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Summary: Being apart from each other is the worst. Fortunately, it doesn't last long and it's always extra nice getting back to one another.
Harry genuinely hated when she didn’t travel with the team. It felt like a piece of him was missing. And perhaps maybe, just as important, it felt like a teammate was missing. As much as he hated sharing her with his best friends, it all felt incomplete and he wasn’t the only one that noticed. Asher called out to her on the plane only to be reminded that she skipped this trip.
“Can’t you pay her more, Charlie?” Callie sighed heavily from the other side of the plane.
“I tried,” he rolled his eyes.
“Just take it from Harry’s salary,” Lang suggested. “You overpay him anyway.”
“Hey!” He pouted.
“I tried that too,” Ray called back.
Niall chuckled from beside Harry; he rolled his eyes at his so-called best friend and punched him in the arm for laughing at the joke. “It’s all going to the same place,” Callie grumbled.
“I tried explaining that as well,” Charlie said.
Harry ignored the rest of the team discussing his salary and tried his hardest to focus on anything but how much he missed her. Sitting with Niall was nice but he wasn’t as pretty as his girlfriend. Definitely didn’t smell as nice. He also didn’t snuggle with him (not that he wanted to snuggle with Niall), but he’d grown quite accustomed to her body tucked into his side for plane rides and not having that made him feel a lot colder than the ice rink ever made him feel. He even considered asking Niall to snuggle with him.
His phone pinged with a message from her. Have a safe flight! ❤️
His heart skipped a beat seeing her name scroll across his screen. Like it had been months since he’d seen her and not days. He wanted to answer it, but he knew she probably scheduled it for when their plane was going to take off. Texting her back now meant he would wake her up at one in the morning when she was probably exhausted from her shift at Louis’. He found out months ago that she kept her phone on loud while he traveled at night (in case there was an emergency). Which made his heart ache and he didn’t want to bother her any further.
It really made no sense for them to be apart. It was clearly bad for her health.
But it was fine. There would be time for rest for a four-day stint, and he planned on not leaving the bed. Especially if she was in it. He was itching to get back to her. It was a five-day away game stretch. He missed his bed, his girl, his home rink. Normally she’d have come along, but Louis asked if she wouldn’t mind filling in at the bar because someone else was out.
She worked a lot less at the Locker Room and she was simply too sweet to say no. Harry didn’t blame her. He thought it was kind and lovely of her to help Louis out and he knew she wouldn’t mind. He just missed her. A lot. A ridiculous amount, even. Like he hadn’t spent every day texting and calling her every free moment he had throughout the trip without her.
It was the first time in a long while they’d be apart for longer than two or three days. Harry insisted he could come home partway through the trip for a day if she wanted him to. He broached the idea the day before he had to leave. He was feeling quite crummy about going. Probably because it had been so long since they’d spent so much time apart. Lying beside her in bed with her pretty warm skin against his, made it feel next to impossible that he had to leave her the following day. His dick was already hard from just holding her and he had just finished another round of goodbye sex prior to asking. It felt impossible to go an hour without her legs wrapped around his hips or head and now he had to go five.
“Harry, of course I’d love for you to come home. But that’s kind of a waste of our collective energy. I’ll be working late. You’ll be tired. We probably wouldn’t see much of each other and if we do, we’ll be so tired. It’s probably not worth it.”
“You’re very worth it,” he grumbled into her neck. He tucked his thigh between her legs and flexed ever so slightly.
“Don’t do that,” she mumbled and tugged gently at his hair to pull his face away from her neck. “I know what you’re doing.”
“M’not doing anything,” he murmured innocently without looking up at her. “Just thought y’might be too tired t’go another full round but might need something for friction,” he shrugged one shoulder.
“Harry.”
“Bunny,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t want to go.”
She kissed the side of his head and rubbed her hand down his arm. “You’re silly.”
“Jus’ come with me.”
“I already did.”
He flexed his quad again and she gasped softly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Rookie.”
“Your thigh is making it hard to focus,” she admitted.
“Good.”
“It’ll go quick. We’ll be busy. Time apart will be nice. More explosive when you come home,” she giggled. He rolled his eyes and slid his hand down her body to find where her body met his thigh.
“I don’t think time apart could make this anymore explosive.”
He was pretty confident he was right, but at the very least willing to find out if was wrong. The plane ride wasn’t particularly long, but it felt longer as he was anxiously waiting for the captain to announce the descent. It felt like it was taking ages; longer than normal. Or maybe it was because after two hours of chaos and raucous behavior from a team of hockey boys in an enclosed metal tube without a pretty Bunny buffer to keep them in check, everyone had fallen asleep on their red-eye flight.
It was just Harry it seemed, scrolling through his phone looking at pictures of his pretty girl. Admiring the main screen background (the picture of her he asked her to send before they even started dating). Looking through messages of how much he missed her.
He was putty to her.
After what felt like a century, he nudged Niall awake as the captain finally let them know they’d be landing soon. Harry’s knee was bouncing like crazy as they landed and the rest of the team slowly woke up.
Harry was sure he wasn’t the only one who heard it, but the distinct sound of a phone dropped to the and slid along the floor of the plane for who knew how long—maybe the entire length of the plane. “My phone!” Callie called.
“For the love of God,” Lang sighed.
“You’re supposed to stow it during landing. How do you not know this?” Asher grumbled tiredly.
“Fuck off,” he pouted and Niall glanced under and around his feet. “Harry is it under—”
“I literally don’t care, Callie. I want t’go home t’my girl.”
“You’re so whipped. We missed her too you know.”
“I don’t care. She’s mine,” and if Callie had a rebuttal, Harry didn’t hear it. As soon as the flight attendants moved the door out of the way he was rushing past his teammates, his coaches and all the other staff.
“See you for dinner,” Charlie called. “Tell her I said I missed her too.”
Harry nodded politely to his, for all purposes, “uncle-in-law.” The only one Harry would entertain about missing or loving his girlfriend aside from him. “See you Coach,” he waved and hurried faster off the plane before Callie had the whole team crawling on the floor to find his phone or someone stopped him for an autograph at four in the morning.
Harry tapped his foot impatiently waiting for his duffle bag and once it was barely in his hand, he was rushing to the front entrance to find his ride. For early morning flights, he always got a driver and always tipped extra well for him to get back to his place as quickly as humanly possible.
As he got out of the car, felt himself breathing easier almost instantly. He could practically smell her perfume wafting from the house, and he was still only in the driveway. His phone vibrated with another message.
Wake me when you get home ❤️ It was clearly scheduled as well, and Harry couldn’t wait to get inside and get his hands on her. He should have been tired. Should have been excited to sleep in his cozy bed but was nearly vibrating with excitement to see her again.
He unlocked the house and dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes and shed his other layers until he was just in his underwear. He wanted to make sure that regardless of what happened in the next couple hours, he had to get himself up before her so he could clean up his mess. He practically kept his eyes closed as he silently padded through their bedroom knowing he wouldn’t make it to the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth if he took one look at her beforehand.
After cleaning himself up just a bit, he returned to the bed watching the early dawn light seep through the blinds. He wasn’t surprised that the sun was also trying to find a way to touch her. It was probably how it got it’s brightness: directly from her. But it was the sunlight that barely crept in that stretched across the room and landed on her sleeping form.
Harry sighed with relief, like it was a miracle she was still there. He knelt beside the bed and brushed her hair back so he could see her. Her pretty face was smushed against her pillow that she was clutching while lying flat on her stomach. Harry smiled and pressed his lips to her temple, and he felt so much better having his lips attached to her. The anxiety he felt while he was gone started to dissipate the moment he caught sight of her.
Harry noted there was nothing on her shoulders. Which was lovely but he didn’t know why she was half-naked while asleep when he wasn’t there. Maybe she was aching too much and had to take care of herself. However, Harry didn’t get a phone call from her or anything to help her with some self-care. It didn’t seem to add up that she would do that on her own.
But the sun was doing him all kinds of favors this morning and was the one that spoiled her secret.
On her left shoulder blade, there it was.
He tugged the comforter out of the way a little more and brushed her hair away from her body. There was some pinkness around the black ink and Harry’s heart was beating fast again.
A pair of hockey sticks crossed at the bend, the handles bent back to form a heart. Within the heart was the number eleven and an HS that overlaid pieces of the eleven.
Either the HS or the eleven would have been more than sufficient. Both were magical. But upon closer inspection he knew he was looking at his own, actual initials.
He realized she asked him for his initials a few weeks prior. It was breakfast and he was making eggs for her. “Initial here,” she said pointing to a green sticky note.
He smirked while pushing the eggs around the pan. “For what? You don’t have t’sell m’stuff for money, Bunny,” he winked. “I’ll buy you whatever y’want.”
She rolled her eyes. “It's a contract that says you're going to love me for forever,” she said with a shrug.
He looked at her curiously, snorted, and set the spatula aside for a moment to initial it without further questioning. “S'no writing on it, Rookie,” he said knowingly.
“You still signed it,” she shrugged again as she walked to the other room.
“Well, I can’t say no t'loving you,” he called.
His jaw fell open nearly unhinged. The possessive, Neanderthalic part of him made all the blood rush right to his groin. He thought he was turned on seeing her fully clothed with his name and number on her clothing. But this was her skin. The skin he kissed and licked while he took his time with her and made her come.
“Bunny,” he whispered and shook her gently. He was mindful not to brush any of the blankets or the comforter (or even her hair) on her sensitive, healing skin. “Bunny, wake up,” he whispered.
“Harry?” She mumbled sleepily her lashes trying their hardest to open.
He felt a little bad waking her, but she was so pretty and his name was on her skin. “Hi kitten,” he kissed her temple. “Wake up.”
“Sleep with me,” she mumbled, yawned, and stretched further into the mattress. “S’too early.”
“Kitten,” he whispered. “M’number is on your skin,” he was glad she was half asleep because she might not notice how tight his voice sounded (he sure could feel it). Was it hot in there? Were his eyes watering?
A sleepy, gorgeous, half-smile spread across her lips. “It’s a good number,” she slurred. Harry could hardly move his eyes from her face, but he was desperate to look at the tattoo like it might suddenly disappear.
He groaned. “Bunny.”
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“You’ve been planning this,” he answered. It was so permanent. Of course, Harry thought they were permanent. He would have a hard time letting her go and didn’t see how he could let that happen to begin with. So, there was no questioning it for him; they were, in fact, permanent. It was decided long before her tattoo.
But this? This was her saying it was permanent. That meant… everything to Harry.
She nodded, her smile a little firmer as she woke up more by the second. “Wanted to surprise you.”
“I love you so much,” he leaned in and kissed her deeply.
She moaned softly against his lips. “I love you,” she whispered.
“You tattooed me on your skin,” he was in disbelief.
She rolled over her and sat up so as not to put undue pressure on her shoulder blade. Her pretty naked upper half was on full display. His eyes dropped to her pretty, hard nipples before he went back to her eyes. “Just want to be very clear: I’m all yours.”
He moaned, grabbed either side of her neck and kissed her again. His tongue wasted no time sliding along her lips. “Open up,” he mumbled into her mouth.
“Let me brush my teeth,” she murmured through closed teeth and her occupied lips. “My breath smell—”
“Shh,” he hushed. “Open,” he ordered.
“At least let me get some water and some medicine. My skin’s a little irritated from sleeping weird—” Harry rushed back to the bathroom to get her what she wanted because as much as he wanted to kiss her and suck her tongue into his mouth, he’d rather die than let her be uncomfortable or in any kind of pain. “I could get—”
“Shh,” he hushed again. He handed her the water cup to sip while he tapped out a couple pills from the bottle. “You got a tattoo for me,” he repeated, still in disbelief.
“I like you on my skin,” she smiled knowingly. “I missed you. I did it the first night you were gone. Eleanor went with me,” she giggled. “And Marc. Michael was too squeamish.”
His chest felt a warmth like nothing he’d ever felt before. He didn’t know how to tell her he was having a heart attack from how much she loved him. He didn’t want it to stop. It was everything he ever wanted and more. He wanted her on his skin too. Immediately. Yesterday. Five years ago, would have been good. Back when he hadn’t even met her yet. Then it would have just been a promise that she was going to be his everything whether he knew it or not. “I have t’get a bunny or something, ASAP,” he warned cupping her face and sprinkling kisses over her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes. “God, I missed you,” he mumbled.
“You don’t have to get a tattoo for me,” she laughed. “I just thought it would be… fun. I couldn’t get it out of my head since the last time you went to a few away games. I just missed you so much. It felt better once it was there. Like it was easier to be apart from you because you weren’t really gone… that sounds silly but... I’ve never done anything like this before and—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, m’gonna tattoo you on my body. Should put your name on my forehead. Your face on my chest, right over my heart. Maybe your signature on my butt,” he smirked.
She giggled and shook her head. “Don’t be silly.”
“M’not sure you understand how perfect you are, Bunny,” he whispered. “M’honored.”
She blushed, her smile shy as she looked into his eyes while he gazed at her, that loving way that he knew made her insides melt because she told him as much. “I love you,” she whispered. “I missed you too.”
He groaned softly, pressed his mouth against hers and finally got his tongue to find hers so he could taste her the way he wanted to when she wouldn’t open her mouth. “Gotta be careful of your back, Bunny,” he warned and pressed his mouth in warm, wet kisses down the length of her throat. “But I want t’see it,” he gently moved away but pulled her so her body stayed close to his, guiding her along with him and kissing her again. While kissing her, he pulled her hair to the back of her head. He searched blindly down her arm with his free hand until he found her wrist and snagged the hair tie off her hand before wrapping it around the twist of hair. He pulled it tight and then turned her around, so her hands pressed against the wall. She had on an actual pair of underwear—not just the thin strip of fabric she claimed to be underwear—they looked like a pair of shorts and hugged her hips the way he wanted to. It wasn’t a mistake—Harry loved it when her pretty bum was on display with hardly anything covering her pretty skin but the idea of what she had hiding behind the green fabric wrapped around her pelvis and thighs was enough to drive him wild after four days of not seeing it.
