly, wedged between them like he’d always belonged there.
Harry rested his hand gently over Milo’s head, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the process. Neither of them pulled away.
The dog shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, effectively trapping them in place.
She smiled, tired but warm.
“Guess he’s decided,” she murmured.
Harry smiled faintly. “Boss man.”, he said, making her laugh. She reaches for Harry’s hand, tangling her fingers through his and he brings it up to her lips, looking at her, smiling so wide his dimples were out. He didn’t need to say it. Everything felt like home again.
Stitches and Second Chances- Doctor!harry styles x reader
Synopsis:- Harry never expects his ex to walk into his ER two months after their breakup, shaken from a minor car accident. Old habits return and unresolved feelings resurface, making them realize some bonds don’t break, they just wait to be found again.
A/N:- I know it's a little late, but how could I not write about doctor!harry being a med student? This is one of my favorite fics I've written, I hope you guys love it too. Please like and reblog to support.
Warnings: ER, blood, stitches, wounds, needles, car accident.
Word count: 6.3K
____________________________________
The emergency department was already awake when Harry walked in.
Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms. A stretcher rolled past him toward radiology. Someone called for a porter. Phones rang intermittently at the nurses’ station. It was controlled chaos, the kind he’d learned to move through without thinking.
He shoves his pen light into the pocket of his black scrubs, the stethoscope already around his neck.
“Morning,” he said, passing the triage desk.
“Morning,doc.” one of the nurses replied, glancing up with a tired smile. She was probably on her third cup of coffee, getting her last hours of night shift in.
“Here you go, Bed three’s all you.”, another nurse hands him a tab. “And five.”
“Right, thanks Mel.”, he says to her, already on his way towards bed 5.
He paused briefly outside the curtain, sanitised his hands, and stepped in.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Styles.” he said gently. “What brings you in today?”
The woman looked relieved. “I’ve had this chest discomfort since morning…”
He listened carefully, asking focused questions. Onset. Character. Radiation. Associated symptoms. He placed his stethoscope against her chest, listening to heart sounds, then lungs.
“We’ll get an ECG and some blood work,” he said calmly. “Just to be safe. Someone will be with you soon, yeah?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He stepped out, jotting quick notes.
“Can we get troponin, CBC, electrolytes?” he asked.
“On it,” the nurse replied.
He nodded and moved on. Onto bed 5. This was a kid with a tear streaked face, looked not more than 6 years old. His mother sat on the chair next to him, weaving her fingers through his hair. There was a dressing temporarily pressed to his knee, to stop bleeding from his wound.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Styles.”, he introduces, the mom smiling softly and he leans to meet the boy’s eyes. “Hi buddy, what’s your name?”
“Ron.”, he sniffles.
“What happened Ron, did you take a fall?”, Harry asks, putting on gloves. Ron nods and Harry looks at the mom for a better explanation.
“Foot ball practice, took a pretty nasty fall. Scraped his knee, twisted his ankle.”, she tells him.
“Alright, let me take a look yeah?”, he says softly to the boy. He pulls up a chair and removes the gauze to assess the injury. Ron winces as his fingers press against the margins of the wound. “Sorry..nothing to worry Ron, we’ll clean that and cover it up, it’s not too deep. I can see it’s painful though, you’re being very brave.”
“C-Can I go back to practice after this?”, Ron asks him and he chuckles as his mom sighs and shakes her head.
“Not right away, buddy, I’d like for you to get some rest. Your ankle hurts too?”
“Mhmm.”
Harry examined his ankle as well, and it could be a hairline fracture or a sprain, an x ray to confirm.
“I want an x ray on that. Clean and dress the knee, tetanus shot. You got it?”, he asked the resident who was sent his way by the nurse.
“Of course sir.”, he nods, putting gloves on, smiling at the mom and son, greeting them.
“Good job Ron, I’ll be back soon. High five?”
He puts his hand out and smiles as the kid gives him one.
“Harry, can you take bed 9? Just came in, accident, young female, got a laceration, possible concussion, I’ll give you an intern in a minute.”, the head nurse, Macie, asks him.
“Sure.”, Harry walks to the other side, towards bed 9. He does the same routine before meeting the patient. “Hi I’m Doctor-”, he stops mid sentence, his blood running cold as he sees who his patient was.
________________________________________
She shouldn’t have been driving.
She knew that.
Her eyes burned, head heavy, limbs slow. Her days were stretched endlessly, meetings, deadlines, skipped breakfast, coffee slowly replacing all her meals. But she had to work. She was working for a position she was so close to getting. That was her only motivation.
Besides, it was all a good distraction from the ache in her heart. No, it couldn’t fill the huge empty space he had left her behind with, but it was something. Something so that she doesn’t drive herself crazy in her loneliness.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to stay alert. Turned the radio up. Cracked the window slightly. The cool air helped for a moment.
Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. She didn’t look.
Her eyelids drooped.
Only for a second.
A microsleep, barely noticeable, barely there.
But long enough.
The car drifted slightly, tires grazing the divider. The sudden vibration jolted her awake, but she overcorrected instinctively. The steering jerked, the car swerved, and the front bumper clipped the side railing with a dull, scraping impact.
Her head slammed against her window, her right wrist trapped between the steering wheel and airbag as it deployed with a loud pop.
Everything stopped.
Silence filled the car, thick and disorienting. Her ears rang faintly. The smell of deployed airbags ,sharp, chemical, lingered in the air.
She blinked slowly. Her heart raced, breath shallow, but she didn’t immediately register what had happened. Her hands still rested on the wheel, fingers trembling slightly.
Someone knocked on the window.
She turned her head slowly. A man gestured, concerned.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded automatically, though she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts felt sluggish, distant. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the motion clumsy, and pushed the door open.
The night air felt cooler outside.
“You okay?” another voice asked.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It was just… I think I just drifted a little.”
“You hit the divider,” the man said gently.
She looked back at the car. The front bumper was dented. The glass of her window was cracked, one part completely broken. Not terrible. Not catastrophic. Just… inconvenient.
“I’ll call someone for the car,” she murmured, more to herself. “It’s fine.”
“You sure you’re alright?” someone else asked.
She nodded again. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Her mind jumped immediately to practical things. The car. Insurance. Getting to office. Today’s work.
She took a step forward, and someone grabbed her arm lightly.
“Wait.”
She looked down as pain slowly seared through her arm. She was bleeding.
A thin line ran along her forearm, but it was flowing from the cut fast. Tiny specks of glass clung to her sleeve. The blood wasn’t pouring, but it was enough to stain the fabric.
She stared at it, confused.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“You’re bleeding,” the woman beside her said.
“I… I think it’s just a scratch.”
“You should get that checked.”
“It’s fine,” she replied automatically. “I just need to-”
“You were just in an accident,” the woman said gently. “You might be in shock, you have a bruise on your forehead too.”
She blinked slowly, processing the words with delay.
“I’m okay,” she repeated, though it sounded less certain now.
The woman stepped closer. She was middle-aged, kind-eyed, her voice calm and reassuring. “There’s a hospital five minutes away. Just get checked. It’s better.”
“I don’t think-”
“You look pale,” the woman added softly. “And you might not notice everything right now.”
She glanced down at her arm again. The blood had spread slightly. It still didn’t hurt much. Mostly just… strange. Her wrist was hurting a bit though.
“I was just going to call someone for the car,” she murmured.
“They can wait. You come first.”
She hesitated.
Her thoughts still felt slow, like they were moving through fog. The woman’s calm presence grounded her.
“I can take you,” the woman said. “My car’s right there.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted gently.
She looked at the dented car once more, then back at the woman.
“…Okay.”
The drive was quiet.
She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her tired, more tired than before. Her arm throbbed faintly now, but it still didn’t feel serious. Her head was starting to ache too. She tried to remember what had happened in that millisecond when she closed her eyes, but it just made her more tired so she stopped.
“You feeling dizzy?” the woman asked.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. We’re almost there.”
Her thoughts drifted, unfocused. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled shakily.
“You live nearby?” the woman asked softly.
“Yeah… about fifteen minutes.”
“You’ll be home soon.”
She nodded.
The hospital came into view, the emergency department glowing. The woman pulled into the drop-off lane and parked.
“We’re here.”
She blinked, grounding herself again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. Come on.”
They walked inside together. The fluorescent lighting felt harsh after the dark outside. A nurse glanced up from triage.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Minor car accident,” the woman replied. “She’s got some bruises, her arm’s bleeding and she seems a bit shaken.”
The nurse nodded. “Have a seat. We’ll call you.”
She turned to the woman. “You really didn’t have to stay…”
“I wanted to make sure you got in,” she said warmly.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you. Really.”
The woman squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re welcome, dear.”
She watched her leave, then sat down in the waiting area, finally noticing how tired she felt.
Her arm rested loosely in her lap, blood slowly drying along the cut. Her wrist was starting to swell up now. Neither did she realize which hospital she had been brought into, nor did she realize who might have been on shift.
“Come on love, let’s get you to a bed. Right this way.”, a kind nurse comes up to her. She stands shakily, swaying lightly, and the nurse slips her hand around her arm as she guides her to a bed, pushing back the curtains.
“What’s your name?”, she asks.
“Y/N.”
“Y/N, I’m gonna get your vitals, okay? Do you remember what happened?”
Y/N tries to recollect as much as she can as the kind nurse takes her vitals, and then helps her pull up her sleeve to see the wound in her arm. Now it was starting to hurt, she had to bite her lip in pain as the fabric grazed it. She almost passed out when she looked at it. Blood oozed out from it.
“Can I call anyone for you?”, she asks her.
y/n shakes her head slowly. She didn’t want to scare her poor parents who lived away, she’d tell them about it after she’s out of the hospital. Her best friend was out of town.
“No one, thanks.”
“Alright, a doctor will be with you in a minute.”
It took her less than a minute to assign a doctor to her, probably seeing the extent of her injury. The nurse was back with her again, this time with a doctor following her.
Y/N felt like passing out for the third time that morning when she saw who her doctor was.
“Hi I’m Doctor-”, he pauses too, green eyes wide as he stops mid movement, fingers gripping his tab. “Y/N?”
Harry didn’t move for a second.
This was his worst nightmare.
Someone he loved, still loved, he realised instantly, sitting in an ER bed. Pale. Hurt. Blood on her arm.
“Hey.”, she mumbled.
“What the hell happened?”
Y/n swallows, her voice coming out softer than she intended it too. “Drove my car into a divider.”
He forced himself to breathe, grounding himself in what he could see.
She was conscious. Talking. Breathing normally. No obvious distress.
She’s fine.
The thought repeated in his head like a mantra.
She’s fine. No major bleeding. Just superficial injuries. She’s fine.
“Oh, you two know each other?”, the nurse asks.
Oh they knew each other better than anyone else.
It physically hurt seeing him.
Two months. Two months of silence, of pretending she was okay, of not hearing his voice, not seeing him, not texting him. And now he was standing in front of her like nothing had changed except everything had.
