“What do you want to have for lunch?” you ask from behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Harry had invited you along for his rehearsal of the new album, gearing up for his One Night Only performance, something he was excited to share with you at first. Except he hadn’t expected you to be so… distracting. Throughout the day, he watched you dancing along to his music, grooving to the beat with miss-timed yet boisterous moves, capturing his attention. It was the exact reaction he wanted from the album, to have the music move people physically, not just emotionally, but it was another to watch the woman he loved, dancing around the room with a proud gleam in her eyes. Your shirt rose up when you raised your arms, revealing your soft belly that he loved to caress when you rode him, and the bell bottom pants you wore clung nicely to the curves of your body, enticingly reminding Harry of the flesh underneath your clothes and how it would jiggle. Slyly, he’d adjust himself between songs, taking the time while everyone was distracted to lessen the ache of his thickening cock in his pants.

Harry only partially hears your rambling about possible options for lunch, entirely too focused on making sure everyone has left. As soon as the door clicks shut behind the last straggler, he’s spinning in your hold, tilting your head to look up at him. “I want you.”

Your first reaction is to giggle, assuming he’s just being cute, but when his hand slips from underneath your chin, to the back of your head, twisting your hair in his grip, your laughter stops, coming to a quick halt with a sharp inhale. Tugging your head back, his lips rush to the curve of your throat, kissing down in a line before licking back up, his mustache leaving ticklish tingles along the path.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers darkly as his free hand drags through your spit covered neck, smearing his saliva. “Watching you shake your ass, your tits bouncing around, and I can’t do a bloody thing about it?” His teeth nip at your jaw, taking a moment to deeply inhale your skin. “Distracting me all damn day with this gorgeous fucking body.” Biting on your ear lobe, smirking at the yelp you emit, his hands roam over your body, sliding down your back and cupping your ass.

As Harry sucks on your neck, nibbling and salivating over your pulse, your own hand twitches to life, reaching for his jeans. Your fingers have just brushed against where his cock bulges but Harry shifts his hips away. With a whine, you blindly stretch your hand again, trying to find him.

“Knock it off!” he growls when you skim along his crotch. Yet, you greedily run your hand down from his abs, tracing the line of buttons on his shirt, slipping over his belt, towards his shaft when his hand smacks against your ass. “Stop it!”

“I want… I want to feel you!” you stammer, still straining to reach him.

Harry pushes you away, grabbing both your wrists in one of his hands, easily holding them above your head. “Keep still!” he orders, his eyes darkening with agitation. Despite his warning, your body wriggles closer, struggling within his hold. If he took a step closer, you could thrust your hips forward and meet his. “That's it!” He forces you backward, leaning you back over the soundboard. Buttons and knobs impale into your back, laying unevenly on the recording equipment, but Harry holds your arms down above your head, his groin pressed into your leg, keeping you pinned beneath him. With his free hand, he grabs one of the microphones he's been crooning into all day, his lips pressed into the metal. Gathering your hands in front of you, Harry coils the cord around your arms, looping the microphone through the wire until he rests it between your bound hands. “That should keep your hands busy.”

You struggle against your restraints, trying to peel your arms apart. “Harry!” you whine, desperate to touch him, needy for the heat of his dick in your palm, craving the weight of him in your grasp. Wriggling back and forth, you seek any comfort atop the console, but each time you shift, the dial digging into your spine would lessen but the switch at your shoulder blade would press harsher. Your toes barely scrape the ground, leaving your feet dangling over the side of the soundboard, Harry's thighs keeping you up, just on the precipice of falling over.

“Shh,” he quiets you, petting your hair to soothe you. “You'll be taken care of, pretty girl. Don't worry.” When your mouth opens to complain again, Harry slips his fingers in before you can get a single sound out. Your eyes widen at the intrusion before fluttering close, suddenly pacified by the stroke of his long finger. The nail scratches at the inside of your cheek, roaming over the bumps in your teeth, dragging through the saliva on your tongue before pulling it out and sucking on his own finger, moaning around the taste of your spit.