Harry skimmed his knuckles down the length of her spine, his eyes unmoving from the black ink on her shoulder. “God, you’re beautiful,” his cock was straining against his boxers, and he could only imagine how good it was going to feel to sink into her.
He pressed her gently to the wall. He wished he could put paint all over her so he could leave an imprint of her there on the room for him to look at whenever he was lying in bed. She gasped slightly. Harry figured it was because the wall was cold against her hard nipples and he wanted to lay her down on her back and kiss and suck them until she came but it would have to wait until her back healed.
He kissed her skin again, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck and along her shoulder without the tattoo. He slid down kissing a path down her spine and then pulled her underwear down at the same time, so it pooled at her ankles. He teasingly bit into the fleshy part of her butt and kissed the same spot. “I missed you so much,” he moaned and kissed back up her skin and looked at the tattoo again. His initials literally etched into her skin made him throb. “You’re so hot, Bunny,” he mumbled to himself.
Her breathing was a little erratic. Harry’s lips felt like lava in the best way along her skin. Like little electrical currents zapping him. He turned her by her hips so her right shoulder was pressed against the wall. He knelt down, slipping his boxers down at the same time, and he shifted her left leg so he could press his head between her thighs. Without any fanfare, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sighed heavily—he couldn’t tease her. He missed her too much.
She gasped again while Harry slid his tongue down her slit. He marveled at how wet she was already, and Harry really thought he could die with his head between her leg. He groaned as he licked and slid his tongue into her where he hoped his cock would soon follow.
“Harry,” she whimpered. He moaned again. He was possessive, missed her like crazy, and couldn’t deny how good his name sounded when she was overcome with pleasure.
“S’good, Bunny. You’re doing so good,” he kissed the inside of her thigh. “Y’taste so good…” he licked into her like he was starving and she was the first thing he’d eaten in weeks. His tongue dipped and swirled. He tasted and teased her as much as he could without making her upset. It had been too long somehow in those five short days, and he wanted to make her come hard and fast.
“Harry, please,” she begged.
“Y’gonna come already, kitten?” He asked and continued licking the path he knew she loved because he knew how to make her feel good. Loved to make her feel good. He wanted to make her come a hundred times a day. It felt like magic to be the reason she felt good. She made him feel good all the time she deserved everything Harry could possibly manage to make her feel good. It didn’t matter that he’d only licked into her for a few minutes. If he wanted a hundred orgasms from her, each one needed to be quick. Harry knew what she liked and wanted to give her exactly that. If she came on his tongue in under ten minutes he would be thrilled.
“Harry,” her voice cracked. “I—”
“Come, Bunny, it’ll feel so good,” he attached his lips back to her clit and swirled his tongue around before slipping it back down. He repeated the motion once, twice, and on the third time a cry broke through her lips and Harry moaned as her weight shifted and he could feel her legs shaking around his head. He could feel the pulsing of her walls on his lips and tongue as he worked her through the orgasm. “So good, Bunny,” he moaned. He pulled away from her and settled her left leg back to let her stand. He kissed up her body all the way to her mouth and sighed deeply.
With flushed cheeks, she took a deep breath. Harry knew she was tired—she was probably already tired from work the previous night. He knew she missed him and probably ached to come like that for the last five days. “Your turn,” she offered a little breathlessly and started to kneel. Harry caught her by the elbows before she got even halfway to the ground. She frowned and opened her mouth to protest.
“Bunny, you put your lips anywhere near me, m’gonna come all over you and I really missed your pretty body and desperately need t’be inside you for at least a minute before it happens.”
She blushed and bit her lip. “Just seems a bit unfair.”
“I’ll let you suck my cock as much as y’want after I get to fuck you,” he promised. “Turn around,” he moved her by her hips and pressed them gently into the edge of the bed and coaxed her to bend at the hips. He kept his eyes on the tattoo. “God, you’re stunning,” he slid his hand down her spine again.
“I think I might pass out,” she whispered.
Harry chuckled quietly. He pressed his cock against her entrance and she whimpered. “Relax for me, baby,” he whispered and leaned forward to pepper kisses on her soft, pretty skin. She took a deep breath and Harry slipped into her easily. He moaned loudly grabbing at her hips for leverage and so that he didn’t come immediately.
“Oh,” she gasped turning her head against the mattress and she grabbed at the comforter squeezing it tight between her fingers. “Harry,” she croaked.
“Y’feel like heaven, Bunny,” he was straining to keep his composure because it was very possible that he would explode within one second of being inside her pretty pussy. Gently, slowly, Harry pulled back admiring the feeling of every part of her warm walls suctioning around him. Once all but the head of his cock was inside her, he pushed forward, pressed hard making her moan and she turned almost boneless against the mattress.
“Harry,” she cried.
“I know, kitten. I know,” he groaned. It felt so fucking good. He missed her more than he could describe and being this close to her was like a cure to an illness he didn’t know he had while he was gone. It felt so much better being home and being inside her.
“Harry, please.”
“Please what, Bunny?”
“You… you have to—” she was breathless and slightly incoherent. Harry’s breath was ragged and becoming more uneven with each thrust he was pressed into her. His fingertips were going to leave marks on her hips. His eyes couldn’t move from her tattoo, and it just made him feel harder and hotter. He wanted to fuck her for forever. It would feel so good to stay inside her for the rest of his life.
"Don't you want t'come again? Y'look so pretty when y'do bunny. Think 'bout how good it feels…”
“I already did. You have—”
God, she was pretty. She was way too sweet. Wanting Harry to come first. She was absolutely everything to him. “I will the minute y’come on m’cock, Bunny. I promise.” He was actually hoping that was the case at least. There was an increasingly high chance he couldn’t keep that promise by the second, because she felt so good. Too good. But he was going to try because he really did love the way she let go and surrendered to the pleasure. Especially because of him.
Making her come made him satisfied in a way that was indescribable. It was like scoring a goal when the game was on the line. He felt incredibly smug and good. “Harry!” She whimpered again and he pumped harder into her as her walls clamped around him. He groaned, leaning over her and pressing a kiss just to the side of her tattoo. He was so possessive he was surprised she wasn’t embarrassed by him every moment of the day.
“I love you, so much,” her voice was muffled into the blankets and sheets around her, and Harry was done; how could he not come when she said something like that?
He pulled away from her with a groan, and she somehow spun around and knelt in front of him just in time to take him between her lips and he could fill her mouth. She sighed dreamily as he did and Harry was jittery as he held her head gently cupping the sides of her face. His leg muscles twitched as he let her suck and slurp until it was almost too sensitive. The noises she made were otherworldly… it was difficult to fully relax. It felt like he was going to remain hard or get hard again in seconds.
But she knew him well and already seemed to know that was the case. She slowly backed off and dropped to her bum on the floor.
Harry crouched in front of her with a smile. He held her pretty, delicate face, pressed his lips to hers briefly and then kissed the middle of her forehead letting it linger a minute. She sighed deeply. Then he pressed his forehead to the same spot he kissed and gazed into her eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” she grinned.
“Missed you,” he tugged her up to stand and he was mindful of the sensitive skin tattooed on her back. He sat on the bed and pulled her gently on top of him keeping everything away from her ink.
“I missed you.”
“Don’t leave me alone like that. I had to sit with Niall.”
“Niall didn’t want to snuggle with you?”
He rolled his eyes. “They don’t snuggle the way you do, Bunny.”
She smiled softly and closed her eyes. “Can I suck your dick now?”
“God Rookie, I just got home,” he smiled. “Course y’can, kitten. Shoot me if I ever say no t’that.”
She smiled. “Can we sleep first?”
“Course, Bunny,” she nuzzled and tucked herself into his side the way he thought she would. “See, nothing like Niall.”
Harry heard her pretty soft giggle right before she fell asleep beside him.
--
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in one of your pieces it’s briefly mentioned that the first time they had sex after she gives birth it was really uncomfortable and not good and i was wondering if you’d ever write that ? i love the idea of sex not always being perfect especially after going weeks without it
PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
——
There was a sexual suggestiveness about the toothpick poking from Harry's mouth, and its effect on you could only be attributed to your severe case of sleep deprivation. It was a stupid piece of wood, and yet how it was framed between his plush lips sent prickles of heat surging down your neck and spine. On second thought, perhaps it was the apron tied around his waist as he dipped ripe strawberries in melted chocolate for a Valentine's Day dessert—his long fingers working with skillful precision, the sleeves of his tight long-sleeve shirt rolled up, the romantic gesture of it all. No, maybe it was the baby sling wrapped around his shoulder that held your four-month-old daughter, who was watching his every move. God, and the way he was murmuring to her each step of what he was doing definitely contributed to your rising libido. It was a sight you were still getting used to. More remarkably, it validated your years-long yearning to have children with him.
If humble swagger existed, it came in the form of how Harry carried himself as a father. The casual way he interacted with your baby was as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Walking around the house with her on his hip, going about his daily routine. Always willing to step in to give you a moment to relax. He was dependable, and you cursed your hormones for reacting so rabidly to it.
Maybe the changes your mind and body had gone through were catching up. After months, you finally felt healed from the physical wounds of giving birth. No more stitches or soreness down below. No more bleeding.
Your desire for sex was... almost normal again. You were being a bit sheepish about initiating anything, so you sincerely hoped the hunger in your eyes was communicating to Harry what you couldn't say verbally. The problem, however, was that Harry was too enamored with your little girl to notice your longing gaze. She was the center of his universe now, and you couldn't blame him for orbiting her radiance. She brought a certain euphoria to each day.
You rested your chin on the back of the couch where you observed them and inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate. It was quiet moments like these, where baby cries paused, that warmed your soul. You took time to appreciate the beauty of home, with its familiar waves and friendly birds. The creak of the floorboards and the color of the walls. The rumble of your husband's voice and his gentle presence. And most lovely of all, the adorable coos coming from the life you created.
Your eyes shifted over to the kitchen table, where a tall glass vase with flowers sat. You had woken up this morning to Harry helping your daughter hold a pretty bouquet of peonies to present to you. It came with a note that read, You make our hearts bloom. We love you.
Life was chaotic lately, yet so very blissful.
Harry was humming now as he threw the toothpick away and set the dipped strawberries in the fridge to harden. The plump red flesh encased in delectable chocolate made your mouth water. Such a simple recipe, yet somehow Harry made them taste better than a gourmet baker ever could.
He shut the fridge and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He must have sensed your gaze because he looked over his shoulder and smiled. Just the sight of him in this new role caused a swell of emotion to crash against your chest and crack your heart open.
"I've got an audience," he remarked.
You just stared at his hands supporting your daughter's small body—beautiful, sculpted, and what you had been missing desperately on your skin. It was embarrassing to admit that ever since giving birth, the closest you and Harry had gotten to any sexual intimacy was dry humping. Even then, your stitches had still been healing, so the experience was never quite satisfactory. It was no surprise that you were growing impatient.
"What?" Harry asked, noticing your strange silence.
"Nothing," you murmured, feigning nonchalance.
He chuckled and leisurely walked over to you. "You're blushing."
Your palms flew to your cheeks. "I am?"
"Big time. Are you feeling okay?"
"I... yes, I'm just"—you fanned your overheated face—"feeling a lot of things right now."
His brows scrunched together. Men were so lucky not to experience the rollercoaster of female hormones. You would sound asinine if you attempted to explain why your body was responding to him doing nothing but being a good father.
"I'm stressing you out," Harry stated as a guess.
"Not at all."
"You're having a hot flash?” he guessed again.
“No.”
“Uh… you caught a fever?”
Groaning, you dropped your head face-first onto the couch and mumbled, "I need sex."
"Say it again, please?"
You lifted your head and avoided eye contact as you repeated, "I need sex. I'm healed, and I want to take advantage of this urge before it goes away." Because it would. Your hormones were still regularizing post-birth, so you weren't going to count on getting your libido back to complete normalcy. Instead, you would pounce on every open opportunity.
Harry contemplated your confession for a while, making no show of judgment. "Any blood?" he asked.
"Nope."
"And the stitches?"
"They're dissolved. Can't even tell I pushed a nearly ten-pound baby out."
He smiled, albeit cautiously. "But how do you feel?"
"I'm fine, Harry," you assured. "If you're not feeling it, we don't have to do anything. Just, you know, giving you the green light."
A shadow of sincerity passed over his face. "Who said I'm not feeling it?" You shrugged, and he gently grabbed your chin to raise it. "Look at me." His green eyes held your gaze steadily. "You wanna try?"
"Yeah," you whispered. "I miss you."
"You have me," he said resolutely. "All of me, tonight."
"Oh," you said, not expecting him to jump on board so eagerly.
"Let's shoot for eight o'clock. When the little one goes to bed."
You broke out into a giggle. "So... a sex appointment."
Now it was his turn to blush. "I heard scheduling sex is supposed to help new parents reconnect."
A rush of heat spread to the tips of your fingers. You thought of the multiple instances when you and Harry consolidated spontaneity and sex. It often sprung upon you without warning, like a carnal beast clawing at your skin. And it always involved mutual desire, like a burning ball of tension the size of the sun. The house was memory-stained with reminders of all the ways your body had been worshiped. Over by the kitchen island, Harry had held you captive with his hips pressed flush against yours. The bay window in the living room had sometimes been blemished with handprints. But the bed in which you sleep and wake up to him every morning was where long, intense sessions happened. Harry slowly sliding into you during weekend sleep-ins, providing a warmth and fullness so heavenly. Late-night quickies after being away from each other all day, a little messy yet perfect all the same. Hell, you had even done it in the ocean under the moon. You wanted nothing more than to find that natural groove again.