Y/N fidgets with her hands, she wasn’t prepared to see him, not today of all the days.
Harry gives the nurse a look, and she looks at the name of their patient again, then it clicks. Harry had told all of them about his y/n.. He was the happiest he’d ever been when she was in his life. She also remembers that he’s now single.
“Oh. Oh that y/n..”, she murmurs as it clicks. “I’m sorry, I can assign someone else.”
“No.”, Harry said immediately, already pulling gloves on. He looks at her, looking so small, so scared, hurt. The protective instinct hit before logic did. He didn’t want anyone else touching her. Examining her. Deciding things about her.
But then, this wasn’t just about him.
He looked at her properly, searching her face. “Do you… want another doctor?” he asked quietly. “I can ask someone else to take over.”
The question hung between them.
She shook her head almost immediately.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
He studied her, making sure.
She hesitated, then added, “I’d rather… have a familiar face.”
The nurse glanced between them, reading the tension. “Vitals, Macie?”, Harry asks, shifting into doctor mode as his eyes wandered from the wound on her head, to her arm, and then her hand that laid limply in her lap. Her wrist had a bit of swelling.
“Pulse 104, BP 142 over 88, sats normal. She’s a bit tachy, probably just shaken.”
Harry nodded, moving to her side. “Thanks.”
“Doctor Styles, I was told to assist you-”, someone comes inside the curtain, an intern and Harry stops him before he can complete. “I’ve got it, you can get me an update on bed 3’s labs.”
“Alright.” Macie, the nurse and the intern step away, leaving only Harry and y/n.
Harry pulled the curtain closed fully, shutting out the rest of the ER. The sounds muted immediately, leaving them in a quieter bubble.
The silence returned.
It was awkward now. Different from before. Heavy with things unsaid.
Harry forced himself to focus, reaching gently for her chin.
“You hit your head?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Against the window when the airbag opened, I think the glass broke a little..”
He reached for her chin, tilting her face slightly toward the light.
The contact was brief, clinical, but it sent a familiar warmth across her skin. Her breath caught faintly. She hadn’t realised how much she missed that, his touch, the way he always held her carefully, like she was something fragile.
He noticed the hesitation in her eyes.
She looks scared, he thought.
Not panicked, just shaken. Vulnerable. Tired. Her lashes slightly clumped, her skin pale, a faint bruise forming near her temple. She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
He cleared his throat.
“There’s some dried blood,” he murmured softly.
He used gauze, gently wiping along her temple. She flinched slightly.
“Sorry,” he whispered immediately.
His other hand stayed against her face, steadying her. His thumb brushed absent circles along her cheek without him even realising. The motion was instinctive, comforting, grounding.
She noticed. Her eyes flickered to his briefly. He realised what he was doing and almost pulled back, but she relaxed slightly under his touch, so he left his hand there, just for a moment longer.
He carefully brushed away a few tiny glass fragments caught near her hairline.
“This one’s superficial,” he said quietly. “Just a small wound. No stitches.”
She nods, watching him squeeze out some ointment onto his finger and apply it to her wound. “Any headache?”, he asks.
“A-A bit.”, she replies. It stings again, for a second, and then he’s pressing a bandage to it. “Done.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, the absence of contact noticeable to both of them.
“I’m going to check for concussion symptoms, okay?” he added.
She nodded.
He asked the questions gently.
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Blurred vision?”
She shook her head.
He checked her pupils, shining the penlight briefly. “Follow my finger.”
Her eyes tracked smoothly.
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
She answered correctly, voice soft.
He nodded, reassured. “You’re okay. No signs of concussion.”
She exhaled quietly. “Let’s see the arm.”
She let him gently turn her arm towards him, and as she looked at it, she felt slightly dazed again. It wasn’t bleeding as much now, but it still freaked her out a bit. His fingers gently palpated the skin around the deep cut, observing its depth. She winces, and his eyes move to her face, seeing how she looks a bit pale.
“Hey, don’t look..look at me.”, he coos, and she does, how can she not when he sounds like that?
“I-I’m sorry I’m just freaked out..”, she admits, biting her bottom lip.
“It’s okay, love, you’re safe now, take some deep breaths. I’ll fix you up soon, don’t worry.”, he assures, and she gives him a small smile back, how could she not? The term of affection just rolled off his tongue. She was starting to relax after everything, finally. The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
“It’s going to need stitches but it’ll be over before you know it.”, he says, pulling up a chair and rolling over the small table where there were supplies he’ll need, and where she could place her arm so he could work. He brings over the lamp so that it shines light over her arm.
“Will it hurt?”, she asks as he picks up the saline.
“I’ll numb you up for the stitches so that’ll be just a bit of pressure. Now I’m gonna clean it and remove some glass pieces I can see, it’ll sting just a little bit. You’re strong, you got this.”
He reached for saline and began irrigating the wound. Cool liquid ran over her skin. She tensed slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low.
He worked methodically, removing tiny glass pieces with forceps. His touch remained careful, almost overly gentle.
“How did you drive into the divider?” he asked quietly.
“I… dozed off,” she said. “Just for a second.”
His jaw tightened. “You fell asleep at the wheel?”
She nodded faintly.
He continued cleaning, then asked softly, “Have you been sleeping?”
She hesitated.
“…Not really.”
He paused.
“How much?”
“Few hours. Here and there.”
Concern surged immediately. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell her she couldn’t keep doing this. Wanted to remind her she always pushed herself too hard. He remembered the arguments, him telling her that the job wasn’t worth it, that they were overworking her, delaying her promotion.
“Still doing that job huh?”
Her fingers curled slightly, as she looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
He swallowed the words that were coming up. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.
“Something like this was exactly what I was afraid of.”, he murmurs, not able to keep that quiet.
She wasn’t in the mood for more arguing. “What do you want to hear, Harry? That you were right?”
“Well, about this, I was. You’re tired of it too.”
“But I’m gonna have to start from the beginning someplace else, if I leave now. I can’t do that.”
“You just have to find the right place, y/n. Sacrificing your health for whatever reason doesn’t make sense to me, it shouldn’t to you either.”, he says, preparing her anesthetic.
She just sighed. “Small sting.”, he warns. The needle slid in.
She sucked in a breath immediately, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it. “Fuck. That’s s-small?”
He cracked a small smile, apologizing. “Sorry, sorry, this is the worst part, hang in there.”
She turned her face slightly away, shoulders tensing. He injected slowly to minimise the burn, but he could still see the discomfort in her expression. Her brows pinched, lips pressed together.
“How’s… how’s Milo?”
The question slipped out before he thought too hard about it.
Her eyes flickered back to him in surprise.
“Milo?” she repeated softly. Milo was their dog. Well now, it was hers, after their breakup.
He nodded, still working carefully. “Yeah. He still stealing socks?”
A faint smile appeared despite the sting. “All the time.”
He huffed quietly. “Figures.”
She winced again as he finished the injection, her eyes were burning with tears now. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself.
“Sorry,” he murmured again, his thumb brushing lightly against her wrist in reassurance. “Almost done.”
He withdrew the needle and gently pressed gauze over the area.
“Give that a minute to numb,” he said softly.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing as the burning sensation faded. She blinks, small tears that were welled up sliding down her cheeks and Harry’s heart aches for her as he reaches for a tissue and dabs them away, without second thoughts. “You’re being very brave.”
She chuckles, taking the tissue from him. “Crying over injections? Kids probably do better than me.”
“That must have hurt like hell, love, and you just went through a lot. It’s totally fine. You’re doing great, trust me.”, he assures and she lets that sink in. He lifts the ice pack from her wrist to check on it.
“How bad does that hurt?”, he asks, palpating against the joint.
“Not too bad.”, she murmurs. “Can you move it?”
“Mhm..but it hurts when I move it.”
He checks her range of motion. “It’s probably just a sprain, but we’ll do an x ray to confirm.”
She nods.
“He’s gotten bigger,” she said after a moment. “Milo.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Still refuses to sleep in his own bed.”
“He never did,” Harry said quietly. “Always ended up between us.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
They both fell silent for a moment.
“Still scared of thunderstorms?” he asked softly.
“Yeah. Crawls under the blanket.”
He smiled, eyes soft. “Dramatic.”
“He gets that from you.”
Harry huffed quietly. “I’m not dramatic.”
She gave him a small look.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted.
He gently touched around the wound, checking sensation.
“Can you feel this?”
“Pressure,” she said.
“Sharp?”
“No.”
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re numb.”
He reached for the suture kit, opening it carefully.
“It’s a clean cut, so it should heal well.”
She nodded.
He positioned her arm again, steadying it gently with his hand. His touch was slow, deliberate, careful. The needle passed through the skin, and she didn’t flinch this time.
“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He tied the first knot neatly, cutting the thread.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Will it scar?”
“Zero to minimal, love, I’m trying my best to make sure of that.”
“Thanks.”, she whispers. She hoped there wouldn’t be an ugly scar running down her arm.
“I’ll place a few more,” he said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
She watched him while he stitched.
He was completely focused, brows drawn together slightly, lips pressed in concentration. His curls fell forward just a little as he leaned closer, and he pushed them back absently with the back of his wrist before tying another neat knot. His hands were steady, precise, gentle in a way that made her chest tighten.
He looked the same.
Maybe a little more tired. Maybe slightly more guarded. But still him.
Still the same green eyes. Still the same careful touch. Still the same quiet concentration he slipped into when he wanted everything to be perfect.
She hadn’t realised how much she missed seeing him like this.
“How’ve you been?” she asked softly.
He paused for the briefest second before continuing the stitch.
“Busy,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“Work’s… been a lot,” he added.
“Your mum?”
He smiled softly. “Good. Asks about you though, always on me for letting you go.”
Her throat tightens.
“All done,” he murmured, pulling off his gloves and disposing of them. He puts away the light, table, chair and goes to her side again, picking up his stethoscope.
“I’m just going to listen to your heart and lungs,” he said. “Make sure everything’s okay.”
She was sure he’d hear her heart beating abnormally fast, but she sat up straight as the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope touched her chest through her shirt. She inhaled softly.
“Deep breath, love,” he murmured.
She breathed in slowly. “Any difficulty breathing?”
“Nope.”
“Chest pain? Any sort of pain when you breathe?”
“No..”
TThat means her ribs are alright. He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope to different positions, front, then back. His hand rested lightly against her shoulder to steady her as she leaned forward.
“Tell your mum I miss her too.”, she tells him, while he palpates her abdomen. His fingers pause slightly, then his lips twitch into a smile, nodding. “Only my mum?”, he teases.
“Of course. Who else?”, she teased back, and he chuckled. “Right. When was your last tetanus shot?”
She blinks. “I don’t remember..probably in school.”
“More than 5 years, we’ll give you a booster.”
She makes a face. “I thought I was done with needles.”
“This should be easy compared to that. Nurse Macie is very gentle too.”, he says. Soon nurse Macie’s ready to give her the shot, swabbing her upper arm.
