prettygurl-2009 - Tumblr blog

prettygurl-2009 · 7 days ago

Text

explore me slowly

(part two of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: Firsts aren't always easy. Lucky for you, Harry's got patience— and a plan.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, lots of talk about virginity and sex, fingering, brief oral (f!receiving), sexual guilt (it's so common and it's time we start talking about it)

Based on: this ask!

A/N: hi lovelies! sorry this update took foreverrr. i've had a rough week, but i'm back now and working hard on creating new content for you guys :) i'm so happy to see the love i received on part one of this, thank you all sososo much. series tag list is open x

Word Count: 4,319

...

You're nervous.

Not the jittery, wide-eyed kind of nervous, but the quiet kind. It simmers just beneath the surface, where your stomach feels light and fluttery, and your thoughts are buzzing too fast to catch.

You're sitting with Harry on his couch, tucked beneath the blanket that always smells like him, like fresh, warm laundry and cedarwood and something a little sweeter underneath. The movie he put on a while ago has turned to static now, background noise, barely audible under the sound of your pulse in your ears.

Your mind keeps drifting back to last Friday night, to that first conversation you and Harry had about your virginity, turning it over in your head, trying to decide what you want.

But now you know.

You pull back a little, tilting your head to look at him properly, and your voice is smaller than you mean it to be when you speak up. ''I think… I want to try something tonight.''

That gets his attention.

His arm, which had been draped along the back of the couch and absentmindedly stroking your shoulder, stills. He turns to face you, scanning your features with those sharp, observant eyes like he's trying to understand everything you're not saying. ''Try something?'' he echoes, but it's not teasing. It's curious. Encouraging.

You nod. Your fingers curl in the hem of your shorts, anchoring yourself. ''I don't know what exactly. I just… I trust you. And I want to explore. Whatever you think is best to start with.''

He stays quiet for a beat, his thumb brushing the side of your thigh under the blanket. ''Are you sure?''

You nod again, firmer this time. ''Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot. I'm not trying to rush into anything I'm not ready for. And I'm not ready for... everything, but we could do something else, right?''

Harry's expression softens into something tender. You can see it shift, the subtle change in how he's holding himself. The way he sinks a bit deeper into the cushions, like the weight of your blind trust, and his responsibility for it, slowly settles onto his shoulders.

''Okay,'' he says. ''We'll go slow. If you're okay with it, I'd like to understand where you're at. What you're comfortable with. What you like, what you don't like, y'know?''

You inhale deeply, your shoulders relaxing at the sound of his calm voice. You hadn't realized how much tension you'd been holding until now. You hum in response, heart thudding steady in your chest.

Harry's eyes flick to your lips, your eyes, your hands in your lap. He shifts slightly so he's facing you more directly. ''So… when you say you want to try something, what does that look like for you tonight? Is there something you've been curious about?''

You chew your lip. ''I don't know, really. That's the thing. I've never done any of this before, so I don't really know where I'm supposed to start, what I'm supposed to explore. That's why I'm asking you to... I don't know, lead. To tell me what to do.''

''I can do that. Is there anything that's off-limits tonight?'' he asks carefully, his hand moving to rest lightly on your bare knee.

You think about it for a moment, then shake your head. ''I don't want to… you know. Go all the way. Not yet.''

''Okay,'' he smiles, squeezing your knee softly in reassurance. ''What about me touching you? With my hands, or my mouth?''

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks. The words make you squirm, but you manage to give him a curt nod, forcing a tight-lipped, nervous smile. ''Yeah. I think I'd like to try that.''

He smiles gently, fingers brushing your neck, waiting for any sign of hesitation. When all he sees is curiosity etched onto your features, he dips his head under yours, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

Your heartbeat pounds under your skin as Harry caresses your arms, rubbing them up and down soothingly. You gasp when he sucks lightly on your skin, taking his time getting you in the mood.

''Do you want me to show you what feels good? Or do you want to tell me what to do?'' he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You bite your lip, throat dry. ''I… I want you to show me.''

He stands up, then holds out a hand.

''Come here, love.''

You take it, and he tugs you to your feet, pulling a huffed laugh from you. He puts his hands on your waist and begins slowly walking you backward, firm and deliberate, toward his bedroom, not breaking eye contact once. Something about it, the effortless confidence he exudes, the air of nonchalance, makes your breath hitch.

And when your back hits his bedroom door, he pauses. He leans in, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours.

''You're sure?'' he whispers.

You nod. ''I'm sure.''

And then he kisses you, deep and passionate, his hand fumbling for the door handle behind you. He chuckles against your lips when he clumsily opens the door, and you both stumble in with a laugh.

Harry's bedroom is dim, the lamp on his bedside table painting the room in a soft yellow. You turn around, taking in his space. It feels intimate. It's simple, minimalistic, but so Harry.

There are sticky notes attached to the small notice board above his desk, filled with hasty scribbles like yoga pushed to 7 this Thursday!!! and pick up mum from the airport!!! and a nonsensical jumble of random words and phrases. Lyrics for new songs, you think.

The door clicks shut behind him and you feel his presence behind you, steady, unfaltering, unlike the beat of your heart. For a second, neither of you speak. You're not sure when the room got so quiet, but your pulse thrums in your ears, the sound of your shallow breathing seeming to mute everything else.

Then his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back into the solid heat of his chest. He dips his head to your height and presses a kiss just behind your ear, then another one to the slope of your neck, and you melt into him by instinct.

His fingers find the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, technically, the navy one you borrowed weeks ago and never gave back. It still smells faintly like his cologne, the way his clothes always do when he forgets them on your couch. He gathers the fabric, lifting it inch by inch until it bunches beneath your waist, right above your grey shorts.

It had felt a little silly when you put it on after your shower this morning, but his mouth twitches into a smile when he recognizes it, his fingers toying with the material. ''This mine?''

''Yeah. You were outgrowing it anyway,'' you tease, turning around in his hold and playfully squeezing his biceps. He's been frequenting the gym increasingly more often, and it shows. You assume it's his way of blowing off steam now that he's not performing.

''Hm. It does look better on you,'' he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple as his hands trail lower. He gently tugs at the hem, waiting for your approval. ''Can I take this off?''

You hesitate, just a second, but it's enough to make him pause, watching you closely. It's not that you don't trust him, or don't want to, but you can already feel the air on your thighs, your stomach, the dip of your lower back. And the idea of being completely bare under his gaze, no barriers, no fabric, no layers to hide behind, suddenly feels a little too exposed. Too vulnerable.

Your hands catch his quickly, wrapping around his palms, though you know that Harry wouldn't move an inch without your consent.

''I… would it be okay if I kept it on? Just for now?'' you ask, cheeks burning. ''I don't think I'm comfortable being fully naked yet.''

There's not even a beat of silence before he nods, brushing your hair back behind your ear. ''Of course. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You look beautiful like this, too.''

Your hesitation doesn't frustrate or deter him. Instead, he reaches for the hem of his own shirt, and in one smooth motion, he pulls it up over his head and carelessly tosses it aside.

Your breath catches. He's so close that you can see the faint freckles adorning his collarbone, the gold cross nestled between his pecs, the trail of ink curling down his strong arms.

You reach out before you can second-guess it, fingers brushing across the small tattoos above his heart, the ones you've only ever seen half-hidden beneath his clothes. Your hand grazes the tattoos that trail down the skin of his left shoulder, his bicep, his arm, like a river that meanders delicately through a forest.

He watches you, quiet and confident, as your palm flattens over his chest. His skin is warm under your fingers, smooth and solid and real. You trace one of the swallows across his collarbone, then dip lower, brushing your knuckles down the line of his sternum. The ridges of his abs flex slightly beneath your touch.

''You're so…'' you trail off, suddenly embarrassed by your own awe.

Harry gives you a lopsided smile, like he knows what you mean without needing to hear it. ''Thank you, baby. You can touch me as much as you want,'' he says, voice thick with something more tender than lust. ''Take your time, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere.''

You lean up to kiss him, and when your hands settle around his hips, he presses forward just enough to guide you backward toward the bed. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you land with a soft thud. Harry follows, kneeling between your legs, one hand curling around the back of your thigh to pull it around his waist.

You shiver when his knuckles graze the edge of your shorts, and he catches the reaction immediately.

''Still okay?'' he murmurs against your lips.

''Yeah,'' you whisper. ''I just… don't know what I'm doing.''

''You don't have to,'' he insists. The sheets are cool against your skin, grounding, while Harry hovers over you, broad and warm and impossibly gentle and patient. ''That's what tonight's for, yeah? You tell me what feels good. What doesn't. I'll listen.''

His fingers stroke over the outside of your shorts first, featherlight at first, then with a little more pressure. Just enough to let the heat pool low in your belly, your thighs pressing together instinctively at the unfamiliarity of it all. You let out a soft, shaky breath.

He looks up at you, lips curved, eyes kind. ''That feel alright?''

''Mhm.''

''Use your words for me, baby,'' he teases lightly, but there's no pressure. Just playfulness.

You swallow. ''It feels… really good.''

That earns you a kiss, warm and sweet, and this time his hand drifts over your stomach, fingers brushing under the hem of your hoodie. He doesn't try to lift it again, just slips his palm beneath the fabric, splaying it over your skin, stroking your bare side.

His hands don't rush. They just keep tracing the shape of you, mapping the curves and valleys like they're sacred terrain. Then his fingers slide down past your navel, knuckles grazing your skin, brushing the waistband of your shorts.

You draw in a shaky breath.

''Still good?'' he asks, watching you.

You nod. ''Yes. Please.''

He smiles reassuringly and continues his trail down your shorts. His fingers move over the cotton, just the faintest pressure, barely there. But even that is enough to send a jolt through you, hips twitching in surprise when he brushes against your clothed clit.

You're more sensitive than you expected. Everything feels heightened: his breath on your cheek, the press of his fingers through the fabric, the weight of his gaze on your face.

''Feels good?''

You nod, unable to speak.

He strokes over the same spot a little more firmly this time, slow and rhythmic. ''You're already wet,'' he groans, almost like he's in awe. ''I haven't even done anything. Fuck, that's so hot.''

You flush, turning your face into his shoulder, and he chuckles softly. ''You don't have to be shy with me,'' he whispers. ''Nobody's around. It's just you and me, yeah? I've got you.''

You nod bashfully. His hand slips under the waistband of your shorts and slides your panties aside with a gentle tug. For the first time ever, someone else touches you where you've barely explored yourself, the pad of his finger dragging softly through your folds.