Undoing the button on your pants, Harry's wet finger delves underneath your underwear. The trail of icy wetness leaves an echo of his touch as he nears your cunt, your lips twitching with desire. When his slippery digit brushes against your clit, your body recoils at the cool touch, your knee jerks up, flinching away with nowhere to hide.

“I know, pretty girl,” he coos as you whimper, flicking his finger across your nub, “I know, I'll make it all better.” His finger warms between your thighs, his movement speeding up, combining both your spit and your arousal. Your leg kicks up again, your heel catching on the edge of the device, opening yourself up more to him. “That's it, pretty. Let it out.”

“Oh, God, Harry!” you moan, gasping when the microphone falls onto your chest, the metal cool against your collarbone. “Please, I w-want your cock, please Harry!”

“Are my fingers not enough, pretty girl?” At that, he lowers his finger, dipping into you, curling his finger further up inside until he tickles at your sensitive spot, then pulling it away, testing you.

Your body clenches then relaxes, whining miserably at his teasing. “No-no, please Harry, wanna make you feel go-od too,” you plead, your voice pitching when he thrusts his finger in again. He reaches far enough to just casually brush over the same area, your fingers rolling tighter around the microphone, wishing you were holding something else. When he presses forth another time, he’s careful to only press so far, missing where you ache for him most, toying with your pleasure like a cat with its prey. “Harry, plea-”

“No.”

His dismissal is shocking, usually he’s compliant to your wishes, especially when your voice is breathy and you're spread open beneath him. Still confined by the microphone cord, you can't do much to fight back. “B-but I-”

“Shush now,” he says as he leans over you, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips, “or I'll bind your feet next.” Before you could complain, he's shoving his fingers deep into your pussy, pressing as deep as he can. When your mouth drops open as he massages your soft walls, his other hand clasps around your jaw, his fingers dipping into your mouth, pulsing into you on both ends. His fingers work you like a salve, softening your high-pitched whines into deep moans, your wide eyed stare drooping into a lustful, hooded gaze. “There you go, pretty. Just needed something to suck on, huh? I got you, pretty girl. Daddy always takes care of you, doesn't he?”

Sucking on his left hand, grinding on his right, you hum around his fingers, rocking yourself back and forth between them. The soundboard beneath you still pokes at your back, but as you circle your hips, your constant movement makes it difficult for one spot to bother you for too long, shifting around the console restlessly as you chase after your pleasure despite the irritating pain prodding into you.

“Yes, that's my pretty girl. If you're good, I'll let you have Daddy's cock later. Is that what you want?”

Your humming crescendos up into a long drawn out moan as he presses another finger inside of you, increasing the pressure on your walls. Clamping around him, your clit drags over the heel of his palm, adding on to the mounting pleasure coiling in your belly. Biting at his fingers, you try to signal your approaching orgasm.

“Oh, I know, I can feel it. Can feel you getting closer, can feel you getting wetter.” Slipping out of you, he smacks his soaked fingers against your pussy, smirking at the sound of the obscenely wet slaps. Then he thrusts back into you, slowing down his rhythm. “But we've got 40 minutes before anyone comes back and I wanna see how long you can go for. Can you do that for me, pretty girl? Can you show Daddy what a good girl you are?”

The torture of his slow pace is driving you insane. Dragging this out longer sounded awful, it was sadistic, it was… kind of hot? You've reached the point where anything he offered sounded like a fair trade so long as you reached your orgasm. Ignoring the burn of your arms, the muscles sore from being bound still for so long, despite your sore back, you nod, willing to take whatever he will give you.

Above you, Harry's eyes sparkle with mischief, his smirk deepening. “Knew you would.” Then, he removes his fingers from you, making you feel suddenly empty without him filling up one of your holes. Pulling on your arms, he lifts you up until you're standing on your feet, making sure you're steady before dropping to his knees, tugging your pants down, along with your ruined underwear. It's a bit of a struggle to get them off around your shoes, so Harry has to lift up the wide hem and untie the laces before he can fully remove your clothes. “Finally,” he jests, his playful gaze melting into adoration at your pussy, shiny with arousal. “God… Oh, pretty girl…” Already, his fingers are pruned, wrinkled with your arousal, but he dips them back in, edging in a third finger.

