#harrystylesimagine

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.

“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”

Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”

Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”

“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”

Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”

Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”

Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”

“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”

Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”

“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.

“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”

Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”

Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”

Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”

“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”

The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.

Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.

“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.

She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.

He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.

As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”

Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.

Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.

Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”

She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”

He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”

Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.

“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”

Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”

Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.

As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”

Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”

Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”

“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”

Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”

He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”

“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”

She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.

“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”

Harry’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Right”.

-> part II

‼️ let me know if you would want to get tagged!!

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

The silence inside the apartment was heavy, vibrating with the leftover adrenaline from the club. Y/N stood by the door, her arms locked tightly over her chest. Her heart was still racing, partly from the scene Harry had caused and partly from the way he had driven home—silent, fast, and radiating a cold, sharp energy.

She couldn’t get the image out of her head: Harry, usually so composed, snapping in an instant. She had been trying to navigate the crowded hallway to the bathroom, and a man had lingered a second too long. In the suffocating heat of the club, that stranger had let his gaze wander down her body, his hand almost brushing her lower back as she tried to squeeze past. Harry had seen it from across the VIP section, and he launched himself at him.

The sound of Harry’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw had silenced the music for her. Mitch and Sarah had rushed in, grabbing Harry’s arms, trying to pull him back as he snarled like a wounded animal. But the damage was done. The bouncers swarmed in and took Harry into the cold night air.

Harry kicked the apartment door shut now, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the dark. He didn’t turn on the lights. He began to unbutton his shirt, his movements jerky, precise, and dangerous.

"If you had just waited for me, none of this would have happened," Harry snapped, his voice a low, vibrating growl.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes stinging. "It’s not my fault, Harry! I had to pee, and you ruined the entire night! You made a scene for nothing!"

Harry stopped. He took a step toward her, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by something raw and desperate. He reached out, cupping her face with a hand that was still trembling from the fight.

"It wasn't for nothing," he whispered, his voice cracking just a fraction. "I saw him looking at you like you were something he could just take. It makes me sick to my stomach, Y/N. The thought of anyone even thinking they have a right to you... it kills me."

Y/N looked into his eyes, and the wall she had built up over the last hour began to crumble. She saw the fear behind his possessiveness—the fear of losing her. Her anger melted into a heavy, thick desire. She leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. "You're crazy, Harry."

"Only for you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips.

"I can't always be by your side," she whispered, her voice trembling but defiant. "I don't belong to you."

Harry let out a dark, dry chuckle that sent a shiver straight down her spine. He moved with the speed of a predator, his hand closing firmly around her throat—not to hurt, but to claim—as he pinned her against the wood. He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes dark and dilated with a primal, territorial fever.

"Maybe not your mind, love," he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers. "But this body? Every curve, every inch of skin, every sound you make... that is all mine. I mark it, I use it, I take care of it. And after seeing that piece of shit look at you, I’m going to spend the rest of the night reminding you exactly whose touch matters."

He let his hand slide down her body, slow and deliberate, until it reached the edge of her underwear. She gasped as his index finger found her favorite spot, grazing her expertly through the thin fabric. He leaned in until his lips were just centimeters from hers.

"Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Or has someone else ever made you feel this good?"

He pushed her underwear aside, sliding his index finger along her slit, feeling her get wetter with every passing second. Her expression shifted; the anger was gone, replaced by a raw desire.

"Tell me, love... or do I need to remind you?"

Y/N’s knees went weak, her resolve crumbling under his gaze. Harry didn’t wait for an answer. He hiked her dress up and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom. He tossed her onto the mattress and suddenly pulled back, his breathing ragged. He stripped out of his clothes, and she followed his lead, her movements hurried and desperate. He lay back on the bed, pulling her close.

"Sit on my face," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Right now, love. I want to taste every bit of the pleasure I’m giving you."

She hesitated for a moment. They had stopped trying this position for a while because it made her feel so exposed, but Harry’s hands were steady, and his lips began to murmur sweet words of encouragement, making her surrender.

Guided by his hands, she straddled him. Harry closed his mouth over her clit, his tongue working with expert precision while his hands held her hips steady.

"You like that, hmmm?" Harry murmured against her skin, the vibration humming through her core. "Fucking use your words, baby."

"Fuck... yeah, Harry... oh God" she sobbed, her head falling back as the waves of a massive climax began to crawl over her.

He used two fingers to drive her closer to the edge. "That's it, love. Give it all to me. Fuck my face."