You tense instantly, just from the unfamiliarity of it, but he doesn't push. Just keeps it slow, gentle, careful, learning the way your body responds, noting every soft whine and every stutter of breath. It's a different kind of touch than your own. More assured. Confident, but not cocky. He's paying attention to every shift in your body, like your pleasure is a language and he wants to be fluent.

He finds your clit and circles it with the pad of his finger, light and teasing, until your hips lift from the bed with a choked whimper, and his pace quickens. You didn't know it could feel like this. Every nerve is lit up, like your skin is catching fire in the best way.

''Oh,'' you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress as you sigh contently, the tension in your muscles melting away.

Harry smiles. ''Yeah?''

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back against the pillow.

Harry glances up again, pride flickering in his expression. ''That good?''

''So good,'' you whisper.

He grins, but it's soft, not smug. He eases you further back onto the bed, and you go willingly, your legs falling open around his waist as he crawls down your body, pulling your shorts down with him as he goes, just enough to expose your panties to him.

Then he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. And another, closer to the edge of your underwear. He hums low in his throat, like the scent of your arousal has undone something in him. His hand is still between your thighs, and he pushes a finger inside, just one for now, testing, studying your reaction, while his thumb keeps stroking your clit to keep you relaxed.

Your breath catches at the stretch. It's not painful, just… new. Unfamiliar. Full.

But it feels good. Better than anything you've ever felt on your own.

Harry leans his cheek against your inner thigh, watching your pussy accomodate to the stretch of his finger with awe etched onto his face. His eyes flick up to your face, searching your expression for any discomfort or pain. ''Too much?''

You shake your head. ''No. Feels… good.''

Then he kisses your thigh again, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his hot breath against your cunt, and you realize what he's planning.

But when you feel the first swipe of his tongue, it's too much.

You gasp and your hand flies to his hair, not tugging hard, just enough to pull him back. ''Wait. Sorry. That's... a little overwhelming.''

He pulls back instantly, looking up at you with such gentle understanding it nearly makes your heart burst out of your chest. ''Don't apologize. That's totally okay.''

''I don't know why,'' you say, cheeks warm. ''It's just… a lot.''

''It's okay, love. This is all brand new to you,'' he soothes, pressing a kiss to your thigh. ''We can save that for another night, yeah? We have all the time in the world to go slow, baby.''

There's no disappointment in his voice. No pressure. He's just... here. With you. For you. The realization tugs at your heartstrings.

You nod, and he climbs back up your body, propping himself up on one arm, letting you catch your breath as he hovers over you. The warmth between your legs lingers, building slowly as his hand starts to move again, hushed praises falling from his lips.

His touch is focused, fingers slow, right where you need them. This time, you relax into it. Let the tension coil in your belly, growing tighter and tighter with every slow circle of his fingers, every kiss he presses against your shoulder, your jaw, your temple.

Your breathing stutters. Your thighs clench. Your fingers dig into his forearm, making him groan. He curls his finger slightly and your back arches with a sudden, gasping moan.

''Harry, fuck—''

''There she is,'' he breathes. ''There you go, darlin'. That's it. Let go for me. You don't have to think. Just feel. I've got you.''

He keeps the rhythm steady, his thumb circling your clit, his finger curling inside of you. Your thighs tense, your hips stutter, and then your whole body locks up with a choked sound as the pleasure spills over all at once. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming in the best way. Your fingers grip the bedsheets, and you can barely hear yourself moaning his name like a prayer, your breath stuttering out in broken gasps.

Harry's voice is low and tender as he eases you through it. ''That's it, baby. So good. So fucking good. You did so well for me.''

You're shaking while he helps you ride it out, only pulling his hand out of your shorts when you whine quietly in overstimulation, your chest heaving. His attention shifts to you immediately, cradling your face in his palm, brushing sweaty hair from your temple.

''You okay?''

''Yeah. Just…'' you swallow, blinking up at him, dazed. ''I think… I think that was my first real orgasm, Harry.''

He stills, his mouth curving into a slow smile. ''Yeah?'' he says, and he sounds so proud you could cry. ''That was your first?''

You nod again, cheeks hot. ''I thought I'd already had one, but it's never felt like that before. Not even close.''

He leans in to kiss you, cradling your cheek like you're the most precious thing he's ever laid his hands on. ''Fuck, baby. Thank you for letting me be the first. That means more than you know.''

He rolls over and plops down on the mattress with a content sigh, one arm falling over his eyes. You rest your head on his heaving chest, heart still pounding, and his other arm instantly wraps around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

Your body feels weightless, boneless, like you've melted into the sheets completely. The air around you is warm and still, the silence only broken by Harry's pants beside you.

The hem of his hoodie is still bunched around your thighs, and you're vaguely aware of the dampness between your legs and the faint throb in your muscles. It doesn't hurt, it just lingers, like your body is still catching up to the memory of being touched.

Harry presses a kiss to your temple, then leans up on one elbow, brushing your hair back gently.

''Stay here,'' he whispers. ''Gonna get you some water and a towel to clean you up, alright? I'll be right back, promise.''

You nod, dazed. His voice is so soft. So safe.

A few minutes pass while he moves around the room. You hear the faucet turn on in the bathroom, the clink of a glass against porcelain, the shuffle of his feet across the floorboards.

Everything is ordinary. Normal.

But the longer you lie there, the tighter your chest becomes.

It starts slow. A little whisper in the back of your mind. You did that. You let someone do that to you. You gave it away. It's over.

Your thighs are still damp. You feel the stickiness on your skin and suddenly you can't breathe quite right. Your heartbeat starts to pick up. A sour kind of shame crawls up your throat, thick and hot, choking you before you can swallow it down.

You shift in the bed, curling your legs up to your chest. Your fingers tighten in the sheets, knuckles turning white from your grip.

It was good. He was kind. You wanted it. So why do you feel like this?

The door creaks open again. Harry enters quietly, carrying a glass of water and a warm washcloth. His eyes go to you first, always to you, and the second he sees how you're curled in on yourself, his face tightens, his brows furrowing.

''Hey,'' he calls out gently, setting everything on the nightstand. ''What's wrong?''

You try to speak but your throat closes up. The tears come suddenly, a choked sob leaving your chest. One moment your eyes are just stinging, the next they're spilling over, silent and hot, streaming down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away.

Harry's at your side in an instant.

''Baby…'' He kneels beside the bed, cupping your face in both hands, eyes scanning yours like he's desperate to read your mind. ''Talk to me. Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?''

You shake your head, but your voice is caught in your chest.

''Do you… do you regret it?'' he asks, and you hear the break in his voice. ''Did I do something wrong?''

''No,'' you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracked. ''No, it's not you. You didn't, Harry. You didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect.''

His brows pinch together, eyes searching, lips parting like he wants to understand so badly, but can't. ''Then what is it? What's hurting you, love? Please talk to me. Tell me so I can fix it.''

You swallow hard, wiping your tears in silent frustration, your voice small and scared. ''I just feel… gross. I feel dirty. I don't know why. I wanted it, and I don't... I don't regret it, but now that it happened I...'' you hiccup a sob. ''I feel so fucking ashamed.''

The words are like acid in your mouth. Saying them aloud makes them more real.

Harry's eyes soften instantly, his whole body folding toward you. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, pulls you into his arms gently. ''Oh, baby,'' he breathes out, cradling you against his chest. ''I'm so sorry, love. I should've realized how you were feeling sooner.''

You press your face into his shoulder, fists curling in the fabric of his sweatpants. ''It's not your fault,'' you whisper. ''I promise. I just… it's me. Something's wrong with me.''

''Nothing's wrong with you,'' he says, kind, but firm. Definitive. ''Nothing. This is so much more common than you think, baby. Especially when it's your first time.''

''Really?'' you ask, timid.

He pulls back slightly to look at you. ''Yeah, love. You can want it, and it can feel amazing, and you can still feel overwhelmed after. It's okay to feel both things at the same time,'' he gives you a pained smile, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ''It's not because you did something bad. Not at all, baby. It's because we're taught to feel shame around sex. Especially women.''

You sniffle, the words loosening something in your chest.

''I just feel like I lost something,'' you say quietly, shame sinking into your bones. ''Something I can't get back. And I know I chose it. I don't regret it, I really don't, but it feels... sinful, almost. Like I should've saved it longer, or done it differently, or just… I don't know.''

Harry kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there. ''You didn't lose anything, darlin'. You shared something. With someone who loves being trusted by you. You didn't lose anything.''

Your eyes blur again at the softness in his voice. ''But it feels so wrong, and I know that doesn't make sense. You were gentle, and I wanted it, I loved it, and I still feel like I did something wrong.''

Harry wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you close like he can protect you from your own insecurities. ''It makes perfect sense,'' he says. ''You're not wrong for feeling this way. You're human. You're taught that virginity is something that gets taken from you. It's not. It's an experience you share, but nothing fundamental changes.''

You bury your face in his neck, your voice muffled. ''But why do I feel so small?''

''Because it was a big step,'' he says simply. ''Because it mattered. You've built this up in your head for so long, and maybe part of you started to think doing this would change you forever. But you're still the same person you were yesterday, baby.''

Your breath shudders and you collapse into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, and he just holds you, rocking you softly and murmuring sweet reassurances and praises into your hair.

Eventually, the tears ease. The ache in your chest dulls. You feel whole again, grounded. And you stay there, in his arms, breathing in the safety of his skin, until the world feels quiet again.

Harry kisses your hair and whispers, ''Wanna try that water now?''

You sniffle and nod, still tucked against him. ''Yeah. Thank you.''

He reaches for the glass and hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours. You bring it up to your lips and gratefully take a few sips before handing it back to him with a shaky smile.

''You okay to stay here with me tonight?'' he asks as he puts the glass back on his nightstand.

You nod again, taking in a shuddering breath. ''Please.''

He helps you under the covers and slips in beside you. You curl into his chest and he strokes your hair like it's second nature. Like holding you is something he was made to do.

''I think I'm in love with you.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73

teach me slowly series tag list

@maddiesalvatore1839 @mleestiles @imaginexxharry

...

696 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 7 days ago

Note

This was perfect. So hot 🥵

I’m obsessed with how obsessed sugar daddy Harry is with his bestie turned gf😩 how he can’t keep his hands to himself with her. I bet they’ve gotten noise complaints from her neighbors😏💕💕

Hiii babes!! I’m also obsessed with how completely obsessed he is with his now gf and they’ve probably gotten a few noise complaints indeed😂 I had to write a little something inspired by this!💖

Find all things Delicate here🌟

CW: language, tiny bit of use of the nickname Muffin (y’all hate this I’m sorry), mentions of sugar daddy stuff, dirty talk (we all know Harry says freak shit to his bestie/gf), semi public sex (balcony) and smut.