“Don’t look.”, Harry says to her again, and she turns towards him, fist uncurling. Harry slips his hand into hers, patting it with his other hand, smiling. “I’ll give you a sticker if you don’t cry.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
He laughed. The nurse smiles at their exchange, it was rare to see Harry laughing with patients like that. Clearly, this one was special to him. She flinched as the needle went in, moving her head further away, it bumped into Harry’s arm. He steadied her as she squeezed his hand, bringing his other one to the back of her head. “It’s okay, almost done.”
Soon, it was done. The nurse placed a small bandage and stepped back. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”, Harry asks as y/n pulls back.
“Still bad. Thank you.”, she tells the nurse who smiled. “Of course.” She checks her tab. “Radiology’s ready for the wrist.”
Harry realized they were still holding hands. “Right.”, his thumb brushed her knuckles before he let go.
He helped her off the bed instinctively, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she felt dizzy. He withdrew slightly once she steadied.
“I’ll see you after,” he said softly.
_____________________________
A few minutes later, she was back. Harry re-entered the cubicle with the X-ray report in hand.
“Good news,” he said quietly. “No fracture. Just a sprain.”
She exhaled in relief.
He picked up a crepe bandage and moved closer.
“I’m going to wrap this for support,” he explained.
He gently lifted her hand, careful not to twist the wrist. His touch was slow, deliberate. He wrapped the bandage snugly but not tight, checking circulation.
“Tell me if this feels too tight.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’re you getting home?”
“Um..cab?”
He frowns, not happy with that answer. “You could call Sherin?”, he asks, Sherin was her best friend.
“She’s not here, went to her dad’s for the weekend.”
He couldn’t let her go home alone, in this state. He secured the end of the bandage neatly, then lightly checked her fingers.
“Move them.”
She flexed slightly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep this on for a couple of days,” he said softly. “Rest the wrist. Ice if it swells more. Elevate when you can.”
She nodded.
“And the stitches,” he added, gesturing to her arm. “Keep it dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can gently clean around it. No soaking.”
She listened quietly.
“Come back in seven days, I’ll remove them for you, and check on the wrist, yeah?”
“Alright.”
He pulled out something from his pocket then, smirking. “Which one does my brave patient want?”
She laughs as he shows her his sticker collection. “I thought you were joking about that.”
“Not at all, you’ve deserved it.”
She hums as she looks at them, pointing to a jellyfish one. “Can I have that one?”
“Sure.”, he removes it carefully and sticks it over her bandage. “Cute.”
“Thank you.”, she smiled.
“Course. Oh and I don’t want you going back to work tomorrow, or day after. You need to rest for two days, at least."
“But-”
“No buts, y/n, I’ll email you a note, send it to that asshole boss of yours, Doctor’s orders.”, he completes, and she can’t help but smile. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor Styles.”
“Anything for you.”, he smirks, patting her shoulder. “Wait just a minute, I’ll drive you home.”
“What-no, Harry you’ve already done so much, I can get myself home.”
“I want to. It’s no big deal.”, he says, and leaves before she can protest more. Harry had already spoken to his ER head while she was taken for the x ray, he could slip away for a few hours. He’ll make it up later. He had to sign some discharge papers for his earlier patients, and once he’s done with that, he’s guiding her towards his car.
“You didn’t have to.”, she murmurs, but she is grateful, as he opens the passenger seat for her.
“I’ll sleep better knowing you’ve settled in safe at your place.”, he replies.
The soft hum of the engine filled the space. She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaustion settling deeper now that everything was over.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked after a minute.
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He glanced at her briefly. She looked pale, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped. He remembered how she always looked like this after pushing herself too far.
“You should sleep when you get home,” he murmured.
“Planning to,” she said softly.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“You scared me there for a minute, you know.”, he admits. “Seeing you like that, god.”
“I’m sorry.”, she whispered. “I scared myself.”
He nods. “You’re okay now though.”
They pulled up outside her building.
He parked, then stepped out before she could protest, walking around to her side. He opened the door and offered his hand instinctively. She took it, stepping out carefully.
The walk inside was quiet. He stayed close again, ready if she wobbled, though she didn’t. As soon as she opened the door, nails clicked rapidly against the floor.
A blur of fur came skidding around the corner.
“Milo-” she started, but the dog had already reached them.
He stopped short for half a second, head tilted, like he was processing. Then his entire body lit up, tail wagging so hard his whole back end swayed. He let out a soft excited whine and bounded forward.
Straight to Harry.
Harry barely had time to react before Milo jumped up, paws pressing against his thighs, tail wagging uncontrollably. A small, surprised laugh left him as he crouched instinctively.
“Hey, hey, buddy.” he murmured, hands immediately moving to scratch behind his ears.
Milo whined happily, licking at his hands, nudging his face, circling him like he’d just returned from a long trip rather than two months of absence.
“You remember me, huh?” Harry said softly.
The dog leaned into him, tail still going, completely content.
Y/N stood near the door, watching.
A small smile appeared on her face.
It was like nothing had changed. Milo didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just ran to him like he always had, like Harry still belonged here.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed seeing them together. Harry crouched on the floor, Milo practically climbing into his lap, Harry laughing quietly, rubbing his sides, letting him nuzzle into his shoulder.
“You got bigger,” Harry murmured. “Or you’re just heavier.”
Milo wagged harder in response.
“He’s definitely heavier,” she said softly.
Harry glanced up at her, still petting him. “You been feeding him extra?”
“He begs.”
“You always gave in.”
“You did too.”
He smiled faintly.
Milo finally settled, pressing close to Harry’s leg like he was claiming his spot again. Harry scratched under his chin absentmindedly, the motion familiar.
She watched them for another second, smile lingering, but there was a quiet sadness beneath it too. It felt warm, comforting… and a little painful. Like glimpsing something that used to be hers.
Harry stood slowly, Milo immediately following, staying close. “You can stay for a bit, I’ll make you something to drink.”, she said.
He blinked at her.
“You were just in an accident,” he said, half incredulous.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
He rolled his eyes softly. “You haven’t changed.”
She gave a tired smile.
“You should lie down,” he said gently, stepping inside. “You look exhausted.”
“I can make tea,” she insisted.
“Absolutely not.”
She looked at him.
“You’re going to sit,” he said softly but firmly. “Or lie down. I’ll make tea.”
She hesitated, then nodded, too tired to argue.
He guided her toward the couch, then paused. “Actually… bed.”
She blinked.
“You need rest,” he added.
She didn’t protest this time.
He watched her walk toward the bedroom, slower now, exhaustion catching up. Something protective tightened in his chest again.
“I’ll bring it in,” he called softly.
She nodded, disappearing inside.
Harry stood in the quiet apartment for a moment, taking in the familiar space. Some things had changed. Some hadn’t.
Then he moved toward the kitchen, already filling the kettle. Milo followed him halfway, then settled near the doorway, keeping watch like he always did.
The apartment felt familiar. Too familiar. The mugs were still in the same cabinet. The tea box still tucked in the corner. He didn’t need to search for anything.
He made the tea the way she liked it, lighter, just a splash of milk. He carried the two mugs carefully toward the bedroom.
She was sitting against the headboard now, shoes off, exhaustion clear in the way her shoulders sagged. She kept her injured wrist elevated on a pillow. Milo had jumped onto the bed beside her, curled protectively near her legs.
Harry stepped inside quietly. “Here.”
She looked up, offering a tired smile. “Thank you.”
He handed her the mug carefully, making sure she didn’t strain her wrist. Their fingers brushed briefly.
He sat down beside her, leaving a small space, not too close, not too far. The silence settled softly between them as they both took a sip.
The warmth helped. The quiet helped.
After a moment, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“For… everything. Today. Being there. Taking care of me.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured.
She shook her head slightly. “I do.”
He looked down at the tea in his hands, then back at her.
“I’d always be there for you,” he said quietly. “No matter what’s going on between us.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“You’d never have to face anything scary alone,” he added softly.
The words settled deep.
She leaned back slightly against the headboard, and without realising it, her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
It felt natural. Like muscle memory.
Their arms rested close, warmth seeping through the thin space between them. She leaned just a little more, not fully, just enough that their sides touched.
Harry went very still.
Seeing her in that hospital bed had terrified him. For a moment, when he’d first pulled back the curtain, his mind had gone blank, just fear, sharp and immediate. Someone he loved hurt. Vulnerable. Alone.
And now she was here, beside him, safe.
He exhaled slowly, tension easing.
She noticed.
She also realised something else, the calm she’d felt the moment she saw him in the ER. The way her racing thoughts slowed. The way she trusted him instantly. The way she knew she was okay because he was there.
Things had happened. They’d broken up. They’d hurt each other.
But none of that had changed this. Their bond was still there. Stronger than the distance.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime?” she asked softly. “Just… start again?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’d like nothing more,” he said quietly.
Relief softened her expression. He set the mug aside, turning slightly toward her. His hand lifted almost instinctively, hesitating only a second before he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
He leaned forward gently and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, next to her bandage.
“I never stopped loving you, Y/N,” he murmured.
Her eyes closed briefly, the words settling deep.
“I didn’t either,” she whispered.
Her eyes were still slightly closed from the forehead kiss, her breathing slow, calm. Harry stayed close, watching her for a moment, memorising the way she looked when she was relaxed like this.
He had missed this.
Missed her.
Milo, who had been curled near her legs, suddenly lifted his head. His tail thumped once against the mattress, like he’d decided something. He stood, turned in a small circle, and climbed his way directly between them, nudging insistently until he fit himself into the narrow space.
She let out a soft surprised laugh.
“Hey-”
Milo pushed his nose against Harry’s arm, then turned and leaned his back against y/n, completely satisfied with his placement. His tail wagged lazily as he settled.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Still needs to be in the middle.”
“Always,” she said softly.
Milo sighed contentedly, wedged between them like he’d always belonged there.
Harry rested his hand gently over Milo’s head, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the process. Neither of them pulled away.
The dog shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, effectively trapping them in place.
She smiled, tired but warm.
“Guess he’s decided,” she murmured.
Harry smiled faintly. “Boss man.”, he said, making her laugh. She reaches for Harry’s hand, tangling her fingers through his and he brings it up to her lips, looking at her, smiling so wide his dimples were out. He didn’t need to say it. Everything felt like home again.
Hey, beautiful people. Just wanted to say thank you for all the mega love on the new doctor!harry one shot. It makes me so happy to know that you all like it. Also, I think it’s time we do a little q and a, if you have any questions for me please send it to me and I’ll answer every single one of them.
after too many drinks at the club, ur bf harry comes to pick u up and take care of u back at ur place. theres only one very strict rule—no kissy until ur tucked in!
based on -> this request. thank u anon!
CW: current harry, age gap, alcohol, fluff overload, fluffy fluff fluff babying and pet names. kinda mixed media?
likes and reblogs sooo appreciated!
WC: 5.1k
You didn't mean to get this bad.
But, you had an overly stressful week at work and you considered your excessive drinking to be valid. You deserve to let loose a little, to spend time with your girlfriends and trick strange men into buying your drinks.