She began to move her hips, the friction of Harry’s nose against her clitoris making her legs shake. One of Harry's hands reached up to squeeze her breast, anchoring her even more firmly against him. When she finally shattered, it was violent, her whole body shaking. Harry stayed right there, relishing the way she came apart for him.

When she finally shattered, it was violent and all-consuming. She could barely breathe, her voice whispering his name over and over. Harry stayed right there, relishing the way she came apart for him. He eventually pulled back, his face flushed and his lips damp, looking up at her with a smirk that was both smug and deeply, obsessively loving.

"Fucking love you, baby," he whispered, kissing her inner thigh. With a gentle nudge, he prompted her to get up, but he wasn't finished. "Come on, baby. On your knees."

With what little strength she had left, she got on all fours and arched her back. Harry gave her a sharp slap. "This ass is only mine."

He positioned himself at her entrance and took her with a deep, decisive thrust. She was so sensitive that she cried out instantly. He flattened his hand against her spine, forcing her to stay still as he moved in and out of her. The sound of their bodies meeting was the only thing in the room—a wet, rhythmic sound that made Harry groan.

"Tell me," Harry commanded, his voice dropping an octave as his hand moved to her throat, pulling her up so she was at his level while he was still deep inside her. "Tell me who knows exactly how to make you fall apart like this."

"You, Harry," she gasped.

"Louder, love. I want to make sure I’m not the only one who hears it."

"It's only you!"

He smiled, a dangerous, beautiful sight in the gloom. He let go of her, and she braced herself as best she could while he moved with a fierce, demanding rhythm. His hands marked her hips, his fingers tangled in her hair. Every touch was a reminder. Every groan he forced from her was a victory.

Nothing that afternoon indicated the day would end that way.

Y/N was exhausted. Work had been a mess from the moment she walked in — three back-to-back meetings, an impatient boss, and a mistake that wasn’t even hers ending up on her shoulders. Her phone kept buzzing nonstop until she finally silenced everything. She didn’t even have time for a proper lunch: just ate two crackers in the car on her way to the hotel where Harry was waiting for a few days of rest.

But she didn’t want to show anything. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be the girlfriend who went to the gym with him.

Harry noticed her exhaustion the second she walked into the room. Her eyes were dull, shoulders low. But when he asked if she wanted to work out, she forced a smile.

— It’ll do me good, love. I want to sweat all of this out.

And he believed her. Because she knew how to lie with her eyes when she wanted to seem strong.

In the hotel gym, the atmosphere was nearly silent. An older man was on the treadmill in the back, and another guy — too tanned, too muscular, wearing a tight tank top — was using the corner with the weights. Harry, focused on his functional workout and listening to his playlist, kept an eye on her. Always.

Y/N tried to focus on her movements, but her body wasn’t responding like before. The stressful day was taking its quiet toll — and she tried to hide it. Between sets, she stopped near the mirror, adjusting her sports bra with a sigh. That’s when she felt the presence beside her. A man — overly muscular, overly tanned, with the kind of confidence that comes off the wrong way — appeared with a crooked smile.

— Hey, tough workout, huh? I could give you a few tips if you want... I noticed you’re using the wrong weight.

She glanced at him, trying to stay polite.

— I’m good, thanks. I’m with my boyfriend.

The guy gave a half-smile, like he didn’t take her seriously.

— You sure? A lot of people don’t even realize they’re training wrong. And no offense… but you look more like a model than an athlete.

She was visibly uncomfortable. She didn’t even have to answer. Harry was already walking over, dropping his dumbbells with a soft thud, eyes locked on the two of them.

— Is there a problem here?

— Just chatting, man. Relax. It’s a public gym.

— Public, yeah. But if she said she’s good, then you should respect that.

— And next time you wanna “give tips,” maybe learn how to recognize when someone’s not interested.

— Are you always like this? Jumping in like you own her?

— I don’t own anyone. But I’m her boyfriend. And I don’t like it when someone makes her feel uncomfortable.

— You were pushing. And she clearly said no.

The guy laughed nervously.

— Alright, champ. No need to be so sensitive. She’s hot — can’t help turning heads, right?

Harry let out a dry laugh, but his eyes were sharp.

— Yeah, she’s insanely gorgeous. But the only attention that matters to her… she already has. Mine.

A heavy silence settled between them. The guy shrugged, mumbled something, and walked off.

Harry only turned to her once the man was out of sight. His expression softened instantly.

— Are you okay, love? Did he touch you?

— No, he didn’t go that far. Just irritated me. — She tried to play it off, but the tension was still in her shoulders.