“Oh, oh fuck, oh Jesus,” you ramble, falling back until your ass hits the console. “Oh yeah, oh fuck, Harry!” Sweat starts to coat the wire as you thrash your arms around, twisting them back and forth. The microphone clatters against your neck, the metal bitingly chilly on your skin, goosebumps rising where it hits.

“Prettiest pussy I've ever seen. So pretty, so wet,” he compliments, driving his fingers into you. His left hand presses against your pelvis, his thumb caressing your clit, making your legs shake on either side of him. “Are you gonna come for me? Wanna feel you on my fingers. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

Building up, your release is imminent, it’d topple out of you even if Harry were to stop again. His fingers stretch you open, his thumb plays with your clit, you cannot stop your body from shivering. Cresting over you, you surge forward as your orgasm shutters through you, your tied up arms collapsing down in front of you, the microphone slipping from your grasp, hanging between your quivering legs.

Harry groans, his teeth biting into his lower lip as you clench, your muscles tightening around his fingers before relaxing, easing into post-orgasmic bliss. “That’s my girl.” Keeping his fingers inside you, he feels the flutter of your warm muscles as you come down from your high. Pressing his lips to your thighs, his hair tickles at your crotch before he's moving his fingers again, gently opening you up again despite your protesting whines. “You're alright, we've got time, just let me enjoy you.”

People slowly start to trickle back from lunch, spirits lifted and hunger satiated. Harry had tucked you in the backroom, letting you rest after he worked you through five arduous orgasms, taking his time between each one. Now, he was massaging his hand, hoping he'd still be able to strum a guitar later.

“Did you record something while we were gone?” Kid asks, looking at the tracks they've recorded for the day, a new 30-minute long file at the top. When he clicks on it, his laptop plays some clatter, before a voice cuts in.

“Oh yeah, oh fuck, Harry!”

Harry immediately perks up at the sound of your voice, pitched and warbled with effects but still, distinctly, your voice. Swiftly, he marches over to the laptop, slamming the screen down but the track keeps playing, his dirty talk muffled but still loud enough to hear. So, Harry forces the laptop back open, furiously clicking the pause button, then he closes the laptop shut again, heaving out a breath.

Titters ripple amongst his bandmates, faces flushed red, but Kid is the only one who seems unsurprised.

“You want me to delete it?” he asks deadpanned, slowly opening the laptop, already hovering his finger over the DEL key.

Leaning down towards his friend, Harry looks around before whispering “Send it to me first.”

Tag list:

✨ @triski73 ✨ @maudie-duan ✨ @gurugirl ✨ @wrongrry ✨ @angeldavis777 ✨

Usually, you’d be able to relax, or tidy the kitchen from the night before, perhaps even sit outside to soak up some of the glorious sun. But no. Today, circled on the calendar in a bright red ink it is noted that you have a doctors appointment. Meaning that you have to leave your cosy little haven and discuss your health. Something, as of late, you’ve been keeping an eye on. 

While this was just a regular three month check up, you know that the words which still weigh you down so heavily, are bound to be mentioned - loss, grief, miscarriage. Even the soft and caring “so how are you doing?” was going to be tough to get through. Despite your recent troubles, your doctor has remained good natured and kind during your appointments. She respects you and your situation, and has been of great assistance medically and emotionally in the past year or so. You don’t mind the company, but rather dread the conversation awaiting you.

                                                            oOo

You head out the door after making minimal effort to look better than you did earlier. What need was there to get dressed up when were just going to go to the doctors, come home, and cry? As per usual. You would laugh at the routine you’d accidentally twisted yourself into, but it’s hardly a laughing matter when your husband has to console you for the rest of the week.

Your appointment is 12.30 sharp, and you’re ten minutes early, focusing on the list you’d written in haste a few days prior which had been stuffed into your jacket pocket. It was easier to bring up your list of concerns to the doctor, if it meant you didn’t have to talk about them. This month? Feeling faint, headaches, little energy, irregular periods. All part of the grieving process, maybe.