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: I’m combining this and a request for Harry to go all in on the sugar daddy role now that his bestie is his gf! Hope y’all enjoy this madly in love freaky deaky duo! Also sorry it’s not properly edited so if you see mistakes I’m sorry!

Tag List: @masochistfork @dipmeinhoneyh @sunshinemoonsposts @sweetmoonlove0214 @maudie-duan @umadirectioner @littlemomentsofbeauty @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @prettygurl-2009 @hopefullimaginer123 @somewiseguy @emmie2308 @delanie881dlover13 @frankyrose7 @matildasatellite @run-for-the-hills @mema10 @indierockgirrl @mads3502 @robinsue87 @finelineryy @spinninc @angeldavis777 @swiftmendeshoran

Summary: Harry takes you on vacation and things get a little loud🌟

“You know this is the exact kind of thing I was expecting when I went looking for a sugar daddy.” Harry lets out a laugh as his hands rub your feet that are in his lap on the outdoor sitting area of the hotel the two of you have been staying at the past several days.

“Oh yeah? You were expecting someone to fly you out to Italy and put you in a fancy hotel for two weeks?” He asks as you take a sip of your wine that you hadn’t finished during lunch.

“I mean obviously I wasn’t going to be picky on the destination but yes.” You say with a playful smile on your face. “I was expecting lavish trips and lots of gifts.” Harry turns his head and looks at you with a raised brow as his hands travel up to your ankles giving them soft squeezes.

“I’m calling bullshit.” You let out a dramatic scoff as you place your wine glass down on the floor next to the couch the two of you are lounging on. “You huffed and puffed over me paying your rent yet you were expecting lavish trips and gifts?”

“That’s different because it’s you.” Harry rolls his eyes as you sit up so you can reach over and run a hand through his hair. “If it was a stranger then I wouldn’t care as much about them spending money on me but you know how I am about friends spending money on me it makes me feel-weird.” You explain making Harry just nod because he’s heard this before and he understands, of course he understands he’s been your bestfriend for years and can remember the first time he paid the bar tab while out with a group of friends and you about threw a hissy fit and demanded he let you give him cash for your portion.

“That’s all fine and dandy Muffin but I don’t think you and I are exactly friends right?” He argues as his hands slide up your legs, wrapping around your calves.

“Are you saying you don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Your tone is filled with what Harry knows is your fake sad voice, you give him your best pout that makes him rub his lips together to hide his smile. “That’s rude.” Your words have Harry letting out a fake little whine as he sits up and moves so he is hovering over you, situated between your legs that were just in his lap.

“I really am so rude aren’t I?” He teases as you lean back and rest your head against a throw pillow while he brings a hand up to grip the armrest. “For wanting to be your boyfriend who spoils you all the time.” His eyes are swirling with something you’ve gotten used to seeing mixed in with his usual emerald green color over the last few months, a dark lust filled hunger that has your pulse racing and the butterflies going off in your tummy.

“Yes so-so rude.” Your voice is strained and Harry lets out a chuckle as his eyes travel down your body, his hand resting on your hip feeling the soft fabric of your shorts. You let out a soft gasp when you feel his hand slip down between your thighs, his thumb delicately rubbing right over your clothed covered clit.

“So rude for wanting to spend all my time loving on you.” His eyes don’t leave yours as he runs his index finger up and down the front of your shorts, teasing you with his thumb that’s working slow circles over your sensitive bundle. He smiles down at you when he can feel a wet spot forming making your hips roll into his hand seeking more, always wanting more of whatever it is Harry’s willing to give you.

He leans back letting you get a decent view of his tanned and well toned upper body, your eyes hungrily take in every dark swirl of ink on his chest all the way down to the butterfly on his well defined abs until they land on the ones right above his hips. Harry watches you with an amused look on his face as you lick your lips before your eyes bounce back up to his face. His hands grip the waistband of your shorts and you instantly lift your hips letting Harry work them down your thighs until he can toss them behind him without caring where they land. You bend your legs at the knee, placing your feet flat on the couch cushions and spread them open a little more letting him get a better view of your soaked core, he lets out a low hum of approval as he hovers over you, hands on either side of your head gripping the armrest.

“I’m so rude for always giving you what you want huh?” His lips are right next to your ear, his voice is husky as he gently rolls his hips letting you feel how hard he is through the thin material of his green swim shorts. He gives your earlobe a little nip making you let out a soft moan that has his hips rolling against you, the fabric of his shorts rubbing against your clit making your hands reach out and grab onto his back as a surge of pleasure rushes through you.

“You’re being mean.” You whine, Harry lets out a breathy chuckle causing goosebumps to form on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Oh now I’m mean?” He teases with pout that you can feel against your neck. “Letting your soaked little cunt get a feel of my hard cock is mean?” He asks as his lips travel down the side of your neck, one of his hands comes down and pushes your shirt up over your breasts before resting on your hip. “I thought you loved my cock baby?” He rolls his hips harder this time letting the tip of his clothed cock poke at your entrance leaving a wet patch on his shorts.

“I do-love how big it is and how full it makes me.” You say with a moan as your hands slide down his back as his lips kiss down your chest, nipping lightly at a mark he gave you a few days ago that’s beginning to fade right next to your right nipple.

“I know you do muffin- you love how full my big cock makes you feel when it’s deep inside your tight little cunt.” You close your eyes as he flicks your pebbled nipple with the tip of his tongue, his hand moves from your hip to the waistband of his shorts pulling them down just enough to free his already leaking cock. “Always takes me so well like it was made just for me.” He gives himself a slow stroke before he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Just for you Har-oh god.” He pushes into you without warning making you let out a loud cry of pleasure at the delicious feeling of Harry stretching you out with every inch of his thick shaft that he pushes inside of you with a harsh thrust of his hips.

“Am I still being mean baby?” Your nails dig into his back as his hips find a steady rhythm that has you letting out soft gasps and moans with every deep hard thrust. “Is it rude of me to fuck my fat cock into this warm wet pussy?” He asks before taking your nipple into his mouth, giving it a few swirls with his tongue before moving over to your other one.

“N-no no you’re-you’re amazing.” Your words are jumbled and mixed with breathy moans as you feel a pressure building deep in your tummy. His tongue works your nipple in his mouth as his hips quicken their pace, you let out a harsh cry of his name when his hand slides between the two of you so he can press tight circles against your clit with his thumb.

“God I love the sounds you make for me baby-how loud you get when I hit that spot right there.” You feel your toes want to curl and a moan falls out of your mouth as the tip of Harry’s cock nudges that special spongy spot deep inside of you. “Need to feel you wrapped around me everyday-oh fuck I need to have my cock buried in this pussy every single day for the rest of my life.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust of his hips, he pulls back to just the tip and slowly pushes back into you making your back arch as your hips work to match his pace. He lets out a groan as he sits up, his hand on the back of the couch and his eyes glued on where the two of you are connected.

“Don’t stop-oh please don’t stop Harry.” You beg as he pulls out to the tip again, his eyes darkening when he sees his shaft glistening with your arousal. He watches in awe as your tight hole opens up for him and takes him all the way with one solid thrust that earns him a deep moan from your parted lips.

“Don’t worry muffin-I’m gonna fuck this tight cunt over and over again until you’re a crying mess for me.”

“Fuck fuck-oh yes yes just like that.” Your hands grab at your chest as Harry’s thrusts get harder, causing the metal legs of the couch to make a slight screeching sound as they skid across the tile concrete floor.

“Can feel you squeezing me baby.” His voice is rough as his reaches down and places his thumb back over your sensitive clit. “Let go for me-come all over this big cock you love so much.” His words have you tipping over the edge and the pressure snapping in your lower tummy as your release has your toes curling and a mixture of his name and a few curse words tumbling from your mouth.

“Oh shit-oh oh fuck.” Harry pumps his hard length into you as he grabs one of your legs and props it over his shoulder letting him get even deeper with each thrust. “Har-Harry oh god.” Your head is spinning as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck baby you’re so messy I love it-love feeling you clenching all around me-shit I wanna fill you up I’m so-fuck I’m so close baby.”

“Yes yes want it so bad-give it to me please.”

“I’ll give you anything you want baby.” You let out a cry of his name as his thumb adds pressure to your clit. “Ohh fuck.” Harry’s eyes snap shut as his hips give you a few more harsh thrusts before he’s spilling into you, coating your walls with his warm load.

“I love you.” You say breathlessly as Harry slowly works himself through his release. His eyes go soft as he looks down at you with your hair a mess and your eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

“Yeah? Love me so much you’ll let me spend some money on you today?” Your snarky response gets caught in your throat as Harry pulls out and lowers your leg from his shoulder, his thumb increasing its pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sinks his index and middle finger into your dripping pussy.

“H-Harry.” You whine his name, the squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your drenched hole is music to Harry’s ears making him let out a deep moan as he leans over you.

“Answer the question baby-can I spend some money on you today? Spoil you just a bit?” You just nod your head as you feel him curve his fingers as the plunge deep inside you. “Can’t hear you muffin-use your words for me.” His lips are on the side of your neck, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into the deep end of a pool of blissful pleasure when he adds a third finger.

“Yes-yes buy me things-want it.” Harry smiles against your skin as he quickens the pace of his fingers, his thumb moving in tight circles until he feels your walls start to pulse around him.

“Doing so good baby-so pretty when you come for me.” His sweet words make you let out a moan of his name as his fingers fuck into you at a steady pace. “Love you so much sweetheart-just let go for me baby.” His lips find yours as you feel the tension in your lower tummy snap, your arousal mixed with his drips down Harry’s fingers and his wrist making a mess on the couch.

You wrap your arms around his neck as your hips work to meet his pace as you ride out the high of your release. Harry hums in delight as he pulls away from the kiss, a satisfied smile on his face as he looks at you. A blissful sigh leaves your lips as you drop your arm from around his neck and accidentally knock over your wine glass when you let your hand drop off the couch.

“Always making such a mess.” Harry teases making you let out a huff as you try to catch your breath while he slowly removes his fingers from being tucked up inside you, he laughs as he reaches down and picks up the empty glass. “Come on let’s take a shower then go see if that shop down the street still has that dress you liked the other day.” He gives you a look as he stands up, tucking himself back into his shorts and holds his hands up for you to take.