"Okay." You reached out to squeeze his bicep. "I believe you."
"All right," he replied in the deep, sensual tone he reserved for intimate conversations like these. You looked downward, feeling giddy. Within milliseconds, Harry planted a hot, heavy kiss on your lips before walking away.
With the way your heart fluttered, one would think you had just met him. But you knew his body exclusively, as he knew yours, and tonight would be a test.
——
You stood in the doorway of your closet, sifting through the three pairs of lingerie you owned. They were lacy little one-pieces in off-white, powder blue, and red. It was doubtful they would fit like they used to, but you craved wearing something other than baggy sweats and Harry's shirts. While it gave you pride that you grew life, an insecurity still planted its pesky seed inside. You hadn't looked at your bare body in the mirror since, honestly, you didn't have a clue. It would never look the same again, especially considering you didn't plan to only have one child.
There was a nervous tremor in your hands as you took the red lingerie off its hanger—a slimming color to hide the loose, extra skin that still remained postpartum. You thought about Harry and how he liked to strip away every last piece of fabric blocking him from his touch. Even before pregnancy, during sex, you had never felt the need to accentuate your physicality with frilly, feminine garments. Harry took you in just about anything. Unfortunately, as new parents, there was simply not enough time or energy to initiate anything more than mediocre makeouts. You felt foolish for even bringing up the prospect of sex earlier. Now there was an expectation, and you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't chicken out.
Why were you so jittery? He was your husband, for crying out loud. There was no one you felt more comfortable around.
With a huff, you started undressing yourself just as the sound of the blow dryer stopped. Harry would be ready any minute for this supposed sex appointment. Meanwhile, you were out of practice, self-conscious, and hopelessly horny—he was going to regret agreeing to this.
You tugged the lingerie on, feeling it cinch your torso and breasts. It was tight, the flimsy fabric holding on for dear life. The V-shaped cut revealed the stretch marks lining your hips. The lace was itchy and dug into your skin suffocatingly. Fuck, this was quickly turning into a self-enforced humiliation ritual.
The bathroom door slid open, and Harry emerged in just a pair of white boxers, his hair dry and fluffy. The leftover shower steam made his skin glow, as did the dim lighting. He was effortlessly handsome, while you stood there in too-tight lingerie wondering if you looked desirable enough to stimulate his sex drive. From your perspective, all signs pointed to not likely.
Harry slowly walked toward you, his eyes exploring every inch of your body, and you leaned against the wall while fidgeting with the lingerie's shoulder straps. In the silence of his appraisal, you awkwardly shuffled your feet—it was futile to fake confidence right now.
"My forever Valentine," Harry said quietly, immediately attaching his hands to your waist.
You practically whined, then muttered, "I look ridiculous."
"You're joking, right?" He bent his knees to be eye level with you, a near-crazed look on his face. "Right?"
"It barely fits, Harry."
A slow smirk stretched his lips. "That better not be the only time you say that tonight."
You glared at him for his crude joke and said, "This is silly."
"What is?"
"This whole... rendezvous."
"I think it's fun," Harry said with a carefree shrug.
"But it's different from other times," you admitted.
"How so?" He kissed your neck, his affection warm and a welcome distraction to your disoriented thoughts. He smelled ravishing, the subtle hints of his spice and black vanilla shower cleanser putting you under a spell. A pulse of appetency made you press against him.
"My body," you said.
His hands traveled to your backside, squeezing the flesh there. "This body? The one I'd get down on my knees for?"
In one fell swoop, all your internal heat returned with a rush. "It's kind of a mess," you replied. "I haven't shaved. And my stomach looks like a wrinkly prune, so there's that."
Harry traced his thumb under the lacy hem hugging your hips. "Doesn't bother me. Prunes are delicious."
Deep down, you knew he wouldn't care. He had loved every part of you through pregnancy, with all its mind-bending changes and symptoms. If he had found you sexy then, he would appreciate your appearance now. Though it would take time for you to truly believe it.
"I just want this to be good," you murmured, resting your forehead on his firm chest.
"Hey." He lifted your head and cradled it. "We'll find a way to make this work. Let's take it slow." You nodded, and he leaned closer to whisper, "I know how to get you wet. Don't think I've forgotten."
Truthfully, you were already wet, but you didn't say anything as Harry grabbed your hand and squeezed it before guiding you to the bed. While he had been taking a shower, you had fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets. You had even sat there and mentally filtered through what positions would be most reasonable. Sex was to be careful tonight. No need for anything crazy.
You climbed into bed, and Harry remained standing. The outline of his hardened cock pushed against his boxers. A flame ignited low in your belly—to get to have him inside you after so long was exhilarating.
When he didn't move to join you, you asked, "What are you doing?"
"Following your lead," he said. "Where do you want me?"
"Um... on your side, I guess. Next to me."
Harry didn't waste any time and got into position, his hand propping his head up. There was an expectant openness in his eyes, and you almost laughed. This was out of the ordinary, but it somehow eased your nerves.
"I want to face each other," you added. "And I... I want you to do that thing where you hold my leg up against your hip."
He hummed, his eyes flashing with something lustful. "Understood. But you're going to have to take your lingerie off."
"Right." You swallowed nervously. "I'll do that."
You stripped while Harry removed his boxers and rolled on a condom. He watched your breasts bounce free, watched the lace slide down your torso and legs. It was your armor against the reality that your body wasn't the same as the one Harry had touched for the first time. But you trusted him and his admiration for the life you brought into the world. There was nothing to be ashamed of.
You lie bare beside Harry now. His gaze turned fond, taking in all of you—no judgment, no confusion, no surprise. But why would there be? He'd been there when your pants stopped fitting during pregnancy. When you hadn't been able to shave anything below your bump. When you had needed help getting off the couch. Christ, he had seen you give birth. It didn't get much more intimate than that.
"Come here," Harry said softly. You scooted down to lie on the mattress facing him. "You're beautiful. This version of your body isn't something to dwell on. Every stretch mark, every wrinkle, every curve is a testament to your amazing ability to grow life."
You were speechless, so you just sprung forward and kissed him.
"Ready?" He smiled against your mouth, and you returned it.
"Ready."
"I'm going to go slow. Tell me if it hurts." Harry grabbed his cock, holding the tip against your entrance. Without you needing to remind him, he bent your leg to rest against his hip, opening you further. He slid himself in, only an inch or two, keeping his eyes locked on yours. It was slow, like he promised, but there was a slight burning sensation. You inhaled sharply and gripped his wrist.
"Too fast?"
You moaned, half in pleasure and half in discomfort. "No, it just... feels rough. Even with the condom on."
"Okay. I won't go further."
"Maybe go deeper and it'll stop."
"No," Harry said, pulling out. "I'm not about to risk making you bleed or delaying your healing. Absolutely not."
"But—”
"But nothing. Your body's obviously not ready yet, and that's okay."
"I'm sorry," you whispered sadly.
"Don't be," he said, stroking your hair. "You thought you were healed, but it's hard to know for sure without actually having sex."
You let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, this was a bust. Back to dry humping for the foreseeable future."
"I'm not complaining." Harry rolled onto his back, then yanked the sheets over his boner.
"You're serious?"
He patted his lap. "Hop on, baby."
Laughing, you straddled him for yet another clumsy experience. But with his determination to make it enjoyable, it would be perfectly imperfect.
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too sweet part three will be out next!!! i want to wrap up the series because i currently have three ongoing stories LOL but then after that we can do a poll pinky promise!! i have a lot of exciting stuff planned for this fic, but if you have anything in particular you want to see, send it through! <3
Happy Sunday! 🩷 Thank you for all the love on my most recently writing posts! It’s great hearing your feedback and having your support.
In the writing realm; I’m working on a few things series wise but need your help on which one shot you’d like to see next! I’ll share some requests that intrigued me down below. Pick which ever you feel like speaks most to you! I’ll probably end up doing them all ☺️ thank you to everyone who has felt comfortable enough to send a request! Truly means so much to me that you value my work as a writer enough to do that.
If you need more information before making your decision, just lmk!
All of these will have smut bc I simply can’t help myself!
The one with the most votes will be posted this upcoming weekend!
🗣️ — Harry and his girlfriend struggle to maintain their relationship due to insecurities, pressure and relationships stress from outside opinions on their age gap relationship! (Harry x girlfriend fem!reader)
🦋 — Harry and his girlfriend have sex for the first time. It’s her first time being intimate ever, he takes it slow but after, she has guilt from being sexual to begin with. (Harry x girlfriend fem!reader)
🎀 — Harry and his girlfriend go out with friends. His girlfriend has bratty tendencies during dinner that are silently driving him mad, when he gets home he sets her straight. (Harry x girlfriend fem!reader)
❤️🩹 — Harry and his wife are in the process of divorce. She starts to feel ill and takes a pregnancy test. Harry is determined to stay around for his baby and fights to make their marriage work again. (Harry x wife fem!reader)
🫐 — Harry and his wife are hitting a rough patch. They have two kids together, a boy and a girl that are their world. To manage their ever changing schedules, Harry and his wife come to the agreement to hire a babysitter. She great with the kids, gets along with the wife but her and Harry don’t connect at first, until they really do. (Harry x babysitter fem!reader)
One Shot Request — What do you fancy? ✨
🗣️ He Said, She said — Age gap, boyfriendrry!, relationship in crisis
🦋 Butterfly — Age gap, first time, guilt/shame aftermath
🎀 Bratty Girl — Age gap, Brat x brat tamer, soft!dom Harry
❤️🩹 Mend it — pregnant / divorce, angsty, getting back together
“That doesn't come through in the writing.” He shook his head. “The book feels too rushed, like it's racing toward this ending it hasn't earned.”
“According to you,” she mumbled too loudly, the words slipping out.
Surprised intrigue flashed across his face before a bite of laughter came out like a scoff. “Excuse me?”
Clenching her hands together tighter, Charlie stared down at him, her gaze blazing with simmering rage. “Did you ever consider that maybe you’re not the target audience of this book, and that’s why it didn’t connect with you. It’s not a story meant for those who are, y'know, devoid of human emotions.”
A susurrus of laughter bubbled among the crowd, covering their mouths in an attempt to mask the sound, to make sure they didn't miss anything. Their entertainment did nothing to soothe Charlie’s anger, though, fury radiating off her skin like steam.
“Oh, so you want people without brains to read your story?”
“No, I want people who have empathy to read it.”
“Yet, you don’t give empathy to your characters,” he challenged. “If you wanted people to empathize with Ruby, you should’ve made her a real character, not this infallible, selfish person who gets rewarded for her shitty behavior.”
“And what would you like me to do about that now,” she nearly shouted through her clenched teeth, scooping up the bits of her remaining professionalism to tack on a pointed, “…sir?”
Harry looked around the room, at the audience who was drawn into every syllable, enjoying the fight like it’s prime time. Lifting his shoulders in an arrogant shrug, he said, “Write a better book next time.”
a/n: just a silly little blurb that was in my head.
You are not a dramatic person. You have never been a dramatic person. This is something you would stake real money on.
You are standing in the dried fruit aisle of a Whole Foods on a Saturday afternoon watching your boyfriend take a toothpick sample of a candied walnut from a little paper cup on a folding table, and you are falling apart.
He’d shown up at your door at eleven with a tote bag over one shoulder and that expression he gets when he’s pleased about something, the one that lives in his eyes a few seconds before it reaches his mouth. He wanted to cook tonight. Real cooking, not takeout, not toast. He had a list on his phone, organized by aisle, and you’d thought about teasing him for it and then decided against it because you found it too genuinely sweet.
So you’d come here. Together. Like two people who do this, who are the kind of people that go grocery shopping on a Saturday and argue about olive oil and hold hands in the produce section. He’d swung your hand a little while you walked, just slightly, like he wasn’t thinking about it. He’d put something in the cart you hadn’t asked for and when you looked at him he’d shrugged and said trust me, and you had, because four months in you’ve learned that trusting Harry on small things is almost never the wrong call.
You’d been happy. That’s the part that makes this hard. You had been standing somewhere between the tomatoes and the pasta feeling something you hadn’t let yourself look at directly yet, something you’d been keeping in your peripheral vision, and you’d thought: this. This is what people mean.
And then there was the sample table.
He spotted it the way he spots most things he wants, with the easy certainty of someone who has never once talked himself out of a small pleasure. He pulled you over by the hand, already reaching, already popping the walnut into his mouth before you’d even finished stopping.
You watched his face.
He chewed once. Twice.
And then he closed his eyes and said, with complete sincerity, with nothing held back:
“Mmm. Yummy.”
Not good. Not oh, that’s nice. Not even try this, which would have been fine, which would have been a completely normal thing for a person to say.
Yummy.
The sample lady smiled at him. He smiled back. He reached for another toothpick, utterly unbothered, and you stood there and felt something shift in your chest that you did not ask for and cannot explain.
Here is the thing about the ick. It isn’t about the thing. You know this. You are self-aware enough to understand that a grown man saying yummy in a grocery store is not, by any reasonable measure, a dealbreaker. You know that. You could make that argument to anyone.
And yet your body had already decided.
He turned to you, still chewing, and held out a toothpick with a walnut on the end, the way he offers you most things, easy and obvious, like of course you’d want it.
“Try it,” he said. “It’s so yummy.”
Twice.
“I’m okay,” you said.
He tilted his head. That look he gets, the one that means he’s reading you, finding things on your face you didn’t know you’d left there. Something about the attentiveness of it made the ick worse, actually. He was so present. So thoroughly, earnestly present in this Whole Foods, saying yummy about a walnut with his whole chest, and you are supposed to be falling in love with him.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Fine. Let’s get the olive oil.”