Harry gently wrapped his arm around her waist.

— If at any moment you want to leave, just say the word. Or if you want to keep training, I’ll stay right by your side. Okay?

She nodded, resting her face on his shoulder.

— Thank you for that. Really.

He kissed the top of her head softly, keeping his hand resting on her back.

— I’ll always protect you, baby. Even when you think you can handle it on your own.

She gave him a weak smile and went back to training. So did he. But now, even more watchful.

As she did squats, he watched her through the mirror. As she pulled on cables, he silently counted her reps. He knew just by looking that something was off. The way her fingers trembled, the way she paused with a distant look, how she leaned on the machine like she was trying to hide her weakness.

Then, the moment she dropped the weights and held her stomach, staggering to the nearest wall, he dropped everything.

— Y/N! — He rushed over, heart pounding. — Love… look at me, sweetheart. What are you feeling?

She was panting, sweating, hands on her face.

— I... I feel nauseous... — she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her in a firm, protective gesture.

— Let’s get you over there. Come with me. I got you. — He led her gently to a modern trash bin near the exit.

She knelt down. Her stomach revolted and she threw up. Harry stayed the entire time — kneeling behind her, carefully holding her hair, gently stroking the curve of her spine in soothing, steady movements.

— It’s gonna pass soon, baby... breathe, breathe, my love. I’m right here. — His voice was low, but full of pain at seeing her like that.

When she finished, he grabbed a towel and gently wiped her face. Then moved her hair away and cupped her cheek.

— Love… why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling okay? Huh? — he said softly but firmly.

— I just wanted... to do something nice with you. Not ruin the day.

He looked at her like his heart had been squeezed tight.

— You never ruin anything, sweetheart. Never.

— It just breaks me knowing you chose to suffer alone instead of letting me help.

He ran his fingers over her neck, then her shoulders, tenderly.

— Let me take care of you now, okay? Let’s go upstairs. Take a hot shower, eat something light, lie down together. Just us.

— Today you deserve comfort. And tomorrow too. And whenever you need it.

She rested her head on his chest, and he held her close, swaying gently like he was cradling the whole world.

They went up together. In the room, he prepared a warm bath for her, and while she was in the shower, he made toast with honey and chamomile tea. He placed everything on the corner table with a little note scribbled in his big handwriting:

“For my strongest girl in the world. Who now gets to be as weak as she wants.

With love, your Harry.”

When she came out of the shower, he was already lying in bed with his shirt laid out next to her pillow, waiting for her.

She laid down beside him, and Harry wrapped his arms around her like he was still trying to shield her from everything the day had thrown at her.

— Thank you for being this kind of love — she whispered.

He smiled, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips — with such tenderness it felt like a promise.

— You’re my favorite kind of love, my beautiful princess.

And that night, between sighs and intertwined fingers, he stayed awake until he was sure her breathing was calm, steady, and safe.

They were tiny. Two of the boys were only 3 pounds and a couple ounces, and they were the biggest. 

I could feel this weight on my shoulders as I looked at all four incubators around me and I wanted to just crumple on the floor. 

Two days old, and I already couldn't do it. I couldn't magically make everything easier. 

Harry and I traded off incubators, spending time with each of the babies as nurses came and went before I got wheeled back to my room.

I sat crying in the hospital bed, abruptly trying to supress my sobs when the door opened and in walked Harry. 

His eyes immediately clocked my face, rushing over to soothe me.

"Baby." he said softly, "They're okay. They're healthy. They're going to get stronger. They're going to get off breathing assistance and feeding tubes and we will bring them home." He immediately reassured, almost like he had the same exact talk with himself, before with me. 

"Her entire hand is smaller than the pad of my thumb, Harry!" I cried. 

"She's going to grow." He reminded me, his hands cupping my face, wiping away the tears.

"She was smushed in there!" My body shook.

"She's okay, Y/N."

"You don't know that, Harry! You cannot tell me they're fine! They look like they're on the brink of death Harry! They're already fighting for their lives, and they just got here and I can't do anything to help! I can't fucking help them! I'm just fucking stuck here!" I yelled, my body physically shaking as my eyes burned. "Their bassinets don't even have their names on them! They're.. they're..." I broke down, my wail bouncing off the walls of the room. "They don't even have identities yet." I cried. 

"They have names, Y/N." Harry said softly.

"They don't know that!"

"They wouldn't even if they weren't in incubators."

I glared at him, wanting to punch him whilst also wishing he would hold me and make everything feel better.