“Will you wash my hair for me?”

“Wash your hair? Are you that exhausted?”

“I’m not answering that because your ego doesn’t need to be anymore inflated.”

“True it’s pretty big enough already but really are you too tired to wash your own hair?”

“If I say yes does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Baby I’ll do it regardless I’m just wondering if I should carry you to the shower or not and let you have a little nap afterward before shopping.” You quirk a brow as you take his hands and let him help you up off the couch.

“Yes.” Harry lets out a laugh as you hold your arms up in the air waiting for him to attempt to pick you up. “You should carry me and yes to a nap.” You add and Harry just rolls his eyes as he quickly tosses you over his shoulder making you let out a squeal because you were expecting something a bit more romantic.

“Fuck you really did make a mess.” He says with a laugh as he looks down at the wet spot on the couch where your bottom was pressed into it. Before you can say anything he is turning around and heading into the room towards the walk in shower.

“Tell me baby who bought you this pretty little dress?” Harry’s deep voice has you letting out a moan as you turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the soft fabric of the sheets on the bed in your hotel room.

Your new dress pushed up over your hips and your ass in the air as he stands at the foot of the bed, his hands on your hips as he thrusts his hard cock into your tight cunt. Having not been able to control himself as soon as the two of you got back into the room from dinner he had you bent down on the bed and was pushing his painfully hard length into your warm wet hole before you could even fully get your shoes off.

“You-you did.” You answer with a moan as he gives you a harsh thrust that has you gripping the sheets.

“That’s right and why did I buy it for you?” His grip tightens on your hips and you know you’ll have little bruises there in the morning but you don’t mind, you like the little reminders of the times he can’t control himself because his need for you is too strong.

“Be-because you-ohhh god.” Your words get lost in a muffled cry as Harry’s thrusts get harder and faster, fucking you into the mattress with a determination to have you turn into a withering mess by the time he’s finished with you.

“Focus baby.” His lips are on your lower back as he moves a hand from your hip and slides it to your front so he can rub his middle finger against your puffy oversensitive clit. “Why’d I buy you the dress hmm? Why do I spend money on you sweetheart?” You let out a sharp cry as he begins to rub tight little circles over it sending shivers down your spine all the way to your toes.

“Because you-you lo-oh fuck-you love me.” You feel him place open mouth kisses to your lower back as you answer his question between soft moans.

“Exactly.” You feel your body start to get tingly as he pounds his big cock into you. “I love you so much-I buy you pretty things and take you out places- but then I get to watch you fall apart for me while I fuck this sweet little pussy of yours.” His words have you white knuckling the sheets as your walls begin to flutter around him. “But you love it don’t you baby? Love getting your pussy pounded by me and my big cock huh? Need it just as bad as I do.”

“Yes yes yes.” The words leave your mouth in a jumbled mess but Harry hears them loud and clear as you start to come undone.

“Love when I buy you pretty things and take you to fancy places? Love being my messy little muffin?”

“Love it-so so much.” Harry lets out a groan as your walls start to squeeze around him, he puts more pressure on your clit and that’s when you push your hips back to meet his thrusts and he feels your climax hit you. You let out a strained cry of his name as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you soaking his shaft in your arousal.

“There you go-that’s my good girl.” You let out a pitiful whine when he pulls out but he’s quick to help you roll over so you’re flat on your back with your head resting on your pillow. “Need to see that pretty face-fuck baby you’re so perfect.” His sweet words have you reaching your hands out for him, he gives you a smile as he hovers over you, his lips find yours in a heated kiss as he slides his hard shaft back into your warmth.

“Oh.” Your gasp has Harry grinning against your lips as he thrusts into you at a deliberately slow pace, trying to pull every ounce of pleasure from to that he can.

“Feels like heaven being tucked deep inside you like this.” His lips travel down your jaw as he keeps his slow pace, he lets out a deep moan when you wrap a leg around his hip pulling him closer. “Shit baby I’m so-fuck fuck I’m gonna come-where do you want it baby?”

“Wanna taste it.” Harry lifts his head and looks at you and when you nod and slide your leg from over his hip he quickly pulls out and leans back so he’s resting on his knees. He gives himself a few quick pumps as you sit up and bend over, your eyes meet his as your lips wrap around his tip, he lets out a loud moan of your name as you take him further into your mouth.

“Fuck yes baby-just oh god yes just like that.” He tilts his head up and closes his eyes as you gag around him when the tip of his long cock hits the back of your throat sending him over the edge. You feel him come in long spurts, swallowing it all down as he lets out a cry of your name as you bob your head and work him through his release. “That’s it baby-it’s all for you swallow it all down.” He brings a hand down and tangles it in your hair as you slowly pull off his spit slicked cock with a light pop. “Fuck I’m so obsessed with you.” He says with a breathy laugh that has you giggling as he gently tugs on your hair until your face is tilted up towards him.

“I love-” the sound of a piece of paper being slid under the door of your room has your words caught it your throat. Harry turns his head to face the door, his hand leaves your hair letting you sit back on the bed while he climbs off and normally you’d get a chuckle out of him walking around with nothing but his short sleeved dress shirt on but right now you’re more worried about if the person who slid the note under the door heard the two of you or not.

“Well this is a first.” His voice is laced with amusement as he reads over the note while walking back over to you on the bed. “It seems my love that someone was worried about your safety due to some unusual sounds coming from our room and-balcony today.” You feel your face get bright red as he tosses the note onto the nightstand before kneeing his way over to you on the bed.

“Oh my god.”

“So you’ll have to call the front desk and let them know you’re fine.”

“Me? I’m not-no fucking way am I calling them.” Harry lets out a laugh as he grabs your knees and spreads your legs over so he can situate himself between them.

“Fine we will just go have a drink at the bar downstairs and they’ll see just how perfectly fine you are.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you as he rests his chin on your lower tummy.

“Oh god this is so embarrassing.” You hide your face in your hands as Harry runs his hands up and down your sides. “And all your fault.” You tell him once you move your hands from your face so you can send him a glare.

“Yeah well I’m your boyfriend I’m supposed to make you scream my name that’s one of the perks of the gig.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And you apparently are so damn loud people think I’m murdering you.” You roll your eyes as he gives you a playful wink.

“Go get a cloth or whatever and clean me up so we can go let these lovely people know I’m alive and well.” Harry lets out a laugh as he moves so he’s hovering over you.

“Oh yeah I’d say you’re very well indeed- well fucked and fed all thanks to me and well dressed thanks to oh-yeah that’d also be me.” You give his chest a few swats but Harry catches the way your lips curve upward as you fight off a laugh. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too Harry.”

288 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 9 days ago

Text

Can’t wait for them to spend more time together and *hopefully 🤞🏻* see him be more confident in himself 💚💜

Fine Print: Chemistry

Masterlist: Here

CW: shyness, brief moments of insecurities, smut (masturbation), Harry is a nervous baby.

A/N: I am so excited to get this story going and I hope yall like it, I’ve never done shy Harry so this was fun!✨

Word Count: 6.5K

Tag List: @vikiii07 @pearlybows @sweetmoonlove0214 @mads3502 @somewiseguy @matildasatellite @lizsogolden @spinninc @prettygurl-2009 @onrsie @silastylesswift @umadirectioner @littlemomentsofbeauty @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @mema10 @angeldavis777

Summary: Harry’s mom sets up a meeting, you make Harry nervous but are determined to have him feel comfortable around you✨

“But who is she?” Harry asks for the third time as he follows his mom around her garden, adjusting his glasses as she kneels down to cut a few stems of her rose bush. Anne doesn’t look over at her son as she hands him the stems so he can place them in the basket he has his soft cardigan covered arm looped through.

“I told you Harry she’s a lovely girl that I think will do splendidly as your significant other.” Harry feels his tummy do flips at the idea of this girl he doesn’t even know being his significant other. “I know this isn’t ideal and you’re a romantic but it’s just temporary okay? Just until you settle in and get your footing in your new role.” She goes on to add as she spots a few more good looking roses to cut off and hand to Harry to place in the basket.

“This is all just-just a lot and and what if she doesn’t even like me?” Harry feels his chest tighten as he pictures sitting down across from a woman who ends up leaving as soon as Harry opens his mouth and stutters over his hello because he’s nervous and ends up saying something ridiculous. “She’ll probably think I’m-I’m weird or not her type because-”

“Now Harry that’s just ridiculous you’re everyone’s type.” Anne says gently interrupting his nervous rant, not trying to downplay his worries but not letting him talk poorly about himself in the process. “You’re not weird so that’s enough of that and I happen to know for a fact she thinks you’re quite charming.” Harry’s face gets five shades redder as his mother lets him in on a little secret she’s been carrying around ever since she approached you with the idea of marrying her son so he can take his father’s place as head of the family business.

“R-really? She-she said I’m charming?” He stutters as he reaches up and adjusts his glasses, Anne turns her head to look over at him and nods with a soft smile.

“She did.”

“So we’ve met before? Her and I?”

“Once or twice yes.”

“When?” He wonders as he follows his mother as she moves to another rose bush with pink flowers. She waves her hand and lets out a hum as if she’s trying to shoo away his questions.

“I don’t remember.” She answers not looking at him, focusing on finding the prettiest flowers to add to the basket so she can make a few arrangements to place around the house. “Just don’t be late tonight okay? That’s not a good first impression.”

“Mother we’ve already met so this isn’t going to be a first impression.” He states making Anne shoot him a glare that has him swallowing down his sudden braveness, not wanting to get on his mother’s bad side when she seems to be in a very cheerful mood.

“This is important Harry I need you to just be on time and show her how truly lovely you are.” He lets out a sigh as his mother turns so she’s facing him. “Think you can manage that?” She asks as she raises her hand that’s glove free and rests it on the side of Harry’s face, giving his cheek a gentle pat.

“Yes ma’am I can manage that.” He answers with a small smile, trying his hardest to not let his nerves show. And it clearly works as his mom just returns his smile before turning back around to cut a few more roses from the bush. Harry watches from a few steps away as his tummy twists itself into knots and his heart begins to beat a mile a minute when he looks down at his wrist and sees that in a little over four hours he’ll be meeting someone who will potentially be his wife for an undisclosed amount of time, and all he can think or more so worry about is if you’ll like him.