You always loved a party. The girlish nature of getting yourself sexy and throwing back cheap tequila before you get to the clubs. You were young and you acted like it, thriving in the peak of your twenties and living your life to your fullest.
What you hadn't experienced yet was a girls night out while in your relationship with Harry.
You've been with him for the last several months. He was older, mature, and ridiculously sexy. You've never in your life found yourself so attracted to a man. He was scruffy and rugged and treated his woman like she was shining treasure. And you really were, to him.
So, after a long string of drinks and a sad scroll through your camera roll, you were practically crying over how much you missed him.
You couldn't help yourself. He was so cute that you genuinely felt emotional as you stared down at your screen.
The rest of the world continued around you like usual, flickering lights and booming music. Drunk strangers running into your shoulder and calling a slurred apology afterwards. You couldn't focus. At all. Not even a little bit.
“Y/n,” your friend taps your shoulder, “come dance with us! Where have you been?”
“Tara, look,” you say, shoving your screen into her face. She’s immediately met with an absurd amount of photos of your boyfriend, all organized into one perfect album and little white hearts in the corner of every one.
Some people might think you were insane. An obsessive girlfriend who had some real issues to work out.
Tara just knew you were a girl in love. A girl in love with an unbelievably hot older man, so how could she judge you?
“Yep, that’s your boyfriend,” she nods slowly, an amused smile on her face as you pout at the photos.
“He’s so cute,” you whine, “do you see how cute he is? I need to see him.”
“He is very cute. Now text him to get it out of your system and come dance with us! Okay?”
You just nodded with a drunken smile as she skipped away, leaving you alone with your phone.
Unsupervised.
Probably not the best idea. Considering your thumbs have already decided to run wild and smash themselves against your little screen.
Y- harry baby hi i miss u sm much
Y- whatre u doing??? Neeed to see u miss u sm
The smile on your face when you saw the little three dots bounce against your screen was nearly embarrassing. Your little drunken self was over the moon to hear from your man.
H- I miss you too. Was just about to text you
H- Going ok?
Y- yes so fub harry i need to see u i miss u sm
Y- i actually might cry i miss u
And you even felt more emotional as you texted him. Imagining his voice reading out the words he sent and the gentle smile he’d have as you towered over you.
H- I miss you too y/n
H- No tears please.
Y- i need u
Y- ur so cute i need you miss u so much baby
At this point, there was no goal. You weren't even really sure you had one to begin with. Just to talk to him. To feel his attention and remind him of your presence.
As if he would ever forget. As if he hadn't been sitting on your couch staring at the ceiling in anxiety as he awaited your return.
It's not that he didn't trust you–he did. With everything in him. He knew how much you loved him and that you would never even dare to be disloyal towards him.
But you were hot. And young. And sexy. And if he wasn't there to scare away the boys who fought for your attention, what was stopping them?
H- I know, I miss you more
H- Home soon? Or are you staying out for a bit?
Y- i dont knowwww im having sm fun but i need to see you
H- Stay and have fun. I’ll be up when you come home
H- Love you and be safe
You swoon. Physically. Like literally pout at your screen and audibly let out a quiet ‘awww’ to yourself. It was an instinct.
Y- love you even omre
And then you put your phone back in your purse, went to join your friends, and danced until your feet blistered in your thin little heels.
You were dizzy on the floor, singing your heart out and only having just another drink or two. You didn't want to get even sloppier than you already were. But, your drunken mind couldn't think that clearly. You just wanted more. More fuel to keep the party going.
Now, it was late. You'd spent hours club hopping and dancing and laughing and screaming until your throat hurt.
And, more importantly, emotionally dying at the lack of your boyfriend.
You tried to keep it in, for the sake of your friends. You knew it was annoying when girls would ramble on about a guy for hours on end during a night out. You’d like to think you had good girl’s night etiquette.
You really did try.
Even when his favorite song played and you had to push down the image of the two of you dancing together. Even when a tall British man offered you a drink in a wannabe charming way. Especially when you stumbled a bit and had no one there to keep you grounded.
“Y/n,” Tara was back at your side, “you’re staring into space. In a sort of creepy way.”
You really didn’t even notice. You were just so drunk and stuck in the daydream of your love.
“I’m not staring,” you defend, “I’m fine!”
Your words were slurred. Your balance was wobbled.
And Tara was no idiot.
“We should get you home. Let me call us an uber,” she said, no judgement through her tone. Just the gentle concern for her friend who was clearly too far gone for her own good.
“No! I’m fine, really! I don’t wanna make you go home, let’s stay,” you beam up at her and stabilize yourself against her shoulders, suddenly realizing just how drunk you really were.
Also realizing that there really was no amount of alcohol in this world that would distract you from Harry.
She just smiles at you, low and knowing, before accepting your pleads and straggling back onto the dance floor with you.
You danced with her for a bit, trying to ignore the spinning cycle in your head and the way you always somehow kept falling into the person next to you. It was the weirdest thing. You figured it had to be the uneven flooring. It had to be.
And then, another text from your phone.
H- I’ve been summoned to come get you. I’m scared. Please don’t eat me
Suddenly, the music drowned, your feet planted themselves firm on the sticky floor, and you nearly screamed.
Y- UR COMINH?????
H- Yes. I’ve been asked to take you home
Y- OMGGGGG
Y- BESt news ever i’ll be on the dance floor jsht come join us!! my friends won’t mind!
H- Baby I’m not coming to dance I’m coming to bring you home with me
Y- oooooo i see
Y- im catching ur drift
H- There’s no drift. We’re just going home
H- Get your mind out the gutter
Y- okkkkk im pickinh up what ur putting down ;))
Y- dw i wont tell anyone
H- Y/n Im not putting anything down, Im just coming to bring you home ok?
H- I’ll be there soon
You weren’t totally reading his responses. For some reason your phone was just glitching like crazy. All the words on your screen were blurred and the letters on your keyboard seemed to be shifting in all different locations.
Interesting.
So you danced some more. Had just another drink. That other drink sort of had your mind forgetting that you’d be leaving soon. And within a short chunk of time, your phone was ringing from the confines of your little purse.
“Harry!”
“Hi hon, I’m outside whenever you’re ready to go. No rush,” his voice came through low and graveled over the phone, clearly half asleep due to the time of night.
You, on the other hand, were not half asleep.
“You’re here?! Right now?! Baby, come in! We’re dancing!” You exclaimed, pressing your finger into your free ear to drown out the loud noise of the club.
“I’m not here to dance, I’m sorry. I’m here to take you home, remember?”
Gentle. Quiet and adorably exhausted.
“You’re here to take me home with you? Harryyy! That is the sweetest thing, thank you,” you really don’t know why you were so touched. Especially considering he literally just texted you to warn you that he was coming.
It’s not like he minded. To him, everything you said was honey and was just lucky to hear it.
“You’re welcome,” he chuckled through the line, “I’m out by the main door. Whenever you’re ready.”
It didn’t take long for you to make your way out there. It genuinely felt like he was a big hunk of metal and your body was a drunken excuse of a magnet.
You gave your goodbyes, the hugs and the kisses and the promise of a Venmo from you in the morning. You really didn’t know how much you spent on drinks tonight, but all you knew is it was definitely too much for a spot from a friend.
With your little bag clung tight to your side and your heels clacking against the harsh flooring, you finally found the sweet sight of a glowing exit sign.
You practically b-lined it to the door, tripping over your own feet with a stupid smile on your face. It was like every new step you took was a step closer to an angel.
You were right. It was.
There he stood, hands in his pockets and hood over his curls. He was just outside of the door, eyes landing on his girl with a soft smile laced with relief.
“Hi hon-”
“Harry!” Your voice comes out a bit louder than you intended as you flung yourself into his arms.
He buffered a bit through a laugh before wrapping himself around you, rubbing your open back gently as you smashed kisses into his neck.
“How was your night?” He asks, muffled through the hug that you soon pull away from.
“Oh it was just so fun,” you beam, “I missed you so much. So much I couldn’t even think.”
“I know you did, baby, I missed you too. How about we get home?”
His hands graze the skin of your left arm softly as he speaks to you, trying to suppress his smile at the sight of your ecstatic face.
“One kiss? Before we go?”
And when you were looking at him like that, eyes wide and cheeks rosy, how could he say no?
The small smile on his face grew at your cute little ask, and he was more than happy to oblige. His lips fell into yours, short and sweet, not lingering for too long but not pulling away too hastily.
The second it happened, he knew it was a mistake.
“Mmm,” you hummed as you parted, pressing your palms to the side of his cheeks before pulling his face towards yours again.
You couldn’t stop the second kiss once it started. You were meshing your lips against his like no one was watching, high on your tip toes and stabilizing yourself against his body.
“Baby,” he laughed through the kiss, “baby, c’mon.”
“Hm?”
You were unphased. Completely unbothered. Even thinking, why is my boyfriend interrupting me while I kiss him? Doesn’t he miss my lips?
“Honey, you can’t make out with me on the street,” he coos, lips curling upward as you kiss into his teeth.
“No?” You pull back, eyebrow cocked upwards in confusion.
You were too cute for scolding.
“No, baby. Let’s get to the car, okay?”
You did—reluctantly. A hand in his as you stumbled over the cracks of the concrete and rested your cheek on his shoulder. The two of you spoke softly as you giggled your way to his car, completely swooning over every word he said.
He could’ve sneezed and you would’ve doubled over laughing. Everything he said had you absolutely tickled, and it always had. Regardless of if you were drunk or not. But now that you were, it was even more intense.
“I’m really not that funny,” he’d say as you walked, shaking his head with a smile of his own.
“It’s not what you say, it’s just the way you say it,” you’d spit out through breathless laughs, choking over your own words as hiccups slip their way through.
The walk continued like this for a bit. Small conversation with meaningless content. His thumb massaging over your hand as he worked his hardest to make sure you didn’t stumble over your own feet.
And once you were in the car, the need to kiss him again got worse. Much worse. Fast.
“Y/n,” he breathed out as you tried to press your face against his, “y/n, I love you but I need to drive. No kisses.”
Now, you were truly broken hearted.
“No kissy?” You ask quietly, brows turning into themselves in a silent beg.
He had to look away just to stay firm on his choice. Your puppy dog eyes were lethal, and he’d like to think he was a well respected man. He had to stand his ground.
“No kissies. Not until we’re tucked into bed, okay?”
“Ok…” you nodded in defeat, slumping into your sweet with your arms crossed over your chest in protest.
“Hey,” he let a hand rest atop your thigh, “I promise I’ll kiss you all night long once we’re in bed. Anything you want.”
That was satisfactory enough.
So, at the sight of your little smile and the gentle nod of your head, he started on the drive home.
It was quite the fun drive, for you at least. After a ridiculous amount of begging to listen to his music, he finally gave in and played it for you. He wasn’t a huge fan of listening to his own discography in the car. Especially with someone. It was awkward and weirdly uncomfortable. Sort of even felt like he was working.