Maybe not.

“Y/N Horan?” you hear your name called, and tuck the list away back into your pocket before standing, smiling briefly as you follow the doctor through to her office.

“Hi there Y/N...no Niall today?”

“No he...he’s out this morning. He doesn’t know, doesn’t like to check the calendar any more than once or twice a month so...it’s just me” you admit. You didn’t need Niall cancelling his plans and getting uptight and worried about you. It’s better this way, you reckon.

“Well then, it’s your appointment and this of course is all confidential. I hope he is still being supportive?” She speaks calmly, but with a hint of speculation in her tone.

“Yes! Absolutely. He’s great. Just wanted to do this myself. He had plans this morning and I’ve been doing better so...” you tail off, wondering how on earth you will handle this when you return home. You halt that thought with a quick smile directed at the woman sitting opposite you at her desk. “Yeah. He’s the best.”

And he is. Through the last year he’s been nothing but heaven-sent. Holding you close, making sure you rest, eat, and get out of bed on those days that just seemed too hard. You know how much he has suffered too and yet he’d been your rock.

You know that he’s cried at night while he thinks you’re asleep.

Losing one child in the early stages of pregnancy had been bad enough. You’d taken so many tests which had turned out negative, until one finally stated “positive” and “3 weeks”. You only carried that baby for two more weeks before you lost them. You’d cried, he had cried, you took a break from trying, praying that you would heal together and that next time you’d be luckier.

And barely 5 months later you fell pregnant again. You’d thought you were out in the clear at 7 weeks, getting ready to start telling your closest family and friends. 

However, instead of calling people to tell them the good news, an ambulance was called, and your bloodied bedsheets were thrown out. In the space of 6 months you’d lost two babies. Two tiny baby Horan’s, who you had promised to give the world to. Both ripped from you in some sick twist of fate. 

It wasn’t fair.

“Well good!” Your doctor chirps, dragging your from your thoughts. “I’m glad. It seems you have a great support system at home. Now, are there any queries you-”

“Yes!” you blurt out, before cringing at your own eagerness. You fumble with your list before handing it over. She reads it, taking her time to smooth out the crinkled paper and thinking over every possible symptom and diagnosis she can make from what you’ve written. For you, the silence in the room is deafening.

“Okay...so from this, there’s a couple of tests i’d like to run...would that be alright? I could always schedule you in for another t-”

You stop her again in her tracks. “Now is good. Whatever needs done, I can do it now.”

                                                           oOo

You take 3 different types of tests, each taking only a few minutes to register results. The thought that whatever is wrong with you is so tangible and potentially serious that your doctor asks for you to take three tests right then and there, is doing nothing for your nerves. You’re sitting alone in the office as the doctor prints through the results, and you wish - for the first time since you first sat in the waiting room - that you’d at least told Niall. And just maybe, that you’d brought him here, too. He always knew how to make you feel better, safe, and calm, even if he was facing the same outcome.

Your thoughts are interrupted as your doctor walks into the room - luckily with a smile.

“Well, one positive result came up for you”

Your heart just about stops with her news. Positive? A diagnosis about something today? Right now? 

Without Niall?

“Oh”, is all you can muster up the courage to say “oh, right”.

“Well I know we spoke earlier and you gave me that list to look through...I thought one of the samples you gave could be used for a pregnancy test.”

Okay, now you really needed Niall here.

The doctor evaluates your reaction and pauses. She shuffles her chair closer and smiles, a true genuine smile. It almost makes you feel better.

“Y/N, you said something about having irregular periods, a couple of near-fainting spells...I wanted to double check just to rule it out but the pregnancy test...it came back positive. I believe that you've just been spotting a little, and you’re not getting the right vitamins you need.”

After hearing the word “positive” you’ve gone blank. You don’t hear much else. It’s the third time you’ve heard this news, yet you’re childless. You swallow back a mix of saliva and bile as it rises in your throat.

“it says you’re between 7 and 8 weeks. I think it’s important we discuss this.”