Harry feels as if the entire weight of his family business is resting on his shoulders as he sits in the plush leather seat in the middle of a cafe near his house. He looks around as he nervously fidgets with the ring on his index finger, spinning it around while trying to seem like nothing is troubling him and act like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest that whoever is about to take the seat across from him is going to eventually have the same last name as him. His knee is bouncing up and down as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, regretting the choice to wear a long sleeve cream colored jumper knowing that he tends to run a little warm when he’s nervous. He is halfway through debating on if he should order a coffee or if it’ll make his heart that already feels on the verge of bursting with how wildly it’s beating, actually do just that with the addition of caffeine when he feels a presence behind him.

“Is it normal for you to sit in a cafe and not order anything?” Your voice startles him as you lean down and fold your arms on the back of his chair so you’re lips are right next to his ear, Harry immediately jolts forward so he can turn his upper body and look at you just as you stand up with a smile on your face that has him struggling to form complete sentences in his mind.

You watch his cheeks turn a deep pink as he reaches up and fixes his glasses that slid down his nose a bit with how quickly he scooted forward in his seat. You can’t help the way your smile spreads into a full blown grin at how utterly adorable the man sitting in front of you is, with his khaki colored slacks and soft knitted jumper and his glasses that bring your attention to his soft jade colored eyes that can’t seem to stare into yours longer than a few seconds before they look elsewhere. You feel his eyes on you as you walk around his chair until you’re standing in front of him with your hand out.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” Harry takes your hand as you tell him your name and it’s one that for some reason sounds vaguely familiar. “I’m going to be your wife in,” you take your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the date on your lock screen. “Two and a half weeks.” You state with a smile as you give his hand a firm shake.

“Oh uhm uh hi I’m-I’m Harry St-Styles.” He fumbles his way through his greeting and it makes him internally cringe at how dumb he sounds just trying to tell you his name, a name that he knows you already know.

“I like your last name.” You tell him as he lets go of your hand, you turn and walk over to the seat across from him. “I like it so much I think I’ll make it mine as well is that okay with you?” You ask as you plop down into the seat, letting your bag fall to the floor by your feet. Harry blinks a few times before clearing his throat and running a hand through his curly brown hair.

“You’re uhm really okay with all of uh-this?” He gestures between the two of you with his hand that’s not white knuckle griping the armrest of his chair.

“Yeah I’m fine with it-I mean don’t get me wrong it’s a little old school to need the person running your family business to be married and a man but it’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” Your answer has Harry’s mind reeling with possibilities of what could be the craziest thing you’ve ever heard, his eyes glance down to your shoes when you catch him staring at you for a beat too long. “I’m going to need you to do something for me okay?” Your voice is soft and sweet but still gives off a sense of confidence that has Harry already mentally agreeing to whatever it is you’re about to ask him to do. You lean over and rest your forearms on your knees, your hands clasp together and your eyes stare into his once he swallows down his nerves and dares to meet your gaze.

“Wh-what is it?”

“I need you to look me in the eye for a full two minutes.”

“I-I uhm why?” He asks as he adjusts his glasses and feels his face get hot as you continue to stare directly at him making him have to look away.

“Because it’ll make it easier for you to not get so-blushy around me if we just stare at each other for a few minutes and then maybe it’ll also help you listen better because I hit you with two jokes about us getting married and you didn’t even chuckle so yeah we have to get this out of the way before it becomes a thing.” Harry sits there in awe of how well you managed to get through your whole little spiel without fumbling over your words, looking away from him and all without your cheeks even gaining the tiniest hint of a blush. Your words came out smoothly and your voice never lost its gentleness, not even when explaining how he failed to laugh at your two little attempts at jokes that clearly went right over his head.

“Why-why two minutes? Why not just uh just one?” He rubs at the back of his neck as his eyes glance over your shoulder to the back of the small cafe, needing a break from the eye contact.

“It’s been scientifically proven that the longer you can maintain eye contact with someone the less likely they are to make you nervous and as your soon to be wife I’d like to make you a little nervous.” This time Harry doesn’t miss the small change your voice does when you lightly tease him, how the softness has a playful edge to it. “But not enough to make you uncomfortable.” You explain with a calming smile that makes a swarm of butterflies go off in his tummy.

“Okay.”

“Great.” You pull out your phone and scroll to the timer app and set it for two minutes before placing it on the armrest of your chair. “Ready?” He gives you a nod in response as he fixes his glasses and runs his palms over the tops of his thighs. “Two minutes starts now.” His eyes slowly find yours and he has to fight the urge to immediately look away, his hands grip his pants as he feels his cheeks get warmer and warmer as the seconds tick by.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?” Your voice almost makes Harry look away but he just clears his throat and maintains his eye contact.

“Uhm uh-have we met before? My mom said-”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Five or six years ago I think? It was very brief at a convention my dad dragged me to. Your dad was talking to my dad about golf clubs and I dropped my badge on the floor and you picked it up for me.” The wheels in Harry’s mind begin to turn and you smile as if you can actually see him beginning to figure it out.

“Your dad knows my dad?” You just nod and then the lightbulb goes off in Harry’s mind. “Oh-I knew- knew your name sounded familiar. Your dad used to-”

“Own one of your biggest competitors? Yeah. Well before he sold it two years ago.”

“Oh.” He says as he sits back in his chair, his eyes a little wide but still locked onto yours. “Is that-that why my mom picked you? Because of your family?”

“Picked me? Harry do you think she selected me out of some applicant pool as if she posted about this on some job site?” You ask with a laugh making him shrug, the timer goes off and you silence it and much to your surprise Harry stays looking directly at you.

“I don’t know how she did it. She just uh told me what was happening and if I’d uhm-have any-any issues with it.”

“Well your mom has been going to my tennis club for the last year and a half so we’ve gotten friendly and she approached me two weeks ago with this proposal of marrying her son so he can take his father’s place as head of the company.” Harry nods as you begin telling him the story his mother has been refusing to. “She told me she wanted someone like me because I know how it goes-running a company and the toll it can take on someone. But mainly because she wanted someone who would help you gain the confidence and respect of your employees because you’re-”

“Too nice? Soft? A w-wimp?” Your eyes harden just a bit as you stand up from your seat and Harry regrets opening his mouth as you approach his chair.

“Being soft isn’t a bad thing. The world is plenty sharp enough I think it needs more softness.” Harry feels his hands get sweaty as you place a hand on the back of his chair so you can lean over and run a hand through his hair. “She said you’re kindhearted and she doesn’t want to see you get taken advantage of.” You answer as you stand up and he feels as if he can take a sigh of relief when you look away from him and over towards the counter. “Let’s go order something so we don’t look like the only two weirdos not drinking anything in the middle of a cafe.” He stumbles out of his chair to follow you as you head for the counter.

“So uhm why did-did your dad uh sell the company?” Harry asks surprising not only you but himself as the two of you stand off to the side after ordering your drinks. You just give him a casual shrug as you lean against the counter.

“He wanted to retire and I didn’t want to take it over.” Your answer is simple but Harry can tell there’s more to it but before he can ask anything else a nice barista is handing him a cup of coffee and you an iced late.

“Thank you.” You quirk a brow at Harry’s soft spoken thanks, because you were standing next to him when he ordered and you know for a fact he didn’t order a hot coffee. You notice him bring the cup up to his lips and make a face that tells you he doesn’t like whatever he just took a sip of.

“Excuse me?” Harry nearly trips over himself to follow you as you take the cup from his hands and walk around to the front of the counter, as he stands behind you he begins to think this is going to be something he’ll be doing a lot of, stumbling over himself to keep up with you.

“Hi how can I help you?” You give the barista a pleasant smile as you place the cup down on the counter in front of her.

“He ordered a double shot over ice with two creams and one sugar.” You explain with no hint of annoyance or rudeness in your voice, just right to the point. The woman looks at the cup and then back at you with an apologetic look on her face.

“So sorry I’ll get that out right away.”

“Thank you so much.” You say before turning around and Harry watches your hand as it comes and rests on his arm. “It’s not rude to ask for things to be fixed. It doesn’t make you an asshole.” It’s as if you can read him like a book the way your words hit him right in the chest. “Don’t settle for things you don’t like. Not even something as small as a cup of coffee.”

“Here you go ma’am so sorry about that.” You turn and grab the cup from the nice woman’s hand, giving her a smile.

“Thank you it’s for my husband-gets a little cranky without his mid day caffeine kick.” You joke making the woman laugh as she looks over your shoulder towards Harry who is looking down at the floor while rubbing the back of his neck hoping neither of you can see how pink his cheeks are.

“Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Did you call me your uhm hus-husband?” You just nod as you hand him his coffee and walk back over to the side of the counter to grab your latte and head back to your chair.

“Might as well start getting used to calling you that right?” You stop mid step nearly making Harry crash into you as you turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. “Unless you don’t want me to be your wife and you’re just trying to think of a polite way to tell me you’re not interested and your mom needs to find someone-”

“No no I like you.” He sputters out faster than he intends making you let out a chuckle. “I just don’t uhm know what happens now?” You reach your hand up and place it on the side of his face, Harry instantly without any shame leans into the warmth of your touch.

“Well did you want to propose now or wait until after my background check clears?” This has Harry choking on a sip of coffee and trying to catch his breath as you reach up and place a kiss to the cheek your hand isn’t holding.

“I uh-uhm I don’t-don’t know.” You laugh as you pull away from him and drop your hand from his face allowing him to collect himself.

“I’m just kidding Harry- that’s three jokes now so maybe we need to do some more eye content drills.” You lightly tease as you give his arm a reassuring squeeze before looking down at the watch on your wrist with a small frown. “It was lovely meeting you but I have to go-I’ll see you in a few days for drinks or dinner okay?” All Harry can do is nod as you give him one last warm smile before turning and grabbing your stuff and heading out the door of the cafe.

“Holy crap.” He mumbles as he walks over to his chair and plops down with a humph. “That-that was my future wife.” A smile creeps its way onto his face as he leans his head against the cushion of he chair, the sound of your voice and the way your eyes seem to sparkle when you smile replaying in his head as he begins to think that maybe this won’t be too bad, you seem nice and have enough confidence for the both of you so maybe this will turn out better than he thought.

“You look cute.” Your words already have Harry feeling flustered as he stands up to greet you when you make your way to the table in the back of a little Italian place you suggested the two of you have dinner at.

His eyes quickly rake over your frame, he is in a slight daze over how effortlessly put together and cute you look with your green dress that you tossed a thin white sweater over so you don’t get cold. It’s not lost on him how you manage to make something that’s simple look as elegant as an evening gown with how you carry yourself. He can see exactly why his mom sought you out for him. When his eyes meet yours his tummy does a weird little flip when you give him a little wink.