"I have four nameless babies, stuck in a incubator with feeding and breathing tubes and heart monitors and heat lamps and I can't even hold them, Harry. I can't do skin to skin yet. I can't feed them. I can't change their diapers. It's been two days! Two days, Harry!" I exclaimed, watching Harry take a deep breath.

"You're not the only one, Y/N. You don't think I wish I could do those things too? I'm cherishing getting to see them at all, Y/N. I would also love to hold, and cuddle and feed my babies. You're not the only one, but I also know, they're our new, freshly born babies, and we will never get this exact moment with them ever again." 

"At least you can see them." I grouched, leaning back carefully in my hospital bed, thankful for the heavy medication they've given me for my cesarean wound. 

"If you're mad, and you need to take it out on me, just tell me that, but at least tell me you're not mad at me." Harry said softly, watching me.

"I'm not mad at you." I said slowly, Harry nodding. "I just.. everything that I dreamt about.. isn't playing out at all. I didn't get to push our baby out of my vagina, and you cut the cord and have the normalcy.. I just... even now, I still can't see my own children whenever I want and it's incredibly frustrating. Do you know how insane it is to be told you can only see your baby during visiting hours until they're a bit stronger? I can't camp out in there even if I wanted to, because I have to be watched and monitored and recover as well."

"I understand, but we will bring them home. To bring them home though, they need to be alive, and those breathing tubes, and feeding tubes, and heart rate monitors are doing just that. They're keeping all four of our babies alive, baby. It's going to be hard. We're both going to cry, and get mad, but they're two days old. We're all just trying to get through this, together. the doctors, the nurses, you, me, them... we'll look back on today, and remember how hard it is, whilst we're cuddling them on the couch or they're screaming our ears off in highchairs. Today, will not be forever. I understand, and hear your frustrations, I feel them as well... but at the end of the day baby, we have four alive babies. You had four babies cut out of you, Y/N. Just a year ago we didn't think you'd ever get pregnant, and here we are today, with four babies. Yes, things are hard right now.. but this is all we've ever wanted, and now we have it. Days are going to be hard, and situations might not look how you've dreamt them..." he paused, moving closer, wiping my tears and kissing my lips softly. "We're parents, Y/N. You and me. We have four babies, biologically at that. Soak in the good, and breathe through the bad. All those negative pregnancy tests, all those egg retrieval treatments and the semen counts and the abdominal shots... we have four beautiful babies. We did it." He kissed me again and I nodded slowly, apologizes falling from my lips as I hugged him.

"I love you." I told him, sniffling.

"I love you, Y/N Styles." 

I smiled up at him before asking for a tissue, Harry joked about me ruining the mood, passing it over before sitting in the chair next to me. 

"You need to rest, love. Our babies need a strong mumma as well."

* * * * 

ynstyles

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♡ liked by: annetwist, yourbff, yourmom and 226,347 others

ynstyles: People have asked me what it was like to be pregnant with quadruplets, and yes it was a blessing, but it also was hard. Besides the basic pregnancy experiences, and the high risk pregnancy, my belly got HUGE, which is wild to me considering just how small the kids are.. but imagine carrying like 3 watermelons on your stomach. That might be what this felt like. Then add the swelling, the nausea, everything. It was hard. It was incredibly difficult. People also never guess you're pregnant with multiple babies, and if they do, just twins, so you often hear "Wow, that's gonna be one big baby." Which is really hard to hear looking back on, because of just how hard premie babies struggle. Sorry Karen, it wasn't a really big baby. It was actually four babies, that are now basically on life support. I thought my whole pregnancy my belly was ruining my body. I couldn't get it out of my head how I'd look afterwards.. and honestly? it does cross my mind, but at the end of the day, this belly carried four babies. It's funny to look back on how heavy the belly felt, knowing the biggest baby was only 3 pounds and 5 ounces. I'd say the hardest part, is the comments from strangers when they see you. I'd be 15 weeks pregnant, and they'd be shocked my due date wasn't right around the corner. I gave birth prematurely, and my belly was a lot larger then, than it was when people made comments to me. Yes I knew I was having multiples, but peoples comments and or fascination with ones body still hits the same. Some people just have big bellies, and small babies. Just because one is pregnant, doesn't change the fact that it is still their body. That is their stomach you're commenting on. The way it looks, the marks on it, the way the belly button protrudes. Pregnant woman don't deserve less, just because there's a reason for it. It all can still hurt the same.  I've welcomed four beautiful babies with that belly, but that belly is still mine. 

*comments have been limited*

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