But he really couldn’t say no to you. You loved his songs and loved to hear his voice singing through the crackly speakers even more. You sang and boogied in your seat until he was shaking his head in amusement, pulling into your driveway as he turned down the radio.
“C’mon, honey,” he coos, “time to go inside.”
This was great news to you. With the promise of a kiss waiting for you in your bed, you were more than ready to run up there and tuck yourself in.
You hopped out of his big car and stumbled up the concrete drive, winding up to the front door and fumbling around in your purse for the keys.
This activity didn’t last long until Harry just unlocked the door for you. You were helpless.
And once you were let into your home, you kicked off your heels and went racing for your bed. Completely desperate for a kiss and stuck in a fit of giggles as you tripped your way up the stairs.
Harry followed slowly behind you, locking your door and picking up the miscellaneous heels. He tossed his keys softly in the dish that sat on your entryway table, slinging the straps of your heels between his fingers as he took slow steps up your stairs.
When he walked his way up and pressed into your bedroom, he nearly melted right to the floor at the sight ahead of him.
You—snuggled into your bed with the covers up to your chin and a smile on your face. The most adorable things he’d ever seen in his life.
“Well, you look very cozy,” he nods slowly, smiling at you as he steps in front of your bed.
“Mhm, and all ready for my kiss, please!” You pucker your lips out to him, eyes shut lazily as you try to tame the kicking of your feet.
He really almost didn’t have the heart to tell you.
“Y/n…” he starts slow, careful. Quite nervous as to what reaction will ensue.
You open your eyes, lips still puckered as you stare at him in confusion.
“We have to get you showered, sweetheart. I’m sorry, it’ll be so quick and so easy,” he said softly, brushing a hand over your forehead as he peered down at you on the bed.
You just stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes glassy.
“What?”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he nods, “but then we’ll get you in some nice and soft jammies and you can get all the kisses you want. Sound good?”
It was good enough.
After a lot of struggle and a lot of begging, he eventually pulled you out of the bed and carried you bridal-style to your bathroom. You were only slightly unhinged at the gesture. The kisses that had wettened his neck told him so.
He pressed open the door and placed you down on the cool tile, holding your body up straight as you swayed side to side.
And then he was looking at you. A small smile tugged up on his lips as he took in your grumpy pout. Impatient and frustrated, so sad over the lack of kissing.
But then you noticed his stare.
“It feels like we’re about to kiss right now,” you swoon, stepping closer to him and wrapping your arms around his neck.
It took about an eighth of a second before he removed your arms from his neck.
“We’re not,” he shook his head, “we’re getting you showered. Remember?”
You frowned.
Hard.
And backed far far away from him, leaned up against the wall with your head to the side.
“Baby,” he laughed, “why are you all sad now?”
“You didn’t have to be so mean about it,” you mumbled out so quietly that he barely heard it, crossing your arms and huffing in sadness.
You were full of it and he knew it.
He walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down in soothing motions before he spoke.
“Honey, I wasn’t being mean. I’m sorry. It’s just late and I want you to get to bed soon so you’re not grumpy tomorrow.”
Another mistake.
You peered up at him in disbelief, eyes glassy and mouth slightly parted in shock.
“No, no, don’t get sad again,” he shook his head in desperation, “I didn’t mean grumpy. You’re not grumpy.”
You sighed again. Slouching back into the wall behind you as you fell into your sadness.
“Ok. Can I get a kiss now? To make up for your meanness?”
It was a cheap shot. You probably should’ve waited to pull that one out until there was more of a reason.
“No kissy,” he shook his head with a grin, “go get your butt in the shower.”
You slumped your way over to the shower curtain with a pout, turning on the water to let it heat up a bit.
And then you got right back to moping.
The room seems to be titling around you as you scan over it, like the floor can’t quite decide where it wants to be. The bathroom light is too bright, way too bright, and you look up at it like it offends you. It sort of does.
“Do you need help getting undress-”
“I can do it,” you snap at him, desperately trying to appear intimidating but miserably failing.
“I know you can,” there’s a smile in his voice that you do not like, “just offering. Take your time.”
He stays beside you, one hand hovering by your shoulder like he doesn’t trust the gravity around you. You were too drunk to even notice. If you did, you’d be sure to lecture him about not needing the safety net.
You reach for the hem of your top, tugging it up and over your head a couple different times as the fabric slips out from your grip.
He just watches you, a hand still braced behind you.
It takes… longer than it should.
You tug at it, miss your grip, try again, and miss again. Once you’ve almost got it, the fabric gets hooked over your elbow and you just pause there, staring at your arm like it has personally betrayed you.
Behind you, he lets out a very quiet, very justified laugh.
You freeze.
“Why are you laughing?” You turn your head towards him quickly, causing the room to spin again as you peer out through the arm hole of your shirt. You looked ridiculous.
“I’m not,” he starts, another laugh spilling through him, “I’m not. I’m sorry. I promise.”
“You are,” you pout, “I’m trying.”
And now, you look like you’re about to cry. Tears welling in your eyes as your chin trembles in a desperate attempt to keep it in.
“I know, baby, you’re doing great,” he steps closer, smacking the smile off of his face at the sight of your welling eyes.
“Don’t patronize me,” you scold, squinting your eyes.
“I’m not patronizing you,” he reassures through an amused glance.
You try again. More careful, this time. You go back to your shirt, moving it off your skin in very precise motions. The stream from the shower continued behind you, fogging up the room and making the process even more stressful for you. But, you were determined.
And yet, your balance wobbles, your head spins, and you grab onto the counter in a quick reflex. Abandoning your shirt half way up just like you did before.
He laughs again. He couldn’t help it. Soft, warm, but still a laugh. And that was not music to your ears like it usually was.
“That’s it,” you huff and tug your shirt down, “you’re being mean.”
“I’m not being mean, honey,” he shook his head through a small chuckle, “c’mere.”
You watch through bubbling waterlines as he steps closer to you again, grabbing the hem of your shirt gently as you peer down to watch.
“I don’t need help,” you insist quickly.
“Mhm.”
“I don’t,” you continue on, quieter now. Already swaying in his hold and accepting the help that you clearly need.
His hands are soft as they reach up to your wrists, pulling the thin material off of you and letting it rest nicely on the counter.
“Just making it easier,” he whispers, pressing a small kiss to your forehead as he tugs down on the waist band of your little skirt.
You let him, but you’re still frowning. Still personally offended.
“You think this is funny,” you start up the argument again, making his lips quiver up into another smirk at your desperate attempt to be right.
“A little bit,” he admits, and you honestly didn’t expect him to.
You scoff, “Wow.”
“But only because you’re okay,” he adds quickly, letting your skirt fall to your ankles, “I wouldn’t laugh if you weren’t okay.”
You consider that. Blinking slowly and trying to decide if you’re still mad.
“…still rude.”
“Mhm, I know,” he feeds into you with another kiss to your scalp, “now get in that shower before you start an argument with your own clothes.”
You laugh a little. Huffing again but listening this time. He holds you steady as you step into the hot shower, leaving the curtain open so he could help you wash how you needed.
The shower wasn’t long. He did mostly everything for you—washing your hair, scrubbing your body. He even shaved your calves for you when you told him you needed to touch them up a bit.
And even when you were pretending to be annoyed, you didn’t pull away from him. Not once.
Because really nothing could compare to the sweet sensation of his lips finally against yours, tucked into your bed with wet hair and a cozy pair of little pjs.
-
To say you were hungover was an understatement.
To say you were grateful for Harry putting you to bed, clean and showered and cozy, was also an understatement.
He was fast asleep to your side when you first peeled your lids open, flinching at the sudden contact with the sun outside and desperately trying to ignore the pounding in your skull. Your mind was mush and your stomach felt strangely empty, eating into itself as your liver recovered.
You turned your head to the side with a yawn just for your cheek to meet the top of Harry’s scalp—his head nuzzled into your neck as his soft breaths fell upon your skin. His hair was scruffled and poking into your chin, tickling your lips with thick knots.
He stirred just a bit under the change of your breaths, already knowing you had woken just from the subtle shifts and the tempo change in your chest.
“Awake?” he pushed out, rasped and barely audible through a deep growl.
You were honestly embarrassed at the tick between your legs once you heard his voice.
“Mhm,” you nod, pressing a kiss to his scalp, “morning.”
“Morning,” he huffs as he snuggles deeper into your neck, stubbled beard scratching against your collarbone delicately.
“Sleep okay?”
“Mm,” he hums, “very well. You? Feeling okay?”
You giggle at the small insinuation, “I am, yes. Just a little drowsy. Head sort of feels like it's caving into itself, but other than that I'm just great.
“Figured as much. You have fun last night?”
“Lots,” you nod through a yawn, “thank you for helping me, baby. You’re a little too sweet to me, I think.”
“Little feisty last night, glad you’ve returned,” he laughs, pressing a little kiss to your skin as his fingers run against your arms.
There was no rush to leave the bed anytime soon. Just quiet conversation and a very in depth recap of your night to Harry. He enjoyed listening to it. He laughed at your silly drunken stories and the trouble you got into after one too many shots.
And then, you pulled out your phone.
The notifications were…a lot.
Several texts from friends and family and even old classmates who were pretending to know you but really didn't at all. It was quite easy to piece together what had happened.
Paparazzi.
“Shit,” you murmur to yourself, sitting up straighter in the bed as you go to open instagram.
“Hm? Is everything okay?”
The second you open the app, you’re snorting into your hand as you try to stifle your laugh. A real insight into your behavior from the night before.
For everyone to see.
“Harry,” you shove the phone in his face, "don't kill me.”
A small, very small, barely noticeable smile curls up on his lips.
And then hes peering up at you, eyes puffy and amused as his hair is straggled together in one big knot.
“Consider your lesson learned, little miss,” he scolds with squinted eyes and a wider smile now, swaying his sleepy head side to side.
“You could've stopped me!”
“I did!” he defends immediately, smiling big now as he raises his voice.
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Well I’m gonna see what everyone's saying,” you shrug, closing out instagram and opening twitter instead. You figured there'd be more talk on there instead of instagram.
“Bad idea,” he shakes his head, shrugging casually as he slumps back down into the bed.
“Uh oh,” you stretch your lips, "there's more.”
“Y/nnn,” he drags out your name as his hands slap over his face, chuckling into his palms as he snuggles further into the covers.
“No, these aren't that bad. Quite cute, actually. I think you might have a crush on me,” you smile, turning the screen towards him again as he shifts his gaze.
“Mm, very cute,” he says sarcastically, just saying it to agree with you. To please you. And it did.
And then you open the replies, scrolling through them for what felt like hours. A small little smile on your face as you read through them.
“Your fans are funny,” you snort, “wanna see?”
“I’m all good on that,” he shakes his head, closing his eyes as he settles back into his place. As if he was about to fall right asleep again. This was just another morning for him.
“No, really, read!” You insist, shoving the phone in his face again as he groans and peels his eyes open.
He reads the first reply. A little chuckle.
You thought he’d be done there, but then he scrolls. As much as he’d like to pretend he wasnt enjoying it, you knew he was amused. You could tell by the little smile on his face and the way his eyes crinkled with every new scroll.