“I like you in brown.” He smiles and looks down at his light brown cardigan he has over his plain white t shirt that’s tucked into a pair of jeans, you hang your bag in an empty chair before leaning over and placing a kiss to his cheek. “Makes your eyes pop.” You explain making him just nod as he tries to act like the feeling of your lips on his cheek hasn’t been at the forefront of his mind since you did it the first time two days ago in the cafe.

“Thank-thank you uhm you look beautiful.” His voice gives his nerves away as he feels his whole face get hot when you pull away from him. You let out a chuckle as you take your seat in the chair right next to him that he is quick to pull out for you.

“So glad I’m marrying a man with manners.” You say appreciatively as he helps push your chair closer to the table.

He smiles as he lets his eyes wander over your face for a moment before taking his seat, taking note of how pretty you look with the candle light blanketing your features in a soft glow. He feels suddenly out of place sitting here with you, as if he doesn’t quite meet the standards of someone you should be seen having dinner with.

“Okay come on.” He’s brought out of his thoughts by your hand grabbing his on top of the table.

“Where-where are we going?” He asks making you laugh as you shake your head and even though you’re laughing at him having no clue what’s going on he decides he likes the way it sounds.

“No where.” You say with a laugh as you wrap your fingers around his hand. “Just need you to look in my eyes for a bit because that’s now four marriage jokes I’ve told you since meeting you and I still haven’t gotten even a little giggle out of you and it’s not that I think I’m wildly funny or anything but I do think those were decent chuckle worthy jokes.”

“I’m-I’m sorry I just-”

“It’s okay.” Your voice puts him more at ease as you give his hand a soft squeeze. “I just want you to feel comfortable around me that’s all so come on-look me in the eyes and tell me what you’re wearing to this party on Saturday so I can plan accordingly.” Your eyes are soft and easy to get lost in when Harry finally finds it within himself to look into them.

“Uhm I’m wearing a black suit with a r-red shirt and black slacks and uh-uh black dress shoes.” You nod along as Harry slowly tumbles his way through telling you what he’s wearing to his father’s retirement party, never making him feel as if he needs to rush you just simply sit there and look at him as if what he’s saying is the most interesting thing you’ve ever heard.

“Okay I have a red dress but I’ll have to see the exact shade of red your shirt is to make sure it matches or else we are going to look silly.”

“You-you want to match with-”

“With my fiancé? Yes. Makes it look as if we’ve been coordinating our outfits for years-it’ll be good to make it seem as if this won’t be our first social outing as a couple.”

“Oh right-yes that makes uhm sense.” You instantly pick up on the slight shift in Harry’s voice, going from shocked and excited to almost deflated and it has you leaning towards him, a small smirk playing at the corners of your mouth.

“And I just want everyone to know you’re mine and nothing does that better in a room full of nosey businessmen and their even nosier wives than a matching color scheme.” Harry has to break the eye contact as he feels his cheeks get hot, he adjusts his glasses and softly clears his throat before he can look at you again. “So just send me a photo of your shirt and I’ll make sure my dress matches.”

“Did you want to arrive together? Uh like with-with uhm me? So it doesn’t look weird us showing up separately?”

“Oh my man has manners and brains? I might never give you up.” This has Harry quietly chuckling making your eyes go wide and a grin to spread across your face. “Oh my god I’ve done it!” He smiles as you give his hand a firm squeeze and reach over with your free hand and place it on his cheek. “You laughed.” You say with a happy sigh making him once again let out a chuckle at your dramatics that give him a warm and fuzzy feeling on the inside because of how happy you are over the fact you managed to get him to laugh.

“Does this mean we don’t-don’t need the eye contact uhm drills anymore?” He asks nervously as you pull your hand away from his cheek and when you just give him a look he already knows your answer.

“Oh no we are going to continue to do them until I get a full on belly laugh out of you.” He just nods and rubs his lips together as you finally let go of his hand so you can grab the menu that’s in front of you. “Now let’s pick something to eat because I’m starving and you and I have things to discuss and I can’t do business on an empty stomach.”

“So you-you don’t want to change anything about the contract? You’re-you’re sure?” Harry asks as you scrape the last bit of ice cream from the sundae you ordered for dessert. “Not even the uhm-uh compensation? I left that-that open for negotiation.” You let out a hum of pleasure as you put the spoon in your mouth that has Harry’s gaze falling away from your eyes and down to your lips. He watches as you pull the spoon from your mouth and lick your lips in what seems like slow motion making him shift in his seat and look down at the table as he fixes his glasses.

“Harry I don’t need to be heavily compensated I have enough money to live a very comfortable life so yes everything is fine.” You answer as you push the now empty bowl away from you. “I was a little shocked at what was hidden in the fine print though.” Harry raises an eyebrow as you fold your napkin and place it on the table next to your bowl.

“What-what fine print?”

“The fine print that says that the timeframe for our marriage is dependent upon on how quickly we can get you to be taken seriously and seen as a dependable and confident new head of the company but I can expect it to take anywhere between six months to over a year.”

“Oh I see.”

“And that I get an extra ten thousand for every baby I give you.” You have a playful smile on your face as Harry nearly drops his glass of water and looks at you with wide eyes.

“That-that’s not-there’s no way-you don’t have-”

“Relax Harry I’m kidding. There’s nothing about babies in the contract.” Harry lets out a sigh of relief that has you reaching over and lightly smacking his arm. “Gee can you sound anymore relieved? I mean I don’t think having babies with me would be that horrible.”

“Oh no that’s not-I don’t think it would be bad it would be lovely-not the uhm making of the babies but that you’d-you’d uhm make lovely-lovely babies.” Harry officially wants to get up, walk away and change his name as the words seem to fall from his mouth without his permission.

“I think you’d make some pretty adorable babies as well Harry.” He can’t bring himself to look at you as your words hit his ears, still too embarrassed by the ridiculous stuttering mess of jumbled up words he just said to you. “Your mom said we are announcing the engagement at the party so that will officially mean the countdown is on and we have to be married by the time your dad leaves his office for the last time.” You quickly and smoothly move the conversation along as you grab your glass of water so you can take a sip.

“Okay does that me we have to-”

“How are we doing over here?” Harry looks up as the waitress approaches the table, her eyes never leaving Harry as she stands there with a smile on her face. “Need anything else? More water or-”

“I think we are good thank you.” You answer as the waitress not so subtly checks Harry out, who is too busy turning and looking over at you to notice. When she finally looks away from him and over at you, you reach over and place your hand over his arm as you lean just a tad bit closer to him to show the waitress that Harry is very much not avaible for her to drool over, at least not in front of you. “Oh actually maybe the check if you don’t mind?”

“Oh uh yeah sure thing I’ll be right back.” You see the small hint of disappointment on her face when Harry just stays looking at you, making her have no other choice but to nod as she turns and walks away.

“So how are you feeling about this? Like really?” You ask with a tone that Harry hasn’t heard from you before, it’s still sweet but the undertone is more serious.

“I uhm-”

“Don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings okay? Be honest.”

“I feel good about this uhm I was nervous-I’m still nervous but not about this but more about uh taking-taking over the company that-that’s uhm yeah a uh a lot.”

“Well you won’t have to do that alone.” Harry once again feels butterflies in his tummy when you give him a genuine smile as you give his arm a squeeze. “I’ll be there every step of the way.” Your words have him relaxing a bit, you slide your hand down so it’s over his wrist.

“Thank you.” He says with a smile that lets you see his dimples for the first time, your whole face lights up as you stare at him.

“Oh goodness dimples? Yeah good luck getting rid of me you’re like the total package.” Harry’s face gets warm but he fights through it and doesn’t take his eyes off yours.

“I uhm had a good-good time tonight.” He tells you as he mindlessly flips his hand over so his palm is facing up and you don’t waste anytime in sliding your hand into his making him swallow nervously as you slip your fingers between his.

“Here’s your check. Have a good rest of your night.” You reach over with your free hand and grab the check from the middle of the table before Harry can even try to reach for it as soon as the waitress walks away.

“I can’t let you-”

“Can’t let me what? Buy you dinner? Why not?”

“Uhm because that’s-this is like a uh date right? So-so I should pay.”

“Says who?”

“It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Don’t worry I won’t think you’re rude for letting me pay it’s okay.” Harry lets out a sigh as he shakes his head while you grab your wallet out of your purse. “Look at us. Having our first fight over who gets to pay for dinner. We’re so cute.”

“This-it’s not a fight but just know I’m not okay with this.” You laugh and give his hand a squeeze as you place the check down with your card tucked underneath it.

“I’ll let you pay for everything else from now on how about that?”

“Fine.” He tries to sound upset but the smile tugging at his mouth gives him away and before he can stop himself he’s leaning over and tucking some hair behind your ear. “Sorry you-”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to touch me I’m not made of glass.” Your voice is light and teasing but Harry can’t help but sense a hidden meaning to your words but before he can think to hard about it the waitress comes by to grab the check.

“So I’ll see you this weekend?” You ask as you stand outside the restaurant, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“Yes I’ll uhm come pick you up around six if that-that works for you?”

“Works great.” You answer as you take a small step towards him, Harry looks down at you and adjusts his glasses as you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I had a nice time tonight Harry. Thank you for being such a gentleman.” You tell him as his body finally reacts to what’s happening, you rest your cheek against his shirt as his arms loosely wrap around your shoulders returning your embrace.

“Thank you for being uhm so-understanding I uh can see why my mom picked you.” You smile as you pull away and look up at him.

“See you Saturday hubby.” You give him a playful wink that has him chuckling and it works as a distraction so he doesn’t notice you reaching up on your tiptoes until he feels your lips on his in a kiss that is so quick the only way he knows it actually happened is he can faintly feel the softness of your lips when you pull away with a smile. “Don’t worry I’ll text you when I get home. I know how much you worry about me.” You tease as you unwrap your arms from around him.

“Uhm uh-see-see you Saturday.” His words are rushed and it makes you giggle as Harry’s arm fall down to his sides as he watches in a trance like state as you turn around and head towards the car that’s waiting to take you home. You give him a wave that he doesn’t register and try to return before it’s too late and you’ve already climbed into the backseat and closed the door, leaving Harry standing there in a daze as he watches the car drive off down the street feeling not nervous, but actually kinda excited about Saturday.