He watched you a beat longer than was comfortable, then dropped his toothpick and fell into step beside you. He didn’t take your hand back and you told yourself it had dropped naturally, that he hadn’t noticed, that you were a grown woman fully capable of processing one irrational feeling without it showing up all over your face.
But Harry notices everything.
He didn’t say anything until the pasta aisle, until you’d spent three silent minutes pretending to read the back of a box of rigatoni you’ve bought so many times you could recite it. Then, quietly: “Something happen?”
“No.”
“You went somewhere.”
“I’m here, Harry.”
He looked at you. You looked at the pasta.
“Was it the yummy thing?” he asked.
You looked up before you could stop yourself.
His face was open, genuinely curious, and underneath that the faint edge of someone who already knows and is just giving you the chance to say it first. No accusation. Barely even surprise. Just that patient, full-attention look that usually makes you feel lucky and right now is making you feel like a person who got the ick about the word yummy, which is what you are.
“It was a little bit the yummy thing,” you said.
Something moved across his face. Not quite hurt, not quite amusement. Somewhere in the narrow honest space between them.
“Yummy,” he said slowly, like he was hearing it for the first time. Holding it up.
“Harry.”
“That’s given you the ick.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He picked up a box of pasta, looked at it without seeing it, put it back. “Yummy,” he said again, quieter, private, like he was cross-referencing it against everything he thought you already knew about him and had decided to keep.
You felt a pang of something you hadn’t quite earned yet. Because he wasn’t making you pay for it. He was just standing there in a pasta aisle turning the word over, trying to figure out how he’d gotten to thirty-something saying yummy to a stranger about a walnut without once considering how it might land on the woman he was trying to impress.
“It’s not a big deal,” you said.
“Right,” he said.
He put his hand back in yours. Deliberate. Fingers sliding through and settling, and you let him because you always let him, because whatever the ick was doing it hadn’t touched that part yet.
He found the pasta he wanted. He compared two cans of tomatoes with his reading glasses on, holding them out, squinting, and something about it made the warmth come back on its own, quiet and persistent, like it had been waiting just off to the side the whole time.
At checkout, while the cashier scanned everything through, he leaned down to your ear and said, very quietly, completely straight-faced:
“The tomatoes, by the way. Very yummy.”
You closed your eyes.
He was already smiling when you opened them. Not the public one. The one that takes its time.
It didn’t fix anything. The image was still there, the toothpick, the closed eyes, the word said with such unguarded pleasure that you had nearly needed to sit down in a grocery store like a person in a medical drama. It would probably always be there. You’d be thirty years from now reaching for something and your brain would simply serve it back, uninvited.
But his hand was in yours in the parking lot, and the night was still ahead, and he caught you looking at him and said what in that voice that already knew exactly what, and you shook your head and said nothing and he let you have it.
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Frankie Rhodes and Harry Styles are completely in love. With a fresh engagement, and plans for Frankie to move into Harry's apartment at the end of next month, they both feel as if this is truly the beginning of the rest of their lives together.
So, what happens after an incident causes Harry to end up in the hospital, and when he wakes, he has no recollection of the last two years of his life?
• A short story.
• First chapter coming June 20th.
• Told in Dual POV between both Harry and Frankie.
• Will have medical lingo throughout, but please remember, this is a work of fiction, so some things may be exaggerated to fit the plot.
• This story will touch on some triggering things: an incident resulting in injury, cheating (not between our main characters) and traumatic memories of said incident.
• Please see below for faceclaims of the main characters of the story.
Curled onto my side, both hands tucked underneath my cheek, I stare blankly at the wall of my childhood bedroom. I’ve been spending more nights here since Harry’s incident, and if you told me I’d be right back in the spot I was a little over a year and a half ago, I would’ve laughed. There was no way I could’ve resorted back to this, given how wonderful my life now was, but here I am. My eyes are heavy as I blink. Sleep hasn’t been coming easy for me since everything happened.
I could only bring myself to go to the hospital with Peyton once after Harry woke up. Seeing him there, confused, but trying to be optimistic, with no one other than Anya by his side…it caused too many emotions to flare inside of me. As much as I wanted to be there for him, I needed space. He didn’t remember, and it wasn’t his fault, but it hurt too much to realize he had forgotten everything. Everything I held so tight that it threatened to spill between the gaps in my fingers. He was my rock at my lowest. I believe I was the same for him, but now, he has no idea the lows we fell into. The lows that brought us closer than we had ever been, and the way we clung to each other to force our way out.
Sniffling, I sit up and run the back of my hand under my nose before I turn and drop my bare feet onto the hardwood floor. I open the door and cross to the bathroom across the hall. Going through my usual routine, I wash my face, and I brush my teeth, but the staring…the staring is new. My eyes are swollen and bloodshot. My mouth is turned into almost a permanent frown. It’s hard to evoke any other emotion when all the good ones have been stripped away from you.
I flick the light off and then I descend down the stairs where I can already smell coffee brewing in the pot. Bacon on the stove. Turning the corner, my mother’s back is to me as she supervises a few sunny side up eggs in one pan, and then she focuses on the bacon in the other.
“I know those footsteps.” Her sweet voice surrounds me, and I wonder what the hell I would do without her during all of this. What I would’ve done without her a little over a year and a half ago as well.
“It smells good, Momma,” I compliment as I lean to press a kiss against her cheek before pulling a mug from the cabinet.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and then sit down on a barstool that’s pulled up to the island - the warmth of the porcelain against my palms grounding me. Nothing is added to the mug in my hands. Usually I’m one for a couple of sugars, some oat milk or creamer, but not anymore. Harry likes his coffee black, so now I do as well.
“How did you sleep?”
She asks the question even though I know she already is aware of the answer. I woke up in another cold sweat in the early morning, and I’m sure she heard the sobs leaving me. Memories of that night being the cause, but in the form of a nightmare. I’ve seen my therapist once since everything happened, and I’ve yet to actually talk about it. She knows something happened that resulted in Harry losing his memories. Losing everything that was us, but that’s all. The details haven’t been something I can be specific about. Not to anyone. Even when I went over them with Harry, I was vague.
“Rough, but maybe a little better?” It’s a lie, but I know she’s already worried enough.
“Yeah?” Mom peeks over her shoulder at me, but I can see in her expression that she doesn’t believe me.
It’s quiet for a while before I shake my head and look down. “No. It’s not getting better.”
I can hear her maneuvering around the kitchen before a plate is sliding in front of me. Silverware is placed next to my right hand, and then my mom is perching on the barstool next to me. “Frankie,” she whispers. I already know what she’s going to say. It’s the same thing she’s said since Harry woke up. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Mom, you know why.”
Conversations from the past two weeks come flooding back into my mind. When Harry saw my ring and asked about Peyton proposing, that’s when I knew my worst fear, the one the doctor said was a possibility, was coming true. My heart sank. Everything fucking ached when I dragged myself out of his room to call both Anya and Peyton to come to the hospital. I never thought I would have to speak to either of them again.
When Peyton walked me out of the room that day, he tried to make it seem like things actually hadn’t ended between us, and I bit back. I let him know that calling him and Anya was the hardest thing I’ve had to do since the day we separated, and that not a single part of this whole thing felt right, but that I was doing it for Harry.
Everything I’m doing is for Harry.
I found it in myself to call Anya once I knew Harry was released from the hospital. In a moment of complete desperation, but also a moment of seeking a foundation in all of this, I asked for Anya to keep their physical intimacy at a minimum. I knew it would be a while before he could even do that, given everything that happened, but if his memories aren’t back by that deadline, I couldn’t chance not drawing that boundary.
Anya resorted to telling me “whatever happens, happens”. She also let me know that while Harry was sleeping, she used his Face ID to unlock his phone and delete every single photo of just the two of us, or me, on his camera roll. Apparently our text thread was also deleted. She made it clear she wanted to erase our relationship completely. Joke is on her, considering I know Harry has a lock app on his phone specifically for photos of me. It’s a separate photo app that requires a different passcode, and we mainly used it for more scandalous photos he took of me. With my job as a social worker, I have to travel a lot, so they were a little treat for him if I was away for days at a time.
I knew for a fact that Anya would never be able to access those.
After she told me she deleted “everything” from his phone, she also let me know she boxed up all my things I had slowly been moving into his place, and the things I had left there over the course of our relationship. She left them outside of his door. I picked them without trying to crumble as I shoved them into the trunk of my car.
Sure, the apartment he was currently living in was one he briefly shared with Anya, but I had infiltrated that space longer. They broke up relatively soon after he got that place. Peyton and I broke up too. My clothes lingered in Harry’s drawers for months. That apartment is ours in every aspect. If it hadn’t been for my lease, I would’ve already been living with him.
“You’re putting yourself through turmoil,” Mom whispers as she slices into her egg and drags a piece of toast through the runny yolk. “This isn’t fair to you.”
“This is the only solution we have. Does it rip me apart? Of course, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t let this happen. His memories are gone right now. The only way to try and get them back is just to start from what he remembers. If we overwhelm him, or stress him, he could lose the last two years forever. If I have to give him up for a little bit for him to come back to me completely…it’s what I’ll do. He’ll understand." I bite off a piece of bacon even though my stomach churns.
“What if he remembers something from now, or the last two years, on his own?”
“We can confirm them, but we can’t push. That’s not our place. That’s the place for the specialist he’s supposed to be working with and…I hope that Anya is letting that happen.” My eyes shut as I breathe in the strong aroma from my mug.
“If she’s not, you’ll have to step in, my dear.” Mom’s hand reaches out to wrap around one of my wrists. “If she’s not advocating for him, for reasons that are more than apparent, then you have to.”
“I know, Mom.” I bring her hand to my mouth and press a kiss against the back of it. “We actually have a double date tonight. Trying to make things normal. If I know he isn’t getting the help he needs, I’ll step in.”
My mom’s lip purse to the side, and I can see tears pooling in her eyes. “Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Yes.” I nod while swallowing harshly. “Already signed back up for therapy. I’ve had one visit. I’m trying.”
“That’s all I ask, Frankie. I won’t watch you slip away again.”
My mom knows that I had initially started therapy when Peyton and I broke up. Everything about that situation tore down my self-esteem. It weighed on my mental health, but I was able to come out on top. Harry played a big part in that. After that, I didn’t need to go anymore, but now…it’s necessary again.
“That won’t happen. I’m right here,” I say while taking a sip of coffee. “He’ll come back to me, and everything will be okay.”
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
The knock on the door slightly startles me, causing the lipstick in my hand to go toppling onto my bathroom counter. I brace myself against the surface for a moment before sucking in a deep breath and heading towards the door of my apartment. Upon opening it, I see Peyton standing there, and my stomach swirls with unease.
“Hey,” he breathes as his eyes trace over me.
“Hi.” I step aside and gesture my hand inside. “I’m almost finished.”
He walks into my living room, a space he’s never been in, and I have to hold strong as I close the door behind him. Making my way back towards the bathroom, I quickly finish my lipstick and then walk back out into the living area.
“Why are you in boxes?” Peyton slightly scoffs.
“I was supposed to be moving in with Harry by the end of the month,” I say without hesitation. “I’m going to Mom’s for the time being instead.”
Peyton nods, but I can sense something about him. It’s as if he thinks I’m living in some fantasy world thinking that Harry will come back to me.
“You ready to head out now?”
“Let me just grab my bag and jacket.” I walk over to the hook near the door and grab both items. Once I pull the jacket onto my body and sling my purse over my shoulder, we head out of my place.
It’s silent between Peyton and I as we head towards his car. I dodge his hand against the small of my back, and then I slip into the passenger seat. After buckling my seatbelt, I clutch to my thighs to ground myself. This is the most suffocating environment that I’ve found myself in with Peyton since our breakup, and I would give anything not to be here right now.
He doesn’t speak as he starts the car up and pulls out of the parking lot. I stare out the window to distract myself, and once he starts on the straight route to what used to be our usual double date restaurant, I know he’s no longer going to hold back.
“This could be good for us, Francine.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” I grit my teeth. “And I don’t even know how you could come to the conclusion that any of this would be good for me, let alone us.”
He knows that I hated it whenever he’d call me by my full name. It was my father’s mother’s name, and considering he hasn’t been in my life for well over half of it, I despise anyone using that name to reference me.
“We could start over,” he sighs as he tries to reach over for my hand but I immediately flinch. “This is a great opportunity. Anya is making the most of it.”
“Absolutely not, Peyton.” He looks over at me with narrowed brows for a moment before facing the road again. “You lost both myself and Harry when you decided to bury yourself inside of Anya. The only reason you're back in our lives right now is because this is my only chance at Harry regaining his memories.”
The flashbacks consume my mind. I groan as I press a palm against my forehead while shaking my head.
I had come from work early one day, a little over a year and half ago now, to find Peyton thrusting himself inside of Anya in our bed. My world shifted that day as I stood in the doorway watching them. They didn’t even notice me until I made the point of dropping my heavy tote on the floor, and once they looked over at me, they both were silent - as if they weren’t just fucking each other, Anya on all fours with Peyton bare behind her.
I immediately grabbed my bag off the ground, started towards the door as the two of them chased after me. I stopped to hear them out, and they revealed it wasn’t just a one time thing. They had been cheating for a few months behind our backs.
“I’m going to Harry’s,” I had told them.
When I moved again to head out and flee, they continued to call my name, but I didn’t stop again. I jumped on the subway, and I rode it to Harry’s stop in a haze. Once I got to his door, I questioned myself. Whether or not I wanted to ruin the years worth of relationship he had with Anya, the friendship he had with Peyton, but ultimately, I knew I needed to tell him. I knocked, and it only took a few moments for him to open the door.