“What?” you ask, peering over to view your screen with him.
“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “S’just nice. Seeing people be nice about you. Not used to that when I get papped with someone.”
You smile. Taking in his words and letting them settle between you two.
You lean over quickly, pressing a short kiss to his lips in instinct. He stuttered a bit at the initial surprise before puckering his lips back into yours, cracked through a smile and one eye still locked on your screen as he scrolled.
“I’d been avoiding the media for awhile,” he started, “you know, ever since you and I went public.”
“I know,” you nod, brushing a hair off of his face.
“And I know this is the craziest thing, espically for me to say,” he continues with a little grin, “but seeing this, reading these…almost makes me wanna do it all over again. Give them more to obsess over. It’s funny. They’re funny.”
“Well,” you laugh, “lucky for you, I have a feeling that won’t be the last time I need you to save me from a night without you.”
“And I’ll be happy to do so. Everytime.”
wait guys im giggling at the social media this was such a fun write
anyway pls like/reblog if u enjoyed!!
masterlist
ask/request anything
⬆️all specific requests stay unanswered in my inbox until fully written!
⚠️also i edited sm and tumblr didn’t save any of it so if there’s any major typos PLS LMK!! so i can change it ⚠️
Stitches and Second Chances- Doctor!harry styles x reader
Synopsis:- Harry never expects his ex to walk into his ER two months after their breakup, shaken from a minor car accident. Old habits return and unresolved feelings resurface, making them realize some bonds don’t break, they just wait to be found again.
A/N:- I know it's a little late, but how could I not write about doctor!harry being a med student? This is one of my favorite fics I've written, I hope you guys love it too. Please like and reblog to support.
Warnings: ER, blood, stitches, wounds, needles, car accident.
Word count: 6.3K
____________________________________
The emergency department was already awake when Harry walked in.
Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms. A stretcher rolled past him toward radiology. Someone called for a porter. Phones rang intermittently at the nurses’ station. It was controlled chaos, the kind he’d learned to move through without thinking.
He shoves his pen light into the pocket of his black scrubs, the stethoscope already around his neck.
“Morning,” he said, passing the triage desk.
“Morning,doc.” one of the nurses replied, glancing up with a tired smile. She was probably on her third cup of coffee, getting her last hours of night shift in.
“Here you go, Bed three’s all you.”, another nurse hands him a tab. “And five.”
“Right, thanks Mel.”, he says to her, already on his way towards bed 5.
He paused briefly outside the curtain, sanitised his hands, and stepped in.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Styles.” he said gently. “What brings you in today?”
The woman looked relieved. “I’ve had this chest discomfort since morning…”
He listened carefully, asking focused questions. Onset. Character. Radiation. Associated symptoms. He placed his stethoscope against her chest, listening to heart sounds, then lungs.
“We’ll get an ECG and some blood work,” he said calmly. “Just to be safe. Someone will be with you soon, yeah?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He stepped out, jotting quick notes.
“Can we get troponin, CBC, electrolytes?” he asked.
“On it,” the nurse replied.
He nodded and moved on. Onto bed 5. This was a kid with a tear streaked face, looked not more than 6 years old. His mother sat on the chair next to him, weaving her fingers through his hair. There was a dressing temporarily pressed to his knee, to stop bleeding from his wound.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Styles.”, he introduces, the mom smiling softly and he leans to meet the boy’s eyes. “Hi buddy, what’s your name?”
“Ron.”, he sniffles.
“What happened Ron, did you take a fall?”, Harry asks, putting on gloves. Ron nods and Harry looks at the mom for a better explanation.
“Foot ball practice, took a pretty nasty fall. Scraped his knee, twisted his ankle.”, she tells him.
“Alright, let me take a look yeah?”, he says softly to the boy. He pulls up a chair and removes the gauze to assess the injury. Ron winces as his fingers press against the margins of the wound. “Sorry..nothing to worry Ron, we’ll clean that and cover it up, it’s not too deep. I can see it’s painful though, you’re being very brave.”
“C-Can I go back to practice after this?”, Ron asks him and he chuckles as his mom sighs and shakes her head.
“Not right away, buddy, I’d like for you to get some rest. Your ankle hurts too?”
“Mhmm.”
Harry examined his ankle as well, and it could be a hairline fracture or a sprain, an x ray to confirm.
“I want an x ray on that. Clean and dress the knee, tetanus shot. You got it?”, he asked the resident who was sent his way by the nurse.
“Of course sir.”, he nods, putting gloves on, smiling at the mom and son, greeting them.
“Good job Ron, I’ll be back soon. High five?”
He puts his hand out and smiles as the kid gives him one.
“Harry, can you take bed 9? Just came in, accident, young female, got a laceration, possible concussion, I’ll give you an intern in a minute.”, the head nurse, Macie, asks him.
“Sure.”, Harry walks to the other side, towards bed 9. He does the same routine before meeting the patient. “Hi I’m Doctor-”, he stops mid sentence, his blood running cold as he sees who his patient was.
________________________________________
She shouldn’t have been driving.
She knew that.
Her eyes burned, head heavy, limbs slow. Her days were stretched endlessly, meetings, deadlines, skipped breakfast, coffee slowly replacing all her meals. But she had to work. She was working for a position she was so close to getting. That was her only motivation.
Besides, it was all a good distraction from the ache in her heart. No, it couldn’t fill the huge empty space he had left her behind with, but it was something. Something so that she doesn’t drive herself crazy in her loneliness.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to stay alert. Turned the radio up. Cracked the window slightly. The cool air helped for a moment.
Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. She didn’t look.
Her eyelids drooped.
Only for a second.
A microsleep, barely noticeable, barely there.
But long enough.
The car drifted slightly, tires grazing the divider. The sudden vibration jolted her awake, but she overcorrected instinctively. The steering jerked, the car swerved, and the front bumper clipped the side railing with a dull, scraping impact.
Her head slammed against her window, her right wrist trapped between the steering wheel and airbag as it deployed with a loud pop.
Everything stopped.
Silence filled the car, thick and disorienting. Her ears rang faintly. The smell of deployed airbags ,sharp, chemical, lingered in the air.
She blinked slowly. Her heart raced, breath shallow, but she didn’t immediately register what had happened. Her hands still rested on the wheel, fingers trembling slightly.
Someone knocked on the window.
She turned her head slowly. A man gestured, concerned.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded automatically, though she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts felt sluggish, distant. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the motion clumsy, and pushed the door open.
The night air felt cooler outside.
“You okay?” another voice asked.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It was just… I think I just drifted a little.”
“You hit the divider,” the man said gently.
She looked back at the car. The front bumper was dented. The glass of her window was cracked, one part completely broken. Not terrible. Not catastrophic. Just… inconvenient.
“I’ll call someone for the car,” she murmured, more to herself. “It’s fine.”
“You sure you’re alright?” someone else asked.
She nodded again. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Her mind jumped immediately to practical things. The car. Insurance. Getting to office. Today’s work.
She took a step forward, and someone grabbed her arm lightly.
“Wait.”
She looked down as pain slowly seared through her arm. She was bleeding.
A thin line ran along her forearm, but it was flowing from the cut fast. Tiny specks of glass clung to her sleeve. The blood wasn’t pouring, but it was enough to stain the fabric.
She stared at it, confused.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“You’re bleeding,” the woman beside her said.
“I… I think it’s just a scratch.”
“You should get that checked.”
“It’s fine,” she replied automatically. “I just need to-”
“You were just in an accident,” the woman said gently. “You might be in shock, you have a bruise on your forehead too.”
She blinked slowly, processing the words with delay.
“I’m okay,” she repeated, though it sounded less certain now.
The woman stepped closer. She was middle-aged, kind-eyed, her voice calm and reassuring. “There’s a hospital five minutes away. Just get checked. It’s better.”
“I don’t think-”
“You look pale,” the woman added softly. “And you might not notice everything right now.”
She glanced down at her arm again. The blood had spread slightly. It still didn’t hurt much. Mostly just… strange. Her wrist was hurting a bit though.
“I was just going to call someone for the car,” she murmured.
“They can wait. You come first.”
She hesitated.
Her thoughts still felt slow, like they were moving through fog. The woman’s calm presence grounded her.
“I can take you,” the woman said. “My car’s right there.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted gently.
She looked at the dented car once more, then back at the woman.
“…Okay.”
The drive was quiet.
She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her tired, more tired than before. Her arm throbbed faintly now, but it still didn’t feel serious. Her head was starting to ache too. She tried to remember what had happened in that millisecond when she closed her eyes, but it just made her more tired so she stopped.
“You feeling dizzy?” the woman asked.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. We’re almost there.”
Her thoughts drifted, unfocused. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled shakily.
“You live nearby?” the woman asked softly.
“Yeah… about fifteen minutes.”
“You’ll be home soon.”
She nodded.
The hospital came into view, the emergency department glowing. The woman pulled into the drop-off lane and parked.
“We’re here.”
She blinked, grounding herself again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. Come on.”
They walked inside together. The fluorescent lighting felt harsh after the dark outside. A nurse glanced up from triage.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Minor car accident,” the woman replied. “She’s got some bruises, her arm’s bleeding and she seems a bit shaken.”
The nurse nodded. “Have a seat. We’ll call you.”
She turned to the woman. “You really didn’t have to stay…”
“I wanted to make sure you got in,” she said warmly.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you. Really.”
The woman squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re welcome, dear.”
She watched her leave, then sat down in the waiting area, finally noticing how tired she felt.
Her arm rested loosely in her lap, blood slowly drying along the cut. Her wrist was starting to swell up now. Neither did she realize which hospital she had been brought into, nor did she realize who might have been on shift.
“Come on love, let’s get you to a bed. Right this way.”, a kind nurse comes up to her. She stands shakily, swaying lightly, and the nurse slips her hand around her arm as she guides her to a bed, pushing back the curtains.
“What’s your name?”, she asks.
“Y/N.”
“Y/N, I’m gonna get your vitals, okay? Do you remember what happened?”
Y/N tries to recollect as much as she can as the kind nurse takes her vitals, and then helps her pull up her sleeve to see the wound in her arm. Now it was starting to hurt, she had to bite her lip in pain as the fabric grazed it. She almost passed out when she looked at it. Blood oozed out from it.
“Can I call anyone for you?”, she asks her.
y/n shakes her head slowly. She didn’t want to scare her poor parents who lived away, she’d tell them about it after she’s out of the hospital. Her best friend was out of town.
“No one, thanks.”
“Alright, a doctor will be with you in a minute.”
It took her less than a minute to assign a doctor to her, probably seeing the extent of her injury. The nurse was back with her again, this time with a doctor following her.
Y/N felt like passing out for the third time that morning when she saw who her doctor was.
“Hi I’m Doctor-”, he pauses too, green eyes wide as he stops mid movement, fingers gripping his tab. “Y/N?”
Harry didn’t move for a second.
This was his worst nightmare.