                                                           oOo

Heading home, you clutch the steering wheel, trying to ignore the small pile of paper on the passenger seat in your peripheral vision. Pregnant. Well, you hadn't seen that coming. And your husband definitely won’t either. Your mind is between driving, and wondering how on earth you’ll do this, how you’ll prepare, how you’ll even go about telling Niall because you know the moment you see his face, you’ll break.

It’s a long 15 minutes home. The radio is muted, while the country landscape provides some form of comfort blanket as you worry through each scenario racing through your mind. It’s only 2pm, but you just want to go to bed and sleep away the fogginess of whatever hallucination you're living in. Dream it away and wake up to clearer skies and a sense of understanding.

You roll up the driveway, right next to Niall’s land-rover. You remember when he bought it, not even needing much of the car salesman’s persuasion; “it’s perfect for rural areas, plus big enough to take up to 7 people. Can also fit in any size of child carrier, which we also stock.”

Niall was sold, and at the time, so were you. Now you just see the car and its emptiness. Even if you filled the back seats with shopping or luggage, there was only just the two of you travelling. Well, maybe three now.

                                                          oOo

Stepping into the house, you can’t help but already feel your eyes start to brim with tears. Your favourite candle is burning, and you can faintly hear music from down the hallway, coming from Niall’s home studio. You didn’t even mind that it was only 70% soundproof - his talent was unfathomable and you enjoyed listening to him create music as if he was pulling the melodies and chords straight from the sun and stars above.

You shuffle your shoes off, heading over to the studio just to be near him for a moment - just before you fully break. You want to remember him like this; not knowing. Not worrying.

He has headphones on and is scribbling words and chord progressions down. Whether it comes to fruition or not, he thrives on the process. He bashes out a few more chords while you go to take off your coat and move away from the door, when he looks up through a sliver of the window in the door.

He’s surprised, to say the least. Of course, given that he hadn't seen you all day, he’s delighted that he’s finally able to embrace you and spend the rest of his day with his favourite person.

Niall had in fact, been a bit worried when he arrived home to see that you had left in the car. Nevertheless, he decided that spending time in the studio would ease his mind. He’d also been entertaining the possibility of having a pet, a new life inhabiting the beautiful 4 bedroom home you lived in. A puppy, he was thinking - or a kitten if it’s what you’d want instead. He just wants you to be happy, knowing that your true purpose in life is to care for others. It hurts him that you’re barely managing to care for yourself, and that he hasn't been able to give you a child, a little love created by the two of you. 

“There’s m’lover, where ya been?” he opens the door and steps out just in joggers and a casual t-shirt. His eyes are pure sunshine, his embrace warm, open, and loving, until he sees you’re trying to hold back tears. In an instant, his eyebrows furrow as his face deepens with worry. His embrace is softer, kinder, now afraid that one wrong word and he’ll have lost you for the rest of the day. 

Tentatively, he whispers, stepping much closer to you.

“...What’s happened? hey c'mere”

You can only shake your head silently as the overwhelming mixed emotions build up, and so he pulls you in even closer, hoping that it will make things even a little bit better. You can’t be in his arms for long though, and he realises as you weaken against him. The sofa in the studio is already pulled out and he makes sure you're stable enough to sit you there, before kneeling before you.

“you need to sit, Ni. Please, for me.” And this time it’s not just for the sake of his bad knee.

So he sits, taking your hand to hold, rubbing your thumb with his as he faces you waiting for you to stop nervously biting your lip. 

“Baby c’mon, you’re scarin’ me...” Niall prompts you, his own voice shaking now as you both wait for you to get your words out properly.

“I was at the doctors Ni...I, somehow I, I know we weren’t trying but....I’m pregnant” 

Your breath is now held, time ticking by so slowly it feels, as you sit there waiting for his reaction. The wind had most certainly been knocked out of you when you were told. The terrifying prospect of having another chance after the trauma of losing two in just a few months prior, is extremely daunting, and causes for a true silence to be better able to come to terms with the news.

“And i’m scared, we stopped trying because we can’t lose another one...not again.” Your voice breaks as you finally let the tears fall. 