“Frankie.” He immediately tugged me into a hug upon seeing how upset I was. “Oh my god. What is it? Do I need to call Peyton?”
The mention of Peyton’s name had me gasping as Harry led me over to the couch. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, keeping me tucked into his side while running his palm up and down my arm. Instead of trying to pressure me to talk, he gave me the time I needed to let out my initial emotions, and once I calmed down enough to speak, I didn’t get the chance to before there was a knock at Harry’s door.
When he opened it, Peyton and Anya stood in the doorway, and he looked back and forth between them before looking back at me. I think he knew right then what was going on, but he still allowed them to come inside. They each sat in one of the chairs Harry had set up across from the couch that we occupied. Their confessions didn’t look like they pained them in the slightest. It was almost as if they were relieved that they were finally able to come out with it, and they were no longer living a lie, but that didn’t stop Anya from hysterically crying when Harry kicked the two of them out. She clung to him, as if she hadn’t just admitted to sleeping with his best friend for months, but Harry wasn’t having it.
Once they were both gone, Harry let me know I could stay at his place for the night, and that he’d go over to the apartment I shared with Peyton to help me get some things tomorrow. I thanked him for letting me stay, but I assured him it would only be for one night, that I’d stay with my mom until I found a place of my own. Unfortunately, I didn’t find any sleep that night. I just laid on his couch and stared at the ceiling until the early hours of morning, then I got up and got ready for Harry to take me back to my apartment so I could get ready for work - like my entire world hadn’t been flipped upside down the day before.
“Well, it didn’t seem like the two of you ended up being too torn up over the whole thing,” Peyton mutters as he throws his blinker on, and he turns into the parking garage for the strip mall where the restaurant we’re going to is located. “You guys ended up being a couple like what…only three months after? Maybe at the end of the day, Anya and I actually did you both a favor.”
“Stop. Talking,” I say through clenched teeth as I now dig my nails into the skin on my thighs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I can assure you that Harry and I both were very distraught over what you and Anya did. The only favor you did was that you showed me who you truly were before we ended up engaged. That would’ve been even more humiliating.”
Peyton parks, and I don’t waste any time on getting out. I pull my coat tighter around my body as we head down the elevator and onto the street. Once we reach the front door of the restaurant, my muscles stiffen when I realize that I am going to have to be friendly with Peyton in some capacity if I want my plan to work. We’ll have to touch each other, but I refuse to let him kiss me.
“Let’s get this over with.” I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together, before Peyton opens the door and we walk inside.
My eyes scan over the dining room, and my chest aches when I see that Anya and Harry are already sitting at what used to be our usual table. Once they notice us, I clearly catch onto the flare in Anya’s eyes, and as we walk over to them, she quickly scoots her chair even closer to Harry’s, and she wraps one of her arms around his while dropping her head onto his shoulder. The way he smiles down at her has my stomach churning, but I push through as we make it all the way over.
Peyton takes my coat and bag from me, hanging them on the back of my chair before he pulls it out. I take a seat while smoothing my hands underneath my dress. I’m sitting directly across from Harry, who has a look of hesitancy sinking into his features. Given that we haven’t seen each other since he’s been discharged, I’m sure he’s a bit unsure on how to approach me given the trauma he knows we both went through - even if he can’t remember it.
“Frankie. It’s good to see you,” he says, and he reaches across the table, his palm facing up.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek as I drop my hand in his, and he immediately closes his fingers around it to give it a squeeze. My skin warms considering this is the first bit of contact I’ve had with him in weeks.
“You as well.” I’m being honest, but for more reasons than I know he’s aware of. It’s been so hard not being able to be with him nearly every day like we were before all of this happened. “You look great. How has your recovery been?”
“So far, so good. I have my first appointment with my neuropsychiatrist next week. He’ll be working with me to try and get my memories back, so I’m really looking forward to that.” He gives a sad laugh, and I realize he still hasn’t let go of my hand. Not being able to help it, I run the pad of my thumb across his knuckles in a soothing manner. “It’s been really hard not being able to remember.”
It’s a relief to hear that Anya is allowing Harry to make all of his necessary appointments. I’ll need to find a way to make sure that appointments are actually happening like they should, and I’m not sure just how I’m going to do that yet, but maybe I can convince Peyton to keep checking in on Harry for me. I can almost guarantee that if I were the one to text Harry, or call him, to ask about his progress, Anya would have a fit and ask him to stop communicating with me.
“I can’t even imagine, Harry. I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” I whisper, and when I can feel Anya glaring at me, I regretfully pull my hand away from Harry’s. “I know Anya has you covered, but if there’s anything that I can do…that Peyton and I can do, please let me know.”
“He’s got everything he needs for now,” Anya butts in, her tone a bit snarky, but Peyton clearing his throat has her fidgeting in her seat. “Thank you for the offer, though, Frankie.”
I know that Peyton and Anya are no longer together. I’m not exactly sure when they broke up, but it’s nice to see that Peyton is at least trying to get her to keep her attitude in check. The last thing we need is for Harry to sense any sort of animosity between the three of us. That will just confuse him even more.
Before any of us can say another word, a server comes over to ask what we would like to drink, and if we would like to put in any appetizers. Anya orders herself a glass of wine, Peyton orders an old-fashioned and I decide on a dirty martini - extra dirty. Harry sticks to water, and I’m sure that’s because he hasn’t been cleared to have any alcohol again yet, or maybe he’s not drinking for the time being considering he believes the accident happened when we were all at a bar. Peyton also orders the caprese for the table to start us off. When the server announces that she’ll be back with our drinks along with the bread and the dipping oil they pair with it, I can’t help but let my eyes focus back on Harry.
“I thought you hated martinis.” His brows are a bit narrowed.
“I used to.” I tilt my head from side to side and have to think on the spot as to why I do like them now. I can’t tell him it’s because one day he made me an incredibly filthy martini at his place, and ever since then, they’ve been my go-to drink. “I was feeling adventurous one night though and decided to give it another go. I told them to make it a little dirtier than normal, and sure enough, it stuck.”
“Look at you branching out.” He sends me a playful wink that causes me to lose my breath, and I do my best to not react how I usually would.
“Just trying to broaden my horizons.” I shrug with an equally playful grin.
The server returns and puts down our drinks and the bread. I immediately grab mine and take three large sips in an attempt to ease my nerves. Lifting the skewer of olives, I bite one of them off and then drop it back into my drink. We pass the basket of bread around the table, each of us taking a piece. I drag my own through the oil before popping it into my mouth.
I can’t help but keep silent as Harry and Peyton fall into conversation with each other. The way Peyton can play into this so easily, as if no time has passed, has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. As they speak, my gaze falls upon Harry on instinct as he talks. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at him until I feel a set of eyes on me, and I see Anya gripping her wine glass.
“So, Frankie,” Anya doesn’t hesitate to interrupt the conversation that’s already happening, “how’s work going?”
It’s obvious she’s trying to distract me from continuing to get lost in Harry, and I understand I may have been staring, but this whole thing is new for me as well. It’ll take me a while to control my body so it doesn’t resort back to the way it usually responds being around him. I just pray that I won’t have to do this for long. I don’t even want to think about what I would do if his memories were gone permanently.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I plaster on a fake smile before replying to Anya. “I’ve actually been given extended leave considering everything that happened. I’ve, uh…I’ve had some trauma I’ve been working through since the incident with a therapist, but I think I’m getting back to where I need to be to start taking cases again. All the ones I was working on before everything happened have been divided upon my colleagues.”
“You’re still a social worker?” Harry asks with a brightness to his tone. Even when we weren’t together, he’s always admired what I’ve done for work.
“I am.” I nod while taking another sip of my martini. “I don’t think I could ever see myself doing something different. Helping people is my passion.”
There’s a flash of something in Harry’s eyes, what it is, I’m not exactly sure, but it’s gone before I can fully register it.
“T-That’s great.” Harry clears his throat before he pushes back from the table. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”
“Do you need me to go with you?” Anya asks.
“No, I’ve got it.” He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead, and then he’s heading down the hallway towards the bathroom.
Once he rounds the corner so he’s no longer visible, I blow out a deep breath and slouch in my seat. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, hoping for just a bit of silence to decompress, but Anya clearly has a different idea.
“Things have been really good since he’s been back from the hospital. He hasn’t really remembered anything, nothing too specific, at least, but it’s so nice being there for him.” I know her words are being said to taunt me, and I bite down on the insides of my cheeks to refrain from snapping.
“Well, that’s because he’s living in the past, you know that right?” Peyton turns to the server to thank them as they set down the caprese that he ordered for all of us.
I can sense some bitterness between Anya and Peyton, and again, I don’t know the specifics of how they separated. I really don’t care to ever know, but it’s obvious that there’s some unresolved anger there.
“Peyton’s right. This is all just temporary, Anya. There’s a very big possibility that Harry could wake up one morning, and he could remember everything.”
Anya shrugs while gulping down a large sip of wine. “That could be true, but who knows, depending on how long that takes, he may change his mind about going back to you, even if his memories do come back.”
“When his memories come back, not if. They’re going to come back, and he’ll remember everything you did to hurt him. I can assure you that when that happens, he won’t hesitate to come straight back to me,” I tell her while clenching my fists on top of my thighs underneath the table.
“Oh, really? How do you think he’ll feel when he realizes that I was the one there to help him through his recovery, and that you completely neglected him?” Anya bites.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Peyton snaps at her. “We all know, even if you don’t want to admit it, Anya, that Harry will understand why Frankie is doing what she’s doing. It may hurt him, but he’s going to feel worse for Frankie than he’s going to for himself. He’ll hate that they had to go through this whole thing together without actually being by each other’s side - not being able to be there for one another.”
Anya doesn’t have a chance to react as I shush the table when I notice Harry coming back from the restroom. I try my best to push down the irritation I feel towards Anya, but also the discouragement I feel about this whole situation over all. Again, we don’t need Harry catching onto the fact that there’s any issues between us.
“Oh, the caprese’s here.” Harry rubs his hands together as he sits down, and he’s quick to unroll his silverware. He places the napkin in his lap, and then we all reach forward to take some of the appetizer from the plate.
The server returns to take our entree orders after a few minutes, and I order another martini as I know I’m going to need it to get through tonight.
As we make our way through the rest of the dinner, I only really speak when I’m spoken to. I don’t try to initiate any sort of conversation on my own because I just don’t have the energy to fake it anymore right now - not after what Anya said. She, unfortunately, succeeded in what she was trying to do. As much as I want to believe what Peyton said, and that Harry would understand why I’m doing what I’m doing right now once he remembers everything, I can’t help but wonder if that’ll be the case. Will he be upset that I let Anya infiltrate his life in such a personal way again?
Because of the fact that I’ve grown so quiet, I feel Harry focusing on me every few minutes, and when that happens, I fake interest, or I pull a small smile onto my lips to look like I’m engaging. I don’t need him realizing that I’m very much mentally checked out right now.
Once our bill is paid, which Peyton offered to cover completely to celebrate the fact that Harry is home, and that things weren’t as bad as they could’ve been, we head towards the front of the restaurant. Peyton announces that he’ll go and grab the car so I don’t have to walk in the cold for too long, and he says goodbye to Anya and Harry as well before disappearing out the door.
I distract myself by tying my coat around me before I feel a soft touch to my elbow. Looking over, I see that Harry’s hand is cupping it, and there’s concern etched into his face. “Hey, are you all right? You got a little quiet there towards the end.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I’m quick to will it away as I try and think of an excuse as to why I practically checked out of the later part of our dinner.
Anya steps closer to us and rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, are you ready? These heels are hurting my feet.”
“I only need a second, Anya. ‘M just checking on Frankie.”
Gathering my thoughts, I start to nod. “Uh, yeah,” I reach forward to rest my hand in the crease of his arm, considering he was still cradling my elbow, but then we release our hold, “I’m just thinking about this one case that I was working on that I had to pass along. Since I’m technically on leave right now, I’m not allowed any updates until I’m back in the office. They were on my mind tonight when it was brought up, that’s all.”
“One thing I can remember is that you do tend to bring work home with you - in the emotional sense.” He reaches forward to pull me into a tight hug. “I’m sure whoever got that case has them taken care of, Frankie, and if you’re worried about them thinking you abandoned them, I’m almost positive they were informed of what happened. It’ll be okay.”
My arms wrap around Harry without hesitation, and I take a second to breathe him in. “I know, H. Thank you for trying to ease my mind. I promise you saying those things helped.”
I can feel his cheek lifting up against the side of my head, signifying that he’s smiling, and I confirm that I was right when he pulls back to look down at me. “It was good seeing you again. Anya said we’ve all kind of been busy so we aren’t able to do dinners every week like we used to, but maybe we can do them twice a month? Once a month at the very least?”
“Sure. I’m positive Peyton and I can work something out so that we can make that happen.” Looking out the window, I see that Peyton has pulled out front and has put his hazards on. “We’ll text you.”
“Sounds good.” Harry steps back to wrap his arm around Anya’s waist, and I awkwardly reach forward to give Anya a side hug.
“Goodnight, you guys,” I breathe out before practically dashing out of the restaurant.
Throwing open the passenger side door to Peyton’s car, I climb inside as fast as I can and buckle my seatbelt. Peyton is at least mindful enough not to try and speak as we journey home. I curl myself as close as I can against the door as silent tears start to fall onto my cheeks.
“Do you want me to take you to your apartment?” Peyton speaks up once we’re near my building. “I can take you to your mom’s instead, if you’d prefer.”
“No, I need to stay there overnight so I can pack up some more stuff.”
Once he pulls into the parking lot, I open the door to flee, but he wraps his hand around my wrist. “For what it’s worth, Frankie, I don’t want Anya thinking she’s winning something in all of this either. She was out of line tonight, and I wasn’t going to just sit there and listen to her bullshit.”