Someone he loved, still loved, he realised instantly, sitting in an ER bed. Pale. Hurt. Blood on her arm.
“Hey.”, she mumbled.
“What the hell happened?”
Y/n swallows, her voice coming out softer than she intended it too. “Drove my car into a divider.”
He forced himself to breathe, grounding himself in what he could see.
She was conscious. Talking. Breathing normally. No obvious distress.
She’s fine.
The thought repeated in his head like a mantra.
She’s fine. No major bleeding. Just superficial injuries. She’s fine.
“Oh, you two know each other?”, the nurse asks.
Oh they knew each other better than anyone else.
It physically hurt seeing him.
Two months. Two months of silence, of pretending she was okay, of not hearing his voice, not seeing him, not texting him. And now he was standing in front of her like nothing had changed except everything had.
Y/N fidgets with her hands, she wasn’t prepared to see him, not today of all the days.
Harry gives the nurse a look, and she looks at the name of their patient again, then it clicks. Harry had told all of them about his y/n.. He was the happiest he’d ever been when she was in his life. She also remembers that he’s now single.
“Oh. Oh that y/n..”, she murmurs as it clicks. “I’m sorry, I can assign someone else.”
“No.”, Harry said immediately, already pulling gloves on. He looks at her, looking so small, so scared, hurt. The protective instinct hit before logic did. He didn’t want anyone else touching her. Examining her. Deciding things about her.
But then, this wasn’t just about him.
He looked at her properly, searching her face. “Do you… want another doctor?” he asked quietly. “I can ask someone else to take over.”
The question hung between them.
She shook her head almost immediately.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
He studied her, making sure.
She hesitated, then added, “I’d rather… have a familiar face.”
The nurse glanced between them, reading the tension. “Vitals, Macie?”, Harry asks, shifting into doctor mode as his eyes wandered from the wound on her head, to her arm, and then her hand that laid limply in her lap. Her wrist had a bit of swelling.
“Pulse 104, BP 142 over 88, sats normal. She’s a bit tachy, probably just shaken.”
Harry nodded, moving to her side. “Thanks.”
“Doctor Styles, I was told to assist you-”, someone comes inside the curtain, an intern and Harry stops him before he can complete. “I’ve got it, you can get me an update on bed 3’s labs.”
“Alright.” Macie, the nurse and the intern step away, leaving only Harry and y/n.
Harry pulled the curtain closed fully, shutting out the rest of the ER. The sounds muted immediately, leaving them in a quieter bubble.
The silence returned.
It was awkward now. Different from before. Heavy with things unsaid.
Harry forced himself to focus, reaching gently for her chin.
“You hit your head?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Against the window when the airbag opened, I think the glass broke a little..”
He reached for her chin, tilting her face slightly toward the light.
The contact was brief, clinical, but it sent a familiar warmth across her skin. Her breath caught faintly. She hadn’t realised how much she missed that, his touch, the way he always held her carefully, like she was something fragile.
He noticed the hesitation in her eyes.
She looks scared, he thought.
Not panicked, just shaken. Vulnerable. Tired. Her lashes slightly clumped, her skin pale, a faint bruise forming near her temple. She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
He cleared his throat.
“There’s some dried blood,” he murmured softly.
He used gauze, gently wiping along her temple. She flinched slightly.
“Sorry,” he whispered immediately.
His other hand stayed against her face, steadying her. His thumb brushed absent circles along her cheek without him even realising. The motion was instinctive, comforting, grounding.
She noticed. Her eyes flickered to his briefly. He realised what he was doing and almost pulled back, but she relaxed slightly under his touch, so he left his hand there, just for a moment longer.
He carefully brushed away a few tiny glass fragments caught near her hairline.
“This one’s superficial,” he said quietly. “Just a small wound. No stitches.”
She nods, watching him squeeze out some ointment onto his finger and apply it to her wound. “Any headache?”, he asks.
“A-A bit.”, she replies. It stings again, for a second, and then he’s pressing a bandage to it. “Done.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, the absence of contact noticeable to both of them.
“I’m going to check for concussion symptoms, okay?” he added.
She nodded.
He asked the questions gently.
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Blurred vision?”
She shook her head.
He checked her pupils, shining the penlight briefly. “Follow my finger.”
Her eyes tracked smoothly.
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
She answered correctly, voice soft.
He nodded, reassured. “You’re okay. No signs of concussion.”
She exhaled quietly. “Let’s see the arm.”
She let him gently turn her arm towards him, and as she looked at it, she felt slightly dazed again. It wasn’t bleeding as much now, but it still freaked her out a bit. His fingers gently palpated the skin around the deep cut, observing its depth. She winces, and his eyes move to her face, seeing how she looks a bit pale.
“Hey, don’t look..look at me.”, he coos, and she does, how can she not when he sounds like that?
“I-I’m sorry I’m just freaked out..”, she admits, biting her bottom lip.
“It’s okay, love, you’re safe now, take some deep breaths. I’ll fix you up soon, don’t worry.”, he assures, and she gives him a small smile back, how could she not? The term of affection just rolled off his tongue. She was starting to relax after everything, finally. The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
“It’s going to need stitches but it’ll be over before you know it.”, he says, pulling up a chair and rolling over the small table where there were supplies he’ll need, and where she could place her arm so he could work. He brings over the lamp so that it shines light over her arm.
“Will it hurt?”, she asks as he picks up the saline.
“I’ll numb you up for the stitches so that’ll be just a bit of pressure. Now I’m gonna clean it and remove some glass pieces I can see, it’ll sting just a little bit. You’re strong, you got this.”
He reached for saline and began irrigating the wound. Cool liquid ran over her skin. She tensed slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low.
He worked methodically, removing tiny glass pieces with forceps. His touch remained careful, almost overly gentle.
“How did you drive into the divider?” he asked quietly.
“I… dozed off,” she said. “Just for a second.”
His jaw tightened. “You fell asleep at the wheel?”
She nodded faintly.
He continued cleaning, then asked softly, “Have you been sleeping?”
She hesitated.
“…Not really.”
He paused.
“How much?”
“Few hours. Here and there.”
Concern surged immediately. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell her she couldn’t keep doing this. Wanted to remind her she always pushed herself too hard. He remembered the arguments, him telling her that the job wasn’t worth it, that they were overworking her, delaying her promotion.
“Still doing that job huh?”
Her fingers curled slightly, as she looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
He swallowed the words that were coming up. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.
“Something like this was exactly what I was afraid of.”, he murmurs, not able to keep that quiet.
She wasn’t in the mood for more arguing. “What do you want to hear, Harry? That you were right?”
“Well, about this, I was. You’re tired of it too.”
“But I’m gonna have to start from the beginning someplace else, if I leave now. I can’t do that.”
“You just have to find the right place, y/n. Sacrificing your health for whatever reason doesn’t make sense to me, it shouldn’t to you either.”, he says, preparing her anesthetic.
She just sighed. “Small sting.”, he warns. The needle slid in.
She sucked in a breath immediately, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it. “Fuck. That’s s-small?”
He cracked a small smile, apologizing. “Sorry, sorry, this is the worst part, hang in there.”
She turned her face slightly away, shoulders tensing. He injected slowly to minimise the burn, but he could still see the discomfort in her expression. Her brows pinched, lips pressed together.
“How’s… how’s Milo?”
The question slipped out before he thought too hard about it.
Her eyes flickered back to him in surprise.
“Milo?” she repeated softly. Milo was their dog. Well now, it was hers, after their breakup.
He nodded, still working carefully. “Yeah. He still stealing socks?”
A faint smile appeared despite the sting. “All the time.”
He huffed quietly. “Figures.”
She winced again as he finished the injection, her eyes were burning with tears now. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself.
“Sorry,” he murmured again, his thumb brushing lightly against her wrist in reassurance. “Almost done.”
He withdrew the needle and gently pressed gauze over the area.
“Give that a minute to numb,” he said softly.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing as the burning sensation faded. She blinks, small tears that were welled up sliding down her cheeks and Harry’s heart aches for her as he reaches for a tissue and dabs them away, without second thoughts. “You’re being very brave.”
She chuckles, taking the tissue from him. “Crying over injections? Kids probably do better than me.”
“That must have hurt like hell, love, and you just went through a lot. It’s totally fine. You’re doing great, trust me.”, he assures and she lets that sink in. He lifts the ice pack from her wrist to check on it.
“How bad does that hurt?”, he asks, palpating against the joint.
“Not too bad.”, she murmurs. “Can you move it?”
“Mhm..but it hurts when I move it.”
He checks her range of motion. “It’s probably just a sprain, but we’ll do an x ray to confirm.”
She nods.
“He’s gotten bigger,” she said after a moment. “Milo.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Still refuses to sleep in his own bed.”
“He never did,” Harry said quietly. “Always ended up between us.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
They both fell silent for a moment.
“Still scared of thunderstorms?” he asked softly.
“Yeah. Crawls under the blanket.”
He smiled, eyes soft. “Dramatic.”
“He gets that from you.”
Harry huffed quietly. “I’m not dramatic.”
She gave him a small look.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted.
He gently touched around the wound, checking sensation.
“Can you feel this?”
“Pressure,” she said.
“Sharp?”
“No.”
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re numb.”
He reached for the suture kit, opening it carefully.
“It’s a clean cut, so it should heal well.”
She nodded.
He positioned her arm again, steadying it gently with his hand. His touch was slow, deliberate, careful. The needle passed through the skin, and she didn’t flinch this time.
“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He tied the first knot neatly, cutting the thread.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Will it scar?”
“Zero to minimal, love, I’m trying my best to make sure of that.”
“Thanks.”, she whispers. She hoped there wouldn’t be an ugly scar running down her arm.
“I’ll place a few more,” he said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
She watched him while he stitched.
He was completely focused, brows drawn together slightly, lips pressed in concentration. His curls fell forward just a little as he leaned closer, and he pushed them back absently with the back of his wrist before tying another neat knot. His hands were steady, precise, gentle in a way that made her chest tighten.
He looked the same.
Maybe a little more tired. Maybe slightly more guarded. But still him.
Still the same green eyes. Still the same careful touch. Still the same quiet concentration he slipped into when he wanted everything to be perfect.
She hadn’t realised how much she missed seeing him like this.
“How’ve you been?” she asked softly.
He paused for the briefest second before continuing the stitch.
“Busy,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“Work’s… been a lot,” he added.
“Your mum?”
He smiled softly. “Good. Asks about you though, always on me for letting you go.”
Her throat tightens.
“All done,” he murmured, pulling off his gloves and disposing of them. He puts away the light, table, chair and goes to her side again, picking up his stethoscope.
“I’m just going to listen to your heart and lungs,” he said. “Make sure everything’s okay.”
She was sure he’d hear her heart beating abnormally fast, but she sat up straight as the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope touched her chest through her shirt. She inhaled softly.
“Deep breath, love,” he murmured.
She breathed in slowly. “Any difficulty breathing?”
“Nope.”
“Chest pain? Any sort of pain when you breathe?”