Harry can’t seem to get you out of his head when he gets home from dinner. His mind is a mixture of images that remind him of how pretty you are, how sweet your voice is when you’re telling him a story and the adorable smile you get when you’re teasing him. But the main two things that have Harry’s mind spinning is how much he enjoys hearing you call him your fiancé or husband already, he knows those are titles he’ll actually be to you soon but hearing them fall from your lips with such enthusiasm and excitement makes his heart do weird things and he really can’t get over how soft your hands feel whenever you slide them into his or wrap them around his wrist.

Harry steps into his shower thinking it’ll help him relax and get you off his mind, he lets the warm water hit him easing the tension in his shoulders as the warmth of the steam engulfs him. He lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes, but he’s instantly met with visions of you laughing and smiling at him and something about the way you smile at him sends a shiver down his spine. The visions playing in his mind are so vivid, he can practically hear your voice saying his name and the feeling of your hand gently wrapping around his wrist and suddenly it’s all too much for him.

Harry’s arm reaches forward, his hand resting on the cool tile wall of his shower as he feels himself hardening at the mere thought of you. He slides a hand down his toned stomach wondering how it would feel if it was your hand and not his own, he lets out a groan as he wraps his hand around his hard length giving himself a few slow strokes. He knows this is probably borderline inappropriate, stroking himself to the idea of how it would feel to have your soft hands on him but in this very moment Harry can only focus on how good he feels.

“Oh shit.” He mumbles as he remembers the faint feeling of your lips against his, his mind spinning with ideas of how nice those lips would feel wrapped around his hard cock. He lets out a soft moan as he pictures you kneeling down in front of him, your pretty round eyes gazing upward, lips parted invitingly. His hand tightens around himself as he envisions your tongue tracing him teasingly, your mouth enveloping him fully feeling deliciously warm and wet around his shaft, your head bobbing rhythmically.

“Oh yes-just like that.” He murmurs breathlessly, his hand quickening its pace, gripping tighter as pleasure starts to build rapidly. Harry swears he can almost hear your soft moans, they’d be sweet and a bit whiney and it makes his cock twitch in his grasp. He imagines your hands gripping his thighs as you take him deeper, letting his hands tangle in your hair, imagines the moans you’d let out when he gives it a few tugs.

“Fuck.” He gasps urgently, his hips thrusting instinctively into his own hand, driven by the vivid image of you looking up at him while he thrusts his hips letting the tip of his thick cock hit the back of your throat making you gag slightly. Your nails digging into the back of his thighs urging him on.

“Shit-oh fuck.” He groans loudly, the warm water cascading over his trembling body as his climax surges powerfully through him, releasing in hot pulses onto the shower tiles. He shudders deeply, breathing heavily as the intense pleasure begins to subside. His eyes slowly open and he lets out a shaky breath as he realizes what he just did and instead of feeling guilty or even embarrassed at how quickly he managed to get himself off he just lets out a breathy laugh at how flustered you made him after just a few interactions with you, knowing it’s only going to get worst the longer he’s around you. He shakes his head making water fling off the ends of his damp hair, trying to clear his mind.

“Get it together Harry.” He mumbles to himself as he tilts his head up towards the water and runs both hands through his hair. The movement making him remember how good your hand felt when you ran it through his hair in the cafe. He has to shut his eyes tight and make himself think of other things like memos from work and meetings with the marketing team so he doesn’t get worked up again but even those thoughts have him remembering how soft your voice sounded when telling him how you’ll be with him every step of the way as he transitions into his new role and he feels his cock twitch between his thighs making him let out a frustrated groan.

“I’m so fucked.”

276 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 11 days ago

Text

Yesssss. Loved it

Full*

A/N: I'm back! sorry for not posting, the weekend was busy but currently can't sleep so I decided to type something up. Kept it short and sweet but still hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Soft Dom Harry x Sub reader

Warnings: cock warming, and light dirty talk

WC: 1,363

Summary: After feeling like something was missing all day, Harry and his angel soon come to the realization she just needs to be full (of him).

18+

His angel sat there, feeling needy, but what was new?

She always needed him, wanted him, and to be fully emersed in him.

Harry was currently back from work, taking a nice hot shower after work, washing off all the stress that came with his job. But luckily enough for them, it was the weekend, and he wouldn’t have to return until days later.

She got up from the stool next to the kitchen island as the timer for the oven had gone off. She moved quickly to take it out and move it towards the dining table, even plating it up for him.

She was well aware of how hard work could be on him, so she did everything she could to make home as comfortable as possible. Even on the good days. No matter what, she did everything to make it easier on him, it was the least she could do. In a way, it was a small proportion and act of devotion she had for him.

He deserved nothing but the best as he treated her so good and she felt incredibly loved everyday.

With perfect timing, Harry came down the stairs, ready to eat. His hair damp from his shower, some droplets falling down and marking the tshirt he had thrown on. He smiled as soon as he saw her and the plated dinner.

Harry made his way over to the table, stopping behind her, arms wrapping around her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek and nuzzle his head into her neck, where he placed more soft kisses.

“Thank you for making dinner sweetheart, so good t’me.” God his tired voice was so hot. His freshly cleaned self had a woodsy sent that made her nearly feral.

He removed himself, to her dismay, and settled into the chair beside her, where he food was plated.

“Of course Harry, its the least I could do when you take such good care of me.” She smiled fondly at him while his whole expression softed even more.

“See what I mean, always so good t’me, such an angel.” His hand came up, palm resting on the side of her face and stroking his thumb across her cheek. Her eyes looked at her with such admiration, it was simple times like this that made her feel so loved.

Harry leaned in, placing a soft and chaste kiss on her lips before pulling away and both of them started on their meal.

She always felt so strongly about Harry, she adored everything he did. But today felt different, more prominent. As he ate, she couldn’t help but watch him with a dazed look.

He quickly noticed but wasn’t sure of what to think of it, he instead settled on talking with her, “Make sure y’eat the food you worked so hard to make lovey.” His gaze wandering to hers as she blushed and picked up her fork. But instead of eating, she kept pushing it around her plate, keeping her head down.

“I didn’t work that hard H, its a simple thing really.” He frowned, he didn’t like when she talked like that about herself.

“Don’t sell yourself short, I love how you do this f’me. It makes me feel special knowing my girlfriend goes out of her way to do this for me damn near every night, I really do appreciate it pet.” As she gazed up she noticed his furrowed eyebrows as he made his point to her.

“I love you Harry.” His frown was turned into a smile, as she looked at him with her dazed eyes. Although he was a little concerned with her slightly-off behavior, he didn’t want to bring it up in the moment.

“And I love you angel,” His hand reaching for hers, giving it a squeeze. “Now please eat your food, we can watch a movie after were done, hm?”

She nodded her head before focusing back on her plate. She wasn’t sure of this feeling she was having. She felt extra needy of him today and didn’t even know how to explain it to him. She didn’t think he had noticed, but she could never be sure with him as he was always excellent at observing her and knew exactly how she was feeling a lot of the time.

The feeling had came after this morning. He had woken her up with soft kisses that soon turned into passionate sex that left her wanting more. Although he wasn’t exactly able to do so with already running behind for work, she felt like she just needed to be filled again.

She tried focusing her mind on less dirty things and complied to his wishes of eating the dinner she had made, all she wanted to do was make him happy afterall.

They both laid on the couch, completely entangled in eachother. Harry, rested on the bottom, with his angel laid overtop of him. His arms circled around her, hands rubbing comforting circles on her back, as a blanket was pulled over them. She felt so warm and cozy, but still had a missing piece that needed to be filled (literally).

She completely lost focus on the film that was on the screen, deciding being wrapped up in Harry completely was much more fulfilling as she moved to lay to head from his chest to where his shoulder and neck meet, pressing sweet kisses continuously before he spoke up.

“Whats wrong honey, hm? Love it to bits and pieces when you’re needy like this but y’worrying me a bit,” She felt embarrassment creep up her and she dug her head deeper into his skin that still had his bodywash scent lingering from his shower earlier. “I noticed something at dinner. You can tell me, I’m the last person to judge you sweetheart, just want to make sure you’re alright.” His hand kept rubbing reassuring circles into her back and she kept her face in his neck.

“I don’t know what wrong H. I’ve just been feeling like this since this morning. Like- like I need you, like full of you. I don’t know how to explain it- I haven’t felt like this before.” Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke lightly.

Although she might not of understood what was going on, he did. “Y’need to be filled sweetheart? Want me inside you hm?”

“Yes H. I’ve never felt like I just needed you in me, you know? I don’t know if it would feel nice for you, I just don’t want you to get disappointed.”

“I could never be disappointed by anything you give me. Whatever you want, you have it, okay? I’ll help you out angel but you need to tell me these things so you aren’t feeling crummy.” He lightly scolded her but she didn’t take it to hard. She knew he really did just want to please her whatever way he could.

“Okay, I’m sorry Harry.”

“Its alright angel, nothing to be sorry for.” He turned his head placing a kiss on her head before moving his hands further to pull his boxers down. “Now you just relax and keep my cock warm, hm? Sound nice?”

“Yes.” she breathed out before his hand moved to her panties before pulling them to the side.

He grabbed his cock, slowly dragging it up and down her folds that already managed to get wet- partially from her dirty thoughts she had previously been thinking about. “Already wet for me, such a good girl.”

His cock stopped dragging before it was pushed into her, slowly inserting inch by inch. Her breath hitched as more of him was in her and how great it felt after needing it all day.

“Is this what you needed pet? Needed this cock in you for your pussy to keep warm and snug?” He placed more kisses on your head, moving a hand up to stroke your hair.

“Yes daddy, feels so nice.” He grinned as knowing his angel was satisfied after needing it all day.

They both laid there as the movie continued, his cock staying snug inside her, and her fully satisfied with how complete she felt.

354 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 12 days ago

Text

I love a good sub drop with aftercare. This was amazing 💚💜

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader.

CW: BDSM (consensual dom/sub), impact play (belt), hair pulling, emotional overwhelm, subdrop, crying, flinching/fear response, gentle aftercare, teary Harry, emotional vulnerability.

Synopsis: During a punishment gone too far, Harry uses the belt on Y/N, not realizing how gone and floaty she already is. When she breaks down in tears and doesn’t respond to his check-in, he instantly stops and shifts into soft, guilt-ridden aftercare.

You barely catch your breath before you’re facedown on the sheets, the familiar scent of his cologne clinging to the pillows. His other hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you there, still and small under the weight of his mood. He's mad. That much is clear. Not loud. Not yelling. But it’s there.

Your knees hit the edge of the mattress before your body follows, forced forward with a rough tug of your hair. Harry’s grip is tight, unforgiving, his long fingers curled possessively in the strands at the back of your head.

You want to ask what you did.