The whole time, he’s been frozen still, his mouth parted slightly and blinking every few moments when another stream of information floods his brain with possibilities - both positive and negative. He can’t quite believe it, all this news coming to him at once leaves him utterly speechless. He’s surprised, not only that you went to the doctors office alone, but that you’re expecting his baby, too. 

He finally breaks the dam of deafening silence as he sees you cry. Your words had previously been muffled in his head ever since you had said “pregnant” when his mind began racing a mile a minute. But now you’re in front of him, crying, and scared of losing yet another baby, something that has broken you twice before, back when he world felt against the two of you and when soft touches and intimacy were coated with what-ifs, and an unmistakeable tension between the two of you.

You weren't sure you could face that for a third time.

“Darlin’, oh darlin’ it’ll be okay...” he comforts you, immediately by your side and holding you close “Did the doctor say the baby was healthy?” 

Seeing you nod through your tears was enough for him, his face lighting up as you confirm that you’re growing a healthy baby.

“Yeah?” he smiles softly “Please don’t cry. I can’t see ya like this. Can’t see the mother of m’child like this...we’re gonna be parents” and in his wonderful charming way, he’s finally able to get a small smile from you. He squeezes you and kisses your temple as he sees this. “This is gonna be it, I can feel it. We deserve this. S’gonna be alright this time. M’gonna look after ya.”

“But what if it’s not alright again Ni..I can’t lose a third...I can’t put us through that again...what if I can’t carry a baby full term and I only ever get to be 8 weeks along! I-” You burst out, confirming Niall’s thoughts that the pressure of a healthy pregnancy was weighing you down already, your past already threatening you with the worst before you even get to envision the best. He’s about to console you further, explaining that you’re just early, you can take it slow, and he’ll be there for you regardless, as he promised when he married you all those years ago.

It’s not until you say 8 weeks, that he halts his words before he’s even begun, and his mouth falls open in surprise.

“8 weeks...8?! Already?! You’ve definitely had a drink or two love, and we’re not exactly tame in the bedroom...’v’never made it this far before...does it not make ya think....that this one is already so strong?” Niall reasons with you, tenderly. Your tears have run down your cheeks and your face remains red and slightly puffy but for now, you’ve stopped crying, considering his words carefully.

“Yeah i guess..it’s just terrifying Ni, I can’t-” you start off strong, but continue your thoughts with your head bowed in shame, whispering “it’s like I’m scared to love them...’

He shushes you, heartbroken that you feel even the tiniest bit of doubt that this time, it won’t happen. That this is just another set up for a certain loss. He kisses your temple, his arm wrapped around your waist protectively.

“Whatever happens, we have each other. we’ll do what we have to do. But ya gotta know that i’m gonna start loving on this baby from this very moment, ‘cause i know we’ve got a little fighter in there.”

And he means it. He intends to keep that spark of hope alive for the both of you until you feel like perhaps there is a happy ending, and that the third time is the charm after all. He takes you upstairs after he’s able to lift your spirits, the studio soon filled with soft laughter and so much love. When you go to order some dinner, he absolutely insists on you making an appointment to see the baby. 

He’s with you through all of your fears as you candidly discuss them together that evening. It’s something that your doctor had recommended, and it means that you’re both on the same page. He can soothe your worries, and you get to tell him everything you know about the baby. It makes it much more real and far less scary when you look at things together. 

                                                          oOo

You head to bed together that night. He’s soothed almost every little worry you have for hours and in turn, he’s now an expert on the tiny little love inside you. 

“Gonna get ya some vitamins tomorrow. Gotta keep ya strength up for this little lover” Niall whispers in the darkness of the bedroom. 

“Little lover is a cute nickname,” you muster up the courage to hope and dream, “we can write that on their crib, too.’

Niall grins.

The curtains are shut as you both lay there, talking about all the possibilities you have now as three. He’s pressed against you in the middle of the bed, his hand with his wedding ring on your barely-there belly. You feel safe, comfortable, and most surprisingly of all, excited. The love between you and Niall in this very moment is tangible and deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.