“Well, thank you,” I lick over my bottom lip before I shake my head, “but you also see this as some sort of opportunity that it’s not. I need you both to understand the fact that I’m doing all of this for the man I love, and that’s the only reason. Once this is over, things are going to go right back to how they were, and you’ll never hear from Harry and I again.”
Not giving Peyton a chance to throw some comeback my way, I shake free of his hold and then exit the car. I head up to my apartment and unlock the door, and I feel such a hollowness in my soul when I’m practically just coming back to my bed and a bunch of boxes. Before everything, I had been staying at Harry’s more than I had been staying here, so this truly doesn’t even feel like my place anymore.
Dragging myself into my bedroom, I sit down on the foot of my bed and shrug off my jacket. I rest my elbows on the tops of my knees, dropping my face into hands, and I do my best to fight off the memories that I know are coming. I’ve felt them building up all night, but I managed to force them away in the restaurant, but I don’t think I can anymore.
I gasp as I remember Harry’s attacker looming over me after he had thrown Harry behind us. My hands were shaking as I tried to take off my earrings and my necklace as fast as possible, handing them over since I had already given him my bag. Thankfully, he was too dumb to care about trying to go after Harry’s wallet, given the fact that he was now unconscious, because as soon as I finished giving him all of my things, he fled as fast as he could.
Tears continue to fall as I pull my head up, and I extend my left hand out in front of me. I bring my other hand up and smooth the pad of my thumb over the diamond on my ring finger before I’m clutching that hand to my chest. I’ll be forever grateful that this didn’t get taken from me because right now, it’s the only thing I have that’s keeping me grounded. The ultimate token of Harry’s love for me still exists right here on my finger, and even though we’re suffering right now, it gives me the hope I need to know we’ll get through this.
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
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My head throbs. My eyelids feel excruciatingly heavy. Actually, scratch that. Everything feels heavy. I tell myself to move my arms. Try to tell my brain to move my legs, but nothing happens. I pull in a deep breath through my nose, and I don’t recognize the smell that registers. Wherever I am, it smells stale. Sterile. I’m not in my apartment, that much I’m certain of.
I make the decision to start small when it comes to getting my body to corporate, so I attempt to just lift a finger. When I can feel that it actually happens, I curl my hand into a fist and then stretch my fingers out again. With all the strength I can muster, I force my eyes open. Everything is blurry at first, but I continue to blink until my vision clears, and it’s then I hear shuffling next to me.
“Harry.” Someone speaks, and I know I recognize the voice, but my head is fucking spinning.
Wincing, I manage to turn my neck, and I see Frankie sitting in a chair next to me. She’s curled up underneath a large blanket with a book in her hand that she quickly discards with wide eyes. Her hands tremble as she goes to reach for me, but then she stops herself as she looks over my face.
“Frankie.” Her name comes out harshly, and she’s quick to grab a tumbler of water that’s on the table next to the bed I’m in. She moves closer and holds the straw towards my mouth. I push myself up a bit so I’m in more of a sitting position, and then I close my lips down around the straw.
Once the first drop of water hits my tongue, I find myself pulling more and more into my mouth. Clearly I’ve been asleep for a while considering how thirsty I am.
What the fuck happened to me?
Frankie puts the cup back onto the table once I’ve emptied it, and then she sits in her chair once again. She runs her palms over her thighs as I look around the room. I’m in a fucking hospital.
It’s then that I register the massive ache coming from the back of my head. I lift my hand and I almost jerk it away when I feel that the hair that covers that part of my scalp has been buzzed down. Sucking in a deep breath, I move my fingers a little lower, and the tips of them brush against what I know have to be stitches. My hand falls back into my lap as I stare blankly in front of me as I try to gather my thoughts. I explore every possible part of my mind in an attempt to narrow down the events leading up to me finding myself in a hospital bed, but nothing comes.
“Harry,” Frankie whispers my name again, this time softly instead of with surprise, and I look over to see moisture filling her eyes.
“What happened?” I ask with a shake of my head. “Why the hell am I here right now? Why do I have fucking stitches?”
The machine that originally awoke me starts to beep at a faster pace, and Frankie glances over at it before looking back to me. “There was an incident.”
“What kind of incident?” I ask as she swipes over her cheeks.
“I should…I should probably get a nurse in here before we talk about this.” Frankie reaches over the side of my bed and hits that call button that’s there.
It takes only a few seconds for a nurse to come in, and her eyebrows raise. “Mr. Styles! It’s good to see you’re awake.” She comes over and listens to my chest with a stethoscope and takes my temperature before checking over a few more vitals. “How are we feeling?”
“Confused,” I confess while pulling at a loose thread on the blanket that’s over my body. “My body hurts, especially my head.” My hand lifts towards the back of my head so she knows exactly where I’m referencing. “Have I been out for a while or something?”
“Two days.” The nurse nods as she walks over to the computer and types a few things. “I’m going to go grab the doctor who’s rounding, and then we’ll be back in.”
When she leaves, it’s quiet between Frankie and I. I look over to see her typing on her phone, and my eyes drop to the ring that’s on her finger.
“You guys are engaged?” I ask, and that causes her to pause. Her tears fall faster as she looks up at me, and I watch as her lips part and then close a few times. “Peyton finally popped the question?”
She doesn’t have a chance to answer me as the doctor walks back into the room with the nurse from before behind him. “Hello, Mr. Styles. I’m Dr. Richards.” He extends his hand out to me which I shake. “Glad to see that you’re up now. I’ve been overseeing you since you were first admitted. We’ve been keeping you drowsy over the last two days to give your brain some time to settle.”
“My brain?” I wince as a sharp pain shoots through my head, and I immediately press my palm against my brow bone. “Can someone just please tell me what happened, and why I’m here? Why my brain needed to fucking settle?”
My voice bites a bit, and usually I’m not this type of guy, but I can’t help it. I’m more scared than anything. Scared that something is seriously wrong with me, and no one is giving me the answers that I need to assure myself that everything is going to be fine.
“You’ve suffered a TBI.” The doctor walks closer to the foot of my bed. “Basically, you have a head injury as a result of an incident. You were thrown against a brick wall and, unfortunately, your head took the brunt of it. When you first came in, I thought we were maybe going to have to put you into a medically induced coma for a while, but your scans didn’t show enough swelling for that, luckily. I do fear that the outcome of this could impact your memories, however.”
“My memories?” I gasp, and I glance back over at Frankie who doesn’t seem shocked by any of this news.
How long has she been here? Have people been taking turns sitting in here in the instance that I would wake up, and they didn’t want me to be alone?
“I’m sad to say, it’s hard for us to measure the full extent of it, but yes. It’s not uncommon with the type of TBI you’ve experienced. I spoke to Frankie about it just this morning. No one is going to be pressuring you to try and remember things you can’t. That’s not a solution. It could actually end up causing more harm if we force it. For now, you’ll need to just continue living your life as you last remember it. I’m going to be putting in a referral for a neurologist, who will oversee your care once you’ve been discharged, and I’ll also place one for a memory specialist that I highly recommend.
“Again, he won’t be flat out asking you to remember, or planting memories for you to try and identify. There’s exercises that have been proven to be extremely helpful in these situations, and what he’ll be doing is walking you through those.”
I take a minute to process that insane amount of information that’s just been dropped on me before speaking again. “So, what you’re telling me is that the life I remember living may not be the one that I currently was?”
“Correct.” Dr. Richards nods. “I know it’s scary, but I promise that the best thing is to remain as calm as possible and just continue on day to day. Easier said than done, I’m very aware of that, but it’s critical that you don’t put any more stress on yourself, or your mind, right now.”
My body feels as if it’s starting to go into a state of shock, and I’m not sure how much more I can talk about this right now. “Okay,” I say with a tilt down of my chin. “Is that all I need to know at the moment?”
“For now, yes. We’ll arrange everything else on our end for you, and you’ll probably be here for a few more days, but again, our goal here is to make you as comfortable and as relaxed as possible before sending you home.” Dr. Richards walks over and squeezes my shoulder before he walks out with the nurse.
Silence blankets the room once again, and I can hear Frankie moving around, but I don’t look over at her.
“If you want to be alone, I understand,” she says. “I know how overwhelming this must be for you.”
“Will you call Anya to come back?” I ask her, and when I look over, I see an expression that I can’t place as it washes over her features. “Peyton too?”
It takes her a moment, but I watch as a forced smile perches onto her lips instead. The look she gave me just seconds ago is now gone. “Sure.” She pushes herself up from her chair with her phone in her hand. “I’ll go give them a call.”
When the door shuts behind her, I lower myself so that I’m laying flat once again, and I stare up at the tiled ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about what sort of incident I found myself in that had me end up like this. I’m not a confrontational person, well, the guy I remember being wasn’t. If I have forgotten things about myself, and my life, how much have I forgotten? Weeks? Months? Years?
I’ll have to ask Frankie more questions when she comes back in. That’ll tell me if where I remember being in life is current, or if I really have forgotten parts of myself.
After a few minutes, Frankie is walking back into the room, and I see her starting to gather her things. I push the arrow on the side of my bed so that I’m properly sitting up now. I stare down at my hands, kneading the pad of my thumb into the palm of one of them to soothe the anxiety that’s building in my chest.
“How old am I, Frankie?” I ask, and I can tell she’s stopped moving around.
“You’re 32, Harry.”
My eyes slip shut, and I put more pressure against my palm as I let out a heavy sigh. “In my head, I’m 30.” Once I force my eyelids back open, I can see that Frankie is slowly lowering her bag into the chair out of the corner of my eye, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
She walks over and sits herself at the foot of my bed, and I watch as she twirls her engagement ring around her finger over and over again.
“We were leaving the bar the other night - you, Anya, Peyton and I - and you and I were outside waiting for our Ubers while Anya went to the restroom, and Peyton was settling the tab. This guy came up to us, and tried to yank my purse off my shoulder. There wasn’t really anyone else around, so it was just you and I fighting back. The guy was huge, Harry. He had at least three inches, and a hundred pounds on you, and he grabbed you. He threw you backwards into the alleyway, and you collided with one of the walls. You were out after that.”
Shaking my head, I lift a hand to reposition the pillow behind me, and I let my head rest against it. I look her over, and although I don’t see any injuries, I still ask, “You’re okay though, right? He didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” This time the soft smile she gives me is real. “He did manage to get my purse, but thankfully my phone was in my pocket, so I just had to cancel my cards and battle the DMV to send me a new ID. The police caught him the morning after everything happened, but my stuff was long gone. Since it was cold out, I had gloves on, so he didn’t see my ring.”
“I’m happy for you and Peyton,” I tell her and then huff out a small laugh. “I’m sure I’ve already said it to you, but since I don’t remember, just know I’m excited for you guys.”
“Thanks, Harry.” Frankie looks down at her ring. “It’s still new, so no plans have really been set.”
“Is Anya helping you plan it through her work?”
“I honestly haven’t gotten anywhere with any of that stuff yet.” She nibbles on her bottom lip before shrugging. “I’m sure I’ll end up going through Anya, though.”
The door to my room opens, and Peyton steps in. He looks between myself and Frankie, who’s currently standing up, before he clears his throat. “Hey, man,” he says while tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks over. “How are you feeling?”
“Probably about as good as I look right now,” I try and joke, which causes Peyton’s lips to twitch up at the corner. “I just feel really out of it, honestly. Head is fucking pounding, but from what the doctor and Frankie told me, it sounds like it could’ve been a lot worse.”
Peyton nods as he walks a bit closer to Frankie. “Thank you for trying to protect her.” He gestures towards her with his hand still in his pocket. “I owe you for this whole fucking thing.”
Frankie practically chokes out a laugh, and I narrow my brows at that. I don’t have time to question it before Anya comes barreling through the doorway. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I had an event I couldn’t get out of, but when Frankie called and told me you were awake, I told them I had to leave.”
She sits down on the side of my bed and takes one of my hands in hers. I give it a squeeze as I take her in, and I bring her knuckles up to my lips to press kisses against them. “It’s okay. I figured you all were probably taking turns sitting in here with me since it’s been a couple of days.”
Anya looks over at Peyton and Frankie, and that’s when Frankie grabs her bag out of the chair she had been occupying previously. “I’m going to go ahead and get going. Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?” She steps towards me and places a hand on my forearm, and my skin immediately begins to tingle. My face must change based off the look that she gives me, and she quickly revokes her touch. “Sorry.”
“No…no it’s okay. Thank you for being here, and I’ll definitely call if I need something.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Peyton says, and he rests his palm on Frankie’s lower back while looking at me. “I’ll come back in a few to give you and Anya some time together.”
Frankie and Peyton exit my room, and I swear I see her shrug off his touch right before the door shuts behind them, but my brain is currently messed up beyond belief, so I could have seen it all wrong.
“How can I help right now?” Anya asks while gently threading her fingers through the front of my hair. “What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” I hum out while my eyes slip shut. “You just being here with me is enough.”
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
Anya unlocks the door to our apartment, and we walk inside. It’s my first time coming home from the hospital, where I’ve been for the last week, and I’m a bit anxious about the fact I’m going to be in a space that’s mine again. Sure, being in the hospital knowing two years of memory were gone was hard, but I’m scared that being in my home is going to be even harder. I’m sure some things are going to seem the same to me, but I know there will be things that have changed, and not being able to remember when or why they did is going to frustrate me.
“Home sweet home,” Anya says softly beside me before pressing a kiss to my cheek.
She locks up the door behind us, and she moves through the living room and into the bedroom with our overnight bags from the hospital stay in her hands.