“No..”
TThat means her ribs are alright. He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope to different positions, front, then back. His hand rested lightly against her shoulder to steady her as she leaned forward.
“Tell your mum I miss her too.”, she tells him, while he palpates her abdomen. His fingers pause slightly, then his lips twitch into a smile, nodding. “Only my mum?”, he teases.
“Of course. Who else?”, she teased back, and he chuckled. “Right. When was your last tetanus shot?”
She blinks. “I don’t remember..probably in school.”
“More than 5 years, we’ll give you a booster.”
She makes a face. “I thought I was done with needles.”
“This should be easy compared to that. Nurse Macie is very gentle too.”, he says. Soon nurse Macie’s ready to give her the shot, swabbing her upper arm.
“Don’t look.”, Harry says to her again, and she turns towards him, fist uncurling. Harry slips his hand into hers, patting it with his other hand, smiling. “I’ll give you a sticker if you don’t cry.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
He laughed. The nurse smiles at their exchange, it was rare to see Harry laughing with patients like that. Clearly, this one was special to him. She flinched as the needle went in, moving her head further away, it bumped into Harry’s arm. He steadied her as she squeezed his hand, bringing his other one to the back of her head. “It’s okay, almost done.”
Soon, it was done. The nurse placed a small bandage and stepped back. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”, Harry asks as y/n pulls back.
“Still bad. Thank you.”, she tells the nurse who smiled. “Of course.” She checks her tab. “Radiology’s ready for the wrist.”
Harry realized they were still holding hands. “Right.”, his thumb brushed her knuckles before he let go.
He helped her off the bed instinctively, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she felt dizzy. He withdrew slightly once she steadied.
“I’ll see you after,” he said softly.
_____________________________
A few minutes later, she was back. Harry re-entered the cubicle with the X-ray report in hand.
“Good news,” he said quietly. “No fracture. Just a sprain.”
She exhaled in relief.
He picked up a crepe bandage and moved closer.
“I’m going to wrap this for support,” he explained.
He gently lifted her hand, careful not to twist the wrist. His touch was slow, deliberate. He wrapped the bandage snugly but not tight, checking circulation.
“Tell me if this feels too tight.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’re you getting home?”
“Um..cab?”
He frowns, not happy with that answer. “You could call Sherin?”, he asks, Sherin was her best friend.
“She’s not here, went to her dad’s for the weekend.”
He couldn’t let her go home alone, in this state. He secured the end of the bandage neatly, then lightly checked her fingers.
“Move them.”
She flexed slightly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep this on for a couple of days,” he said softly. “Rest the wrist. Ice if it swells more. Elevate when you can.”
She nodded.
“And the stitches,” he added, gesturing to her arm. “Keep it dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can gently clean around it. No soaking.”
She listened quietly.
“Come back in seven days, I’ll remove them for you, and check on the wrist, yeah?”
“Alright.”
He pulled out something from his pocket then, smirking. “Which one does my brave patient want?”
She laughs as he shows her his sticker collection. “I thought you were joking about that.”
“Not at all, you’ve deserved it.”
She hums as she looks at them, pointing to a jellyfish one. “Can I have that one?”
“Sure.”, he removes it carefully and sticks it over her bandage. “Cute.”
“Thank you.”, she smiled.
“Course. Oh and I don’t want you going back to work tomorrow, or day after. You need to rest for two days, at least."
“But-”
“No buts, y/n, I’ll email you a note, send it to that asshole boss of yours, Doctor’s orders.”, he completes, and she can’t help but smile. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor Styles.”
“Anything for you.”, he smirks, patting her shoulder. “Wait just a minute, I’ll drive you home.”
“What-no, Harry you’ve already done so much, I can get myself home.”
“I want to. It’s no big deal.”, he says, and leaves before she can protest more. Harry had already spoken to his ER head while she was taken for the x ray, he could slip away for a few hours. He’ll make it up later. He had to sign some discharge papers for his earlier patients, and once he’s done with that, he’s guiding her towards his car.
“You didn’t have to.”, she murmurs, but she is grateful, as he opens the passenger seat for her.
“I’ll sleep better knowing you’ve settled in safe at your place.”, he replies.
The soft hum of the engine filled the space. She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaustion settling deeper now that everything was over.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked after a minute.
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He glanced at her briefly. She looked pale, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped. He remembered how she always looked like this after pushing herself too far.
“You should sleep when you get home,” he murmured.
“Planning to,” she said softly.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“You scared me there for a minute, you know.”, he admits. “Seeing you like that, god.”
“I’m sorry.”, she whispered. “I scared myself.”
He nods. “You’re okay now though.”
They pulled up outside her building.
He parked, then stepped out before she could protest, walking around to her side. He opened the door and offered his hand instinctively. She took it, stepping out carefully.
The walk inside was quiet. He stayed close again, ready if she wobbled, though she didn’t. As soon as she opened the door, nails clicked rapidly against the floor.
A blur of fur came skidding around the corner.
“Milo-” she started, but the dog had already reached them.
He stopped short for half a second, head tilted, like he was processing. Then his entire body lit up, tail wagging so hard his whole back end swayed. He let out a soft excited whine and bounded forward.
Straight to Harry.
Harry barely had time to react before Milo jumped up, paws pressing against his thighs, tail wagging uncontrollably. A small, surprised laugh left him as he crouched instinctively.
“Hey, hey, buddy.” he murmured, hands immediately moving to scratch behind his ears.
Milo whined happily, licking at his hands, nudging his face, circling him like he’d just returned from a long trip rather than two months of absence.
“You remember me, huh?” Harry said softly.
The dog leaned into him, tail still going, completely content.
Y/N stood near the door, watching.
A small smile appeared on her face.
It was like nothing had changed. Milo didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just ran to him like he always had, like Harry still belonged here.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed seeing them together. Harry crouched on the floor, Milo practically climbing into his lap, Harry laughing quietly, rubbing his sides, letting him nuzzle into his shoulder.
“You got bigger,” Harry murmured. “Or you’re just heavier.”
Milo wagged harder in response.
“He’s definitely heavier,” she said softly.
Harry glanced up at her, still petting him. “You been feeding him extra?”
“He begs.”
“You always gave in.”
“You did too.”
He smiled faintly.
Milo finally settled, pressing close to Harry’s leg like he was claiming his spot again. Harry scratched under his chin absentmindedly, the motion familiar.
She watched them for another second, smile lingering, but there was a quiet sadness beneath it too. It felt warm, comforting… and a little painful. Like glimpsing something that used to be hers.
Harry stood slowly, Milo immediately following, staying close. “You can stay for a bit, I’ll make you something to drink.”, she said.
He blinked at her.
“You were just in an accident,” he said, half incredulous.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
He rolled his eyes softly. “You haven’t changed.”
She gave a tired smile.
“You should lie down,” he said gently, stepping inside. “You look exhausted.”
“I can make tea,” she insisted.
“Absolutely not.”
She looked at him.
“You’re going to sit,” he said softly but firmly. “Or lie down. I’ll make tea.”
She hesitated, then nodded, too tired to argue.
He guided her toward the couch, then paused. “Actually… bed.”
She blinked.
“You need rest,” he added.
She didn’t protest this time.
He watched her walk toward the bedroom, slower now, exhaustion catching up. Something protective tightened in his chest again.
“I’ll bring it in,” he called softly.
She nodded, disappearing inside.
Harry stood in the quiet apartment for a moment, taking in the familiar space. Some things had changed. Some hadn’t.
Then he moved toward the kitchen, already filling the kettle. Milo followed him halfway, then settled near the doorway, keeping watch like he always did.
The apartment felt familiar. Too familiar. The mugs were still in the same cabinet. The tea box still tucked in the corner. He didn’t need to search for anything.
He made the tea the way she liked it, lighter, just a splash of milk. He carried the two mugs carefully toward the bedroom.
She was sitting against the headboard now, shoes off, exhaustion clear in the way her shoulders sagged. She kept her injured wrist elevated on a pillow. Milo had jumped onto the bed beside her, curled protectively near her legs.
Harry stepped inside quietly. “Here.”
She looked up, offering a tired smile. “Thank you.”
He handed her the mug carefully, making sure she didn’t strain her wrist. Their fingers brushed briefly.
He sat down beside her, leaving a small space, not too close, not too far. The silence settled softly between them as they both took a sip.
The warmth helped. The quiet helped.
After a moment, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“For… everything. Today. Being there. Taking care of me.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured.
She shook her head slightly. “I do.”
He looked down at the tea in his hands, then back at her.
“I’d always be there for you,” he said quietly. “No matter what’s going on between us.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“You’d never have to face anything scary alone,” he added softly.
The words settled deep.
She leaned back slightly against the headboard, and without realising it, her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
It felt natural. Like muscle memory.
Their arms rested close, warmth seeping through the thin space between them. She leaned just a little more, not fully, just enough that their sides touched.
Harry went very still.
Seeing her in that hospital bed had terrified him. For a moment, when he’d first pulled back the curtain, his mind had gone blank, just fear, sharp and immediate. Someone he loved hurt. Vulnerable. Alone.
And now she was here, beside him, safe.
He exhaled slowly, tension easing.
She noticed.
She also realised something else, the calm she’d felt the moment she saw him in the ER. The way her racing thoughts slowed. The way she trusted him instantly. The way she knew she was okay because he was there.
Things had happened. They’d broken up. They’d hurt each other.
But none of that had changed this. Their bond was still there. Stronger than the distance.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime?” she asked softly. “Just… start again?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’d like nothing more,” he said quietly.
Relief softened her expression. He set the mug aside, turning slightly toward her. His hand lifted almost instinctively, hesitating only a second before he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
He leaned forward gently and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, next to her bandage.
“I never stopped loving you, Y/N,” he murmured.
Her eyes closed briefly, the words settling deep.
“I didn’t either,” she whispered.
Her eyes were still slightly closed from the forehead kiss, her breathing slow, calm. Harry stayed close, watching her for a moment, memorising the way she looked when she was relaxed like this.
He had missed this.
Missed her.
Milo, who had been curled near her legs, suddenly lifted his head. His tail thumped once against the mattress, like he’d decided something. He stood, turned in a small circle, and climbed his way directly between them, nudging insistently until he fit himself into the narrow space.
She let out a soft surprised laugh.
“Hey-”
Milo pushed his nose against Harry’s arm, then turned and leaned his back against y/n, completely satisfied with his placement. His tail wagged lazily as he settled.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Still needs to be in the middle.”
“Always,” she said softly.
Milo sighed contentedly, wedged between them like he’d always belonged there.
Harry rested his hand gently over Milo’s head, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the process. Neither of them pulled away.
The dog shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, effectively trapping them in place.
She smiled, tired but warm.
“Guess he’s decided,” she murmured.
Harry smiled faintly. “Boss man.”, he said, making her laugh. She reaches for Harry’s hand, tangling her fingers through his and he brings it up to her lips, looking at her, smiling so wide his dimples were out. He didn’t need to say it. Everything felt like home again.