Ever since I woke up, Anya stayed with me for the remaining four nights I was there. Peyton visited a few times, once with Frankie. That was the only time Frankie visited me, but I quickly came to the conclusion that there’s probably a small part of her that feels guilty about what happened to me, so maybe it’s hard for her to be around me at the moment. Considering I’ve been estranged from my parents since I was 16, and the uncle that I stayed with after that passed away not too long after I left for college, no family visited me. My uncle was the only person I was close with considering my family is layers upon layers of fucked up.
I can hear Anya moving about the bedroom as I step further into the apartment, and I look at the pictures of Anya and I on the wall, as well as the few that are framed on the bookshelf in the corner. They’re different from the ones I remember occupying these spots before. Footsteps sound behind me, and soon I feel arms wrapping around my middle.
“My hair was longer in these.” I point to the two pictures occupying two different shelves. “When did I end up cutting it?”
“About three weeks ago,” she tells me before planting a kiss to one of my shoulder blades. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do it, either. You just came home after work one day and it was cut.”
Turning around, I see a smile resting on her lips, and I take her face in my hands. I run my thumbs over her cheekbones as I lean down to press my mouth gently against hers. She sighs while wrapping her arms around my neck, and she moves her body closer to mine.
We shared kisses here and there when I was in the hospital, but this is the deepest one we’ve had since everything happened. The doctor was very clear in telling me that with my injury, I have to wait at least a month before having sex, and that I need to have my first appointment with the neurologist they referred me out to before doing so, so that he can confirm whether or not I need to wait even longer - depending on my progress.
I’ll be having repeat scans every month for the next three months, and if the third scan remains to be normal, then I probably won’t have to have anymore unless I start to complain of any symptoms. I’m scheduled to have my first CT scan exactly a month from today with a follow up with the neurologist a week after. As anxious as I am for these appointments, I’m also eager to know whether or not I’m actually improving after my injury.
I pull back from Anya and press another small kiss to the tip of her nose, which causes her to arch back a bit and scrunch up her face. “That’s new,” she laughs.
“What is?” I ask with narrowed brows.
“You kissing me there. It’s usually my lips or forehead.”
“Oh, sorry.” Clearing my throat, I lift my fist to my mouth as I take a step back, and I can feel myself flushing. “It just felt like instinct.”
But to be honest? It didn’t feel right. Yes, it felt like instinct, but once I did it, it was like something was off. Then again, my brain was jostled around in my skull only days ago, so that more than likely could have something to do with it.
“It’s okay.” Anya reaches out and takes my hand - giving it a squeeze. “How about you go ahead and take a shower while I call in some take-out for us? I’m sure you’re ready to get clean somewhere other than the hospital bathroom.”
I chuckle as I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, that does sound nice. You can order whatever sounds good to you.”
“I’ll order your favorite.” She pushes onto her tiptoes to kiss my cheek once again before walking into the kitchen, and opening the drawer where we keep menus from the places we find ourselves ordering delivery from the most.
Heading into my bedroom, I look around, and it appears the only thing that’s really different is the comforter, sheets and pillow cases that are on my bed. All the art that was in here remains the same along with the very miniscule amount of decorations that I have. I walk over to my dresser and retrieve a fresh pair of briefs, along with some joggers and a shirt before heading into my en suite. Starting up the shower, I strip off my clothes and throw them into the hamper, and then I step under the warm stream of water.
I hum in appreciation as I let it run over the top of my head, and down onto my body. The water at the hospital wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly hot either. After taking lukewarm showers for the past few days, I’ll never take for granted just how hot the water in the apartment can get.
There’s a light tapping as I massage shampoo into my scalp, being mindful of my stitches, while Anya starts to talk through the door. “They said it’ll take about twenty minutes, so there’s no rush. Take all the time you need in there.”
“Sounds good!” I call back so she can hear me, and then I’m leaning my head back to wash away the suds in my hair.
Once I wash my body, I remain under the stream while dropping my chin to my chest. My eyes are shut as I do my best not to let my thoughts wander to the fact that I’ve essentially lost two years of my life, at least for now. It causes a weird, anxious feeling to start to fester in my chest, and I shake my head, as if I could shake the truth away. I decide that being in here by myself probably isn’t the best thing for me right now, so I reach forward to shut the water off, and then I step out.
After drying my body off and changing into my clean clothes, I walk back into the living room where I find Anya curled up on the couch. She’s scrolling through her phone, but once she sees that I’ve entered the room, she tosses it to the side while smiling up at me.
“Was that shower everything you’ve dreamed of?” She asks me playfully, and I lift one side of my mouth at that.
“Yeah, it was nice. You should take one too before dinner gets here.”
“It’s okay, I’ll take one after,” she says as I sit down next to her, and I drop my head to rest against the back of the couch. She moves over, and takes one of my arms so that it drapes around her shoulders before she rests her head against my chest. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”
I take in a deep breath through my nose as I try to figure out how to answer her question. There’s so many different emotions coursing through my body, and thousands of thoughts running through my head, that I can’t really come up with a proper response. “I don’t really know, Anya. Everything just feels so confusing. I’m grateful to still be here, and that what happened wasn’t worse than it was, but there’s frustration that comes with that considering I’m not sure if I even know who I am anymore. Waking up, and thinking you’re 30, just to be told that you’re actually 32 does something to you.”
“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, Harry,” Anya whispers while wrapping an arm around my torso to rub a hand up and down my side. “Just know that you can talk to me about anything you may be thinking or feeling, and I’m going to be here for you. Every single step of the way. I know this whole thing is so complicated, and it’s a lot, but I’m not going anywhere.”
Looking down at her, I feel tears welling in my eyes. “Thank you. You don’t know how reassuring it is to hear you say that.”
“Of course.” She nods just as there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it. Do you want to eat here or at the table?”
“The table’s good.” I push myself off the couch as Anya heads to the door, and I grab us a couple of sodas from the fridge before sitting down.
Once Anya comes over, she starts to unbag the pasta from my favorite Italian spot, and I smile as she slides me a set of plastic silverware and a box of eggplant parmesan. “Thank you,” I say as I open up the box.
I don’t take a bite until Anya sits down and starts to dig into her ricotta filled ravioli - her go-to from this particular place. There’s a bag of breadsticks in the middle, and after my first bite, I reach out to take one. I break a piece off and drag it through extra sauce pooling at the sides of my container before popping it into my mouth.
“So, I was thinking that I’ll probably start going to therapy again. I know it’s been a few years since I’ve gone, but I figure it’ll be helpful after what I’ve been through. I’m planning on making an appointment with the memory specialist as well.” I take another bite of food.
“I think therapy is a good idea.” Anya meets my eyes from across the table. “Do you think you should maybe see how things go on your own before seeing the memory specialist? You’ll be going to so many different appointments in such a short span of time if you add the specialist in.”
“Anya,” I sigh as I pause eating, but I keep my fork in my hand, “it’s best as I start seeing them as soon as possible from what the doctor at the hospital said, and I want to do that. The sooner I start working on trying to get my memories back, the better.”
“I understand that, Harry. I’m just wondering if doing all of this so fast would end up stressing you more than helping you. Remember what the doctor said? That any type of stressor could-”
“Yes, I remember what he said. I lost the last two years of my memory, not the capability to maintain my memories in the short-term sense,” I snap. “Want to know what will stress me out? If I just sit around and wait for my next scan, and the appointment with my neurologist, and I don’t do anything in the meantime. I’ll feel like I’m not doing anything to try and help myself, which will result in me being stressed.
“Don’t you want me to become the person I was again? Wouldn’t you rather be with that guy than who I was two years ago? I can only imagine that our relationship has gotten better as time has gone on. That as we’ve grown as people, our relationship has grown into something even more beautiful. Why wouldn’t you want to get back to that as soon as we can?”
Anya licks over her lips before she shakes her head and looks down at her pasta. She pushes her food around with her fork. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just get worried, that’s all. The last thing I want is your situation to worsen or for you to think I’m trying to hold you back when it comes to your recovery. I meant what I said - I’m with you on this journey. Any decision you make, I’ll respect it.”
“That’s all that I ask.” I send her a smile to try and relieve some of the tension in the room, and the one she sends me back is slightly weaker than my own, but it’s there.
We finish eating over casual conversation, and once we’re done, we tidy up the kitchen. I look at the clock and see that it’s only eight at night, but I’m honestly exhausted. I fell asleep on the earlier side while I was at the hospital, so this has become my normal bedtime. Anya flicks off the lights, as if she can read my mind, and she walks over and takes my hand.
“Let’s get you into bed, and then I’ll hop in the shower really quick before joining you.”
After walking into the bedroom, I pull the covers on the bed back while Anya steps into the en suite, and the water starts as I’m burrowing myself underneath the comforter and the sheets. A content sigh leaves my lips at the comfort of my own mattress, and I turn on the lamp on my nightstand so I don’t fall asleep before Anya is laying with me.
I begin to make a list of all the things I need to get done come Monday. Considering tomorrow is Sunday, I know that none of the offices that I need to schedule appointments with will be open, but I’m going to call all of them first thing Monday morning to go ahead and get them out of the way. In an attempt to try and go about my life as it was, I also want to have dinner at some point with Frankie and Peyton, as I know that’s something we do almost every week.
It doesn’t take long for me to hear the shower shut off, and after a couple more minutes, Anya steps back into the bedroom. I can tell she also did her skincare routine while she was in there given how shiny her skin looks, and once she’s underneath the covers with me, I turn the lamp beside me back off. Anya curls up into my side while using my bicep as a pillow.
“Will you call Frankie or Peyton tomorrow to ask them about meeting up for dinner next week? I want to try and do things as routinely as possible, you know? Were we still doing dinners with them almost every week?”
I won’t be cleared to resume full use of my cellphone until Monday, or else I’d call them myself. The doctor told me that most of the time they clear patients to use it minimally after five or so days, but considering my case is a little more severe due to my memory loss, they advised me to wait nine days since my injury - just to be safe.
“Sure, I can call them.” Anya palm smooths over my chest. “We’ve all been a little busy with work and life, so we weren’t getting together as often as we once were, but we still see each other at least once a month. I’m sure given the situation, they’ll be more than happy to join us.”
“Sounds good.” I lean down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Anya.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
I close my eyes to try and fall asleep, but once again, something feels off. I hate that my first thought is that it’s due to Anya being pressed against my body, so I’m quick to shove that away. There’s no way that cuddling with my girlfriend is causing my skin to prickle with uneasiness. I’m sure it’s the brain injury just causing my body to feel something that’s not actually happening.
Relaxing my body, and sinking further into the mattress, I find myself finally drifting off to sleep.
✦ • ✦ • ✦ • ✦
Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda@prettygurl-2009@slutstachrry@lillefroe@gem1712@lemoncrushh@namoreno@mellamolayla@idklilili@angeldavis777@michellekstyles@triski73@daphnesutton@harrrrystylesslut@giitterysuits@hannah9921@mema10@fruity-harry@fangirl509east@babegoals@sassamanda77@this-is-tiny-mia@2601-london@stylesftcher@harryyloverrr@haliastyless@rach2699@gilwm @junhuisworld @mysunflowerposts (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please DM me!)
- in berlin for work, harry takes Y/N to play tennis with jeff tagging along.
- harry grows a 70s mustache just for you during his break. when you admire it, he uses it to tease and wreck you in bed, rough, a little painful, but exactly what you crave. (NSFW)
- after two hard weeks with her distant family, Y/N returns to harry’s arms, only to break down in the airport. he holds her, kisses her tears away, and brings her home to remind her: she’s safe, she’s loved, and she never has to face anything alone.
- Y/N tries to ride harry but struggles to take his size. he takes control, pushing her past her limits with rough, overwhelming pleasure, leaving her ruined, praised, and full. (NSFW)
- harry’s tiny red shorts drive Y/N wild, and he knows it. one blowjob and a kitchen counter later, he’s got her bent over and full of him. (NSFW)
- Y/N gets bratty after harry ignores her for a week. (NSFW)
- after harry’s steamy barcelona performance, Y/N can't contain her need. backstage, he takes care of her, first with his fingers, then with his body. (NSFW)
- watching don’t worry darling while harry’s away leaves you so turned on that you’re all over him the moment he gets home. (NSFW)
- at dinner with harry’s friends, needy and whiny Y/N can’t stop nuzzling him. seeing she’s not feeling well, harry takes her to the bathroom for a quick, quiet moment together. (NSFW)
- your first time with harry. (NSFW)
- harry teaches you how to give a blowjob. (NSFW)
- after bratting in front of harry's friends and being punished upstairs, you are still holding back tears until he gently pulls you into a private bathroom, realizing he forgot to give you the aftercare you need.
- a night in rome with a very drunk clingy Y/N.
- you sneak up on harry while he’s busy working, begging him to put it in and promising not to move. despite multiple warnings, you can’t help but shift.
- after a harsh punishment that leaves you sore and teary, harry spoils you with gentle cuddles, kisses, and sweet words, knowing you’re milking it just to be babied. (NSFW)
- while on a family vacation in Italy, you cling to harry during a crowded bathroom moment, whispering needy things until he gives in and takes care of you in private. (NSFW)
- you and harry attend a festival together.
- during a punishment gone too far, harry uses the belt on you, not realizing how gone and floaty you already are. when you break down in tears and don’t respond to his check-in, he instantly stops and shifts into soft, guilt-ridden aftercare.
- when officer styles responds to a call about a drunk fight at a party, he’s shocked to find his usually sweet girlfriend caught in the chaos, so he decides to treat her like any other troublemaker. (NSFW)
- a sweet, shy fashion student catches harry styles’ eye at a wild club night, leading to a tender, unforgettable hookup behind closed doors. (NSFW)
- a bratty Y/N pushes harry too far, leading to an intense punishment that leaves her wrecked and quiet. (NSFW)
- Y/N falls sick while harry’s daughter is visiting. (Single Dad!Harry)
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Harry x OC, AU (author!fmc, book critic!Harry), 3 part fic, enemies-to-lovers, smut/porn with plot, multi-year fic
Check individual chapters for more detailed content warnings.
Inspired by the Before Sunrise trilogy.
In the summer of 1987, Charlie is promoting her debut novel, traveling across America in her beat up car, trying to make a single sale. Notorious book critic, Harry Styles, has just published his negative review of her book and Charlie is starting to feel disillusioned with her dreams. Emotions run high when Harry shows up at her signing, grilling her about the plot holes in her story, and Charlie refuses to let him have the last word.
Summary: He's heard every vulnerable word you've written, but tonight Harry wants to hear the sounds you make when he's buried deep inside you, breaking every professional boundary in the process.
Warnings: fingering, oral (f!receiving), sex in a recording studio, surprise at the end
Word Count: 2,867
...
The overhead lights in the studio are dimmed to a warm amber glow, casting soft shadows across the dark woord panels and the endless tangle of cables snaking across the floor. It smells faintly of stale coffee from the half-empty mugs on the console and the cherry-scented candle you'd lit hours ago to cut through the recycled air.
It's just past two in the morning now. The rest of the team had trickled out one by one: engineers with families, producers citing early calls, mumbled goodnights and promises to pick it up tomorrow fading down the hallway until only the two of you remained.
Outside the thick soundproof glass, New York City flickers far below, indifferent to whatever is about to happen up here on the eighth floor.
You've been curled up in the corner of the couch for the last forty minutes, notebook balanced on your knees, pen tapping an absent rhythm against the page. The lyrics you scribbled earlier feel half-formed, vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach twist every time you reread them. This is only your third official session with Harry, but it already feels different from the polished, professional co-writes you've done with others. He has a way of... pulling things out of you.
Harry sits at the mixing board, one leg bouncing lightly, headphones pulled off one ear so he can hear you when you speak. His curls are messy; he's pushed them back more often than you can count. A simple white t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the fabric soft and slightly worn, and a pair of loose beige sweatpants sits low on his hips. A silver cross necklace catches the dim lamplight whenever he moves.
He looks unfairly good for someone who's been in this room since noon.
You remember the first time you met Harry vividly. A sleek studio in Los Angeles much like this one, but brighter, full of people. You'd walked in clutching your laptop and a coffee that had gone cold, nerves buzzing under your skin. Harry had glanced up from his guitar, a dimpled smile on his face that somehow made the entire room feel smaller, and said, ''Heard your stuff on that Phoebe Bridgers track. It's good. Really good.''
From there it's been easy, surprisingly so.
Hours of trading melodies, him humming low in his throat while you scribble adjustments, the kind of creative back-and-forth that leaves you buzzing even after you get home. But lately the air between you has thickened. Lingering looks when one of you nails a line. His fingers brushing yours when he passes you the notebook. The way his voice drops a little when he praises something you write.
Tonight that tension feels heavier.
''Play it again,'' you say softly, setting your notebook aside.
Harry glances over his shoulder at you, green eyes catching the glow of the screen. A small smirk tugs at his lips. ''Bossy tonight, aren't we?''
You roll your eyes, but heat creeps up your neck anyway. ''It's past two a.m. and we're still stuck on the bridge. Play it.''
He chuckles and turns back to the board to hit play. The track fills the room, moody, atmospheric, the kind of late-night sound that quietens any restless thoughts. His voice is layered in, raspy and intimate, singing the lines you workshopped together earlier.
You get up and walk over, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows. You changed into something more comfortable hours ago: soft black lounge shorts and an oversized lilac sweater that slips off one shoulder.
Harry leans back in his chair as the song plays, one arm draped casually over the back. When you stop beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, he tilts his head to look up at you.
''See? Right there,'' he murmurs, pointing at the waveform. ''Your harmony on that last line... We should definitely keep that.''
Your heart stutters. You lean in a little to see the screen better, your arm brushing his. ''Yeah?''
''Mhm.'' His voice is quieter now. ''You've got this way of writing that gets under the skin.''
The song loops into the bridge again. The overhead lights cast shadows across his cheekbones and the stubble along his jaw, and his cologne, something earthy and expensive, lingers in the air like smoke.
You swallow. ''I started songwriting because I was shit at saying things out loud,'' you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. ''Still am, sometimes. Easier to hide behind metaphors and melodies.''
Harry's gaze lingers on your face, tracing the curve of your cheek, the way your lips part slightly. ''I get that.'' He reaches up slowly, almost absentmindedly, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips graze the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. ''That's why this works so well. Our partnership. You hear what I'm trying to say even when I don't quite know how to say it yet.''
The song plays on, but neither of you is really listening anymore. His hand lingers near your jaw for a second longer than necessary before dropping, but his eyes don't leave yours.
''You should sing it with me,'' he says, voice rougher. ''Just once. I want to hear how it sounds when we're both in it.''
You hesitate, pulse hammering. Being this close to him, alone, in the middle of the night, with the rest of the world shut out, feels dangerous. Thrilling. Like taking a step off the edge you won't be able to take back.
Harry stands up slowly, towering over you in the small space between the chair and the console. The movement brings your bodies nearly flush. You can see the faint freckles across his nose, the way his t-shirt clings to his chest with the slight sheen of studio warmth.
''Harry...'' you start, not sure if it's a warning or an invitation.
He tilts his head, that crooked smile returning, but challenging this time. ''C'mon, love. Just us. We sound so good together, don't we?''
You're not sure he's talking about the song anymore.
The tension snaps taut between you like a live wire. His hand comes up again, this time resting lightly at your waist, thumb brushing the sliver of skin where your sweater had ridden up. The touch burns.
You're both breathing a little heavier now, the low music still swirling around you, making the moment feel even more intimate. His eyes drop to your lips for a beat, then back up, dark and questioning.
Your back presses lightly against the edge of the mixing board as he steps closer, caging you in without fully trapping you. The heat of him, the scent of him, the way he's looking at you like he's been waiting for this exact second for weeks, it's overwhelming.
For one suspended heartbeat, you both hold your breath. Then Harry's other hand lands on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft give of your skin beneath the hem of your sweater, and he pulls you in.
His mouth meets yours like he's been starving for it. The kiss is slow at first, almost disbelieving. Warm lips, the faint scratch of stubble, the taste of black coffee and the gum he'd chewed hours earlier... But hunger quickly overtakes restraint. A low sound rumbles in his chest as you open for him, tongues sliding, breaths mingling hot and urgent.
Your back presses harder against the mixing console, the edge digging into your spine, yet all you feel is the solid heat of him crowding you, consuming you. You shouldn't, the thought flickers somewhere distant in your mind. You work together. This could ruin everything.
Still, you kiss him harder.
His hands roam. One slides up your back beneath the oversized sweater, palm warm and possessive against your bare skin, while the other cups the side of your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You swallow the groan he lets out when your fingers twist into his curls, tugging lightly.
''Fuck, you've no idea how long I've wanted this,'' Harry murmurs against your lips, voice raspy and low. He nips at your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. ''Every night in this room... watching you bite your pen when you're thinking, the way your voice gets all soft and shy when you propose something. Fuck. You drive me insane, love.''
His words send heat pooling low in your belly. You arch into him, feeling the hard line of his cock already pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants. The realization that you did this to him makes you dizzy.
Harry's mouth trails down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear until your knees weaken. ''Tell me to stop,'' he breathes against your skin, even as his hand slips under your sweater to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple. ''Tell me and I will.''
You don't. Instead you pull him closer, whispering, ''Don't you dare.''
A dark, satisfied sound leaves him. In one fluid motion he tugs your sweater over your head and drops it to the floor. Cool studio air kisses your skin, but his hands are everywhere, warm, slightly calloused from years of guitar strings, mapping every inch like he's memorizing you. He lifts you effortlessly onto the edge of the console, stepping between your spread thighs. The new angle lets him grind against you, slow and deliberate, the friction pulling a broken moan from your throat.
''God, listen to you,'' he groans, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. ''You sound so pretty, baby.''
You reach down and palm him through the soft fabric of his sweatpants. He's thick, hot, already leaking. The way his hips jerk into your touch makes pride flare hot in your chest. Harry curses under his breath and captures your mouth again, kissing you deeply.
Clothes disappear in a haze. Your shorts and underwear are tugged down together. His t-shirt joins the growing pile on the rug. When he's finally bare, you can't help but stare: the ink covering his torso, the cut of his hips, the way his cock curves up heavy and flushed against his stomach. He's beautiful in the low amber and blue light, curls wild, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly.
He drops to his knees.
The first swipe of his tongue through your folds rips a gasp from you. Harry hums in pleasure, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He eats you out like a man possessed, two thick fingers curling inside you, stroking that spot that makes your vision spark white.
One of your hands grips the edge of the console, the other fists his hair as your thighs tremble around his shoulders.
''That's it,'' he murmurs between your legs, voice muffled and filthy. ''Let me hear you. No one else is here, baby. Just us. Let it out.''
You come hard on his tongue, back arching, a broken cry echoing through the studio. He doesn't stop until you're shaking, oversensitive and gasping his name like a prayer.
When he rises, his chin glistens. The look in his eyes is almost feral. He kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and lines himself up at your entrance.
''Been thinking about this for weeks,'' he confesses, voice strained as he pushes in slowly, inch by thick inch. The stretch burns so good you forget how to breathe for a second. ''Wondering how tight you'd feel. How wet. Fuck, you're perfect.''
He bottoms out with a choked moan. For a moment you both stay still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.
The weight of it all, colleagues, late night at the studio, crossing every professional boundary, only makes it feel that much hotter.
Then he starts to move. His deep, rolling thrusts drag against every sensitive spot inside you, the console creaking in protest beneath you. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red trails across the skin there.
Harry buries his face in your neck, sucking marks you'll have to hide tomorrow, whispering the dirtiest praise between thrusts.
''So fucking good for me... taking my cock like you were made for it... been so patient, haven't you, love?''
You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. Pleasure sparks with the new angle, and another orgasm builds fast and overwhelming. Harry feels it, reaches between you to circle your clit with his thumb, and you shatter again, clenching around him so tightly he curses, pace turning erratic.
''Where do you want me?'' he rasps, voice wrecked.
''Inside,'' you gasp. ''Please, Harry—''
He comes with a deep groan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, face buried in your neck. ''Fuck, you're incredible,'' he mumbles into your skin. The two of you stay locked together, trembling, breathing hard.
Eventually Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and hazy. He presses a slow, tender kiss to your lips, then another to your forehead. Gentle fingers brush damp strands of hair from your face as he helps you down from the console on shaky legs. You both dress in quiet, sharing glances and small smiles, the kind that say more than either of you are ready to voice yet. The red light on the console is blinking, but in the haze of afterglow, neither of you notices.
You leave the studio together just before sunrise, his hand brushing yours in the hallway before you part ways into the cool NYC morning.
...
The next morning you walk back into the studio with a coffee in hand. Sleep had been restless, your body still carrying the memory of Harry's hands, his mouth, the way he had sounded falling apart inside you.
You're wearing a loose black turtleneck to hide the faint marks along your neck and a pair of wide-leg jeans, trying to look casual even though your heart races every time you think about last night.
A couple of the other engineers are already there, Marcus at the console and Lena lounging on the couch with her laptop. The room smells like fresh coffee and the same warm electronics as always, but everything feels different, charged, after what you did here.
''Morning,'' you greet, forcing your voice to sound normal as you drop into your usual spot on the couch.
''Morning,'' Marcus replies without looking up, already clicking through files. ''Harry's running a few minutes late. He texted he got stuck in traffic. Let's catch up on where you two left off last night. I'll pull up the latest draft so we can all be on the same page.''
The moody instrumental you and Harry had been perfecting fills the studio first. Atmospheric synths, the low thrum of bass, Harry's layered vocals on the verses you'd worked on together. It sounds good. Really good. For a few blissful seconds you almost relax.
Then the bridge hits. Instead of the clean harmony you'd been workshopping, the speakers fill with the unmistakable wet sounds of kissing. A low, needy moan, unmistakably yours, cuts through the track, followed by Harry's rough, breathless voice:
''Fuck, you've no idea how long I've wanted this...''
Your blood turns to ice. Heat floods your face so fast you feel dizzy. Lena coughs. Marcus freezes, finger hovering uselessly over the mouse.
The audio continues mercilessly. The wet slide of tongues. Your broken whimpers. The unmistakable creak of the console. Harry's filthy groan as he tells you how tight you feel, how perfect you are for him.
''Oh my god—'' you whisper, mortified.
The studio door swings open right as the sounds grow louder, Harry stepping in with his sunglasses still on and a half-eaten bagel in hand. He takes one look at everyone's faces, hears his own voice groaning ''That's it, let me hear you'' through the speakers, and his eyes widen.
In one chaotic movement he practically vaults over the mixing console, nearly knocking over a coffee cup as he slams his hand down on the spacebar to pause it.
''Jesus, okay, that's enough of that,'' he blurts, voice cracking slightly. He clears his throat, running a hand through his messy curls. ''That was... uh, a rough draft. I was messing around with some... backing vocal ideas. Got a bit experimental. Bad idea. Terrible, actually.''
The silence that follows is deafening.
Harry's gaze finally finds yours across the room. His cheeks are flushed, but there's something else in his eyes. A spark of heat, a secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The same look he gave you last night right before he dropped to his knees.
You feel that same pull low in your belly. The forbidden thrill hasn't disappeared. If anything, it's more exciting now. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling and simply raise an eyebrow at him, letting the shared secret hang thick in the air between you.
Harry coughs again, rubbing the back of his neck. ''Right. So... should we, uh, start from the top?''
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
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