But you already know.

Or maybe you don’t.

And that’s worse.

“Stay.” His voice is low, composed but dangerous. You nod quickly, not daring to move. You hear the drawer slide open and close behind you. Your breath catches.

No. Not that. Not that one.

He stands behind you, silent. Calculating.

Then you hear the distinct jingle of the belt.

Your stomach turns.

“Up on your knees,” he orders calmly, like it’s any other night. Like he isn’t holding the one thing he knows you hate. You obey, trembling, legs tucked beneath you as your palms brace the sheets. Your eyes flick back and confirm what you already feared.

“Color?” he asks, clipped.

“G-green.” It's a whisper. You want to take it. You always take it. You always want to be good for him.

The belt comes down on your ass with a loud crack.

You jolt forward, hips bucking into the mattress with a little whimper. You breathe through your nose hard and tight, trying to center yourself. Again. Again. Not as hard as it could be, but not soft either. It stings, more in your heart than on your skin.

You blink through it, blinking faster now because something’s off. Your head is spinning. You feel floaty, but not in the good way. Your jaw trembles as your body jerks with each hit.

You’re crying too much.

Too early.

By the fifth strike, you can’t stop sobbing into the sheets. It’s not the belt. Not really. It’s the tone. The silence. The tension. You’re usually so brave for him, so eager to prove yourself.

But right now you just feel small. Not the cute kind. Not the way that makes him coo and call you baby. You feel wrong.

“Stop fidgeting,” he scolds and adjusts his stance behind you.

You nod, but your hands curl in the sheets and your body shivers, and when the next hit comes, not even that hard, you break. Something snaps open in your chest.

“Harry,” you sob. It spills out of you before you can stop it.

The belt stills in the air.

He hears it.

Not your words, the way you say it.

He drops the belt. You don’t see it fall, but you hear the soft thud. Then his hand is on your lower back. Gentle now. Lighter. Testing.

“Hey. Color?”

You hiccup.

“Color, baby.”

You try to say it. Really, you do. You open your mouth, but all that comes is a little choked noise. Your chest aches. Tears are on your lashes, your cheeks, your neck. You’re still kneeling, unsure what you’re even trying to hold yourself up for anymore.

And you don’t say anything.

That’s when he knows.

“Oh, baby…” His voice goes soft. Instantly. He kneels onto the bed behind you and cups your waist. “Okay. That’s okay. We’re done. All done, bunny. I’ve got you now.”

You cry harder at that.

He reaches to slide your panties back up, the gentlest touch, then wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. Your body trembles against his chest.

His voice is steady, careful. “Can you breathe for me? Just like this, yeah?” He models it, slow and patient.

You try, but your fingers are fisted in the hem of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll leave. Like you still think you did something wrong. Like you still have to earn his forgiveness.

Harry notices. Of course he does.

He guides your face into his neck, his hand warm and protective over the back of your head. “You’re alright now, bun. You’re safe.”

You finally manage a real breath. Shaky, but in. Then out. Then again.

“That’s it,” he whispers, rocking you. “That’s my good girl.”

Your tears begin to slow as the floatiness eases back. Not completely, but enough for you to cling to him in a new way, seeking comfort now, not permission. His chest is firm and warm and steady. He smells like mint and vanilla. He always smells like home.

“Didn’t see it…” he mumbles quietly, mostly to himself. “Should’ve seen it. Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry…”

You tilt your head slowly, resting your cheek against his collarbone. His hand never stops stroking your back, fingers drifting up and down the curve of your spine in the same rhythm he uses when he puts you to bed.

He shifts you a little and reaches toward the nightstand drawer again.

You flinch.

Your body stiffens in his arms. You press your face into his chest, whispering fast, broken: “No, no — please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—”

“Hey,” he cuts in, panic in his tone. He drops the drawer. “No, no, no. Sweetheart, shhh.”

Your whole body trembles. You're trying so hard to behave now. So hard to fix it. You don’t even know what “it” is.

His hands cup your face gently, thumbs brushing your damp cheeks. “Baby, look at me. Look at me.”

You peek up, lip quivering.

“It’s just me. Just Harry. Not gonna hurt you, I promise.” He rests his forehead to yours. “Was just grabbing your lotion and your blanket. That’s all, I swear.”

You sniffle. The tension in your arms slowly loosens. Your thighs are still sore from kneeling, but your body sags into his as your head tips to the side.

“Not mad?” you whisper.

“God, no. Not anymore.” He kisses your temple. “Not when my sweet girl’s cryin’ like this. Don’t like that. Not one bit.”

You blink up at him and notice something. His eyes.

His green eyes. Glassy.

“Why are you sad?” you ask, voice tiny. You pout up at him, gently tracing his jaw with your thumb. “Why are you cryin’? That’s not allowed.”

He gives you a soft, pained smile. “Because I didn’t see it. Should’ve known. You’re always such a good girl for me, so brave and quiet, even when you’re scared. I should’ve known sooner. Shouldn’t’ve needed you cryin’ that hard to stop.”

You pout harder, bottom lip wobbling. “But you did stop…”

“I still used the belt when I knew it was your least favorite.” He shakes his head like he’s ashamed of himself. “That’s not what we do.”

Your hands reach up to hold his cheeks. Your voice is still small but sure. “You were just mad.”

“Doesn’t matter. Not an excuse.” His voice breaks on the last word.

You shift forward, lips brushing his. “I don’t like when you’re sad…”

“I don’t like when you flinch,” he replies softly, pulling you closer, his hands spread across your back like he’s trying to hold every part of you.

You kiss him, slow and sweet, lips sticky with tears. “I forgive you.”

He sniffles, nods once, and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Thank you, baby.”

He wipes your face gently with the sleeve of his shirt before tucking you back against his chest. Then he reaches for the drawer again, slower this time, letting you see. He pulls out your pink fuzzy blanket, and your vanilla lotion that you only use after scenes.

You let him rub it on your thighs, your bum, all the places that feel sore. He murmurs soft things while he does, sweet nothings and little praises.

Then he wraps you in the blanket and carries you to the armchair by the window. You curl in his lap like a kitten.

He rocks you while humming a soft tune under his breath.

Your eyes flutter. You’re still floaty, but now it feels warm. Safe.

“You were such a good girl for letting me know when it was too much,” he whispers into your hair. “So proud of you, baby. You did perfect.”

You snuggle in tighter. Your eyes are barely open now, lashes fluttering against his chest.

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in fuzzy pink and vanilla and safety, in the arms of the man who loves you more than anything in the world.

585 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 12 days ago

Text

i fear harry in his 30s has activated something primal in me 🫠

993 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 12 days ago

Text

572 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 12 days ago

Text

This was an incredible read! Thank you for sharing, I related to a lot of it 💚💜

Group Therapy

✨ Summary: Y/N decides to give group therapy a shot—just once, just to say she tried—and ends up sitting across from someone who understands her silence better than most people understand her words.

📝 Word Count: 8.4k

⚠️ Content Warnings: Hints of anxiety, depression, therapy.

💌 Support my work

The room smells like bergamot and old carpet. Muted yellow light filters through gauzy curtains, casting everything in sepia. It’s the kind of quiet that isn’t quite silence—just the absence of anything demanding. A small sound machine hums in the corner, like rain on a window that isn’t there.

Y/N steps inside with a breath she doesn’t quite finish. Her boots click too loudly against the wood floor, so she moves softer, makes herself smaller. She nods politely to the therapist—Margot, she thinks—and takes the seat nearest the window. It’s low and worn, the cushion sagging like it’s tired too. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve, thumb rubbing over the frayed edge until it burns.

Across from her sit strangers who look just as unsure. A woman with crow’s feet and kind eyes, a man in business attire clutching a travel mug like it’s a lifeline, a girl who keeps her knees drawn to her chest. No one really looks at each other. Not yet.

She exhales slowly, trying to match the hum of the white noise. She’s thinking about leaving. She’s thinking about staying. She’s thinking about the ache she hasn’t been able to name in weeks.

Then the door opens again.

He walks in like the air got heavier outside. Like it followed him in.

The first thing she notices is how tall he is. The second is how tired he looks. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix. He wears a worn sweater in a color that might’ve been cream once, the sleeves stretched long enough to cover his hands. His curls are shorter, a little neater, but still unkempt at the edges—like he gave up halfway through getting ready. There’s stubble along his jaw, a shadow softening the angles of his face.

He murmurs a quiet “Sorry,” not to anyone in particular, and takes the last empty chair without hesitation.

She watches him settle in, quiet and still. His boots are scuffed, laces loosely tied. A silver ring glints when he brushes a curl from his face. He keeps his head down.

Familiar. Not in a have-we-met way. More like a song she used to know but can’t quite place.

“Glad you made it back, Harry,” Margot says softly, her voice a thread in the quiet.

His eyes flick up, briefly. He nods once. That’s all.

Y/N glances away quickly. But she still feels it—that tiny pull in her chest. The way grief recognizes grief.

The silence stretches, but it isn’t awkward. Just thick. Everyone waiting for someone else to go first.

Margot clears her throat softly, folding her hands in her lap. “Let’s start the way we always do. Just a few words. How you’re feeling. What brought you here tonight.”

The older woman speaks first—Ann, her name is. Something about her husband. How the quiet in her house has gotten louder lately. Then the man in the button-down—Greg—says work is bleeding into everything. That he hasn’t cooked in weeks. That his eyes hurt from screens. The girl, Ava, barely speaks above a whisper. “Tired,” she says. “Just tired.”

Then it’s Y/N’s turn.

She feels it before she even opens her mouth—that small tremor of being looked at, even by people trying not to look. Her throat tightens, but she breathes through it. She glances out the window, then down at her hands, then up again.

“I almost didn’t come,” she says quietly.

Margot nods, encouraging. “But you did.”

Y/N lets a tiny breath go. “Yeah. I guess… I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling a little… unanchored lately. Like I’m in a room I used to know, but everything’s been moved an inch to the left.”

There’s a pause. No one fills it.

She picks at her thumbnail. “I’m not good at talking. But it’s been hard to be alone lately. Even when I’m not actually alone.”

Her voice cracks just slightly at the end. She swallows it down.

When she lifts her gaze, she doesn’t mean to look at him. But she does.

Harry is watching her.

Not staring. Just… listening, in that quiet, whole-body way that only a few people do. Like he hears more than what she’s saying. Like he’s familiar with rooms that don’t feel quite right anymore.

He doesn’t say anything. But he gives the faintest nod. Barely there. Like he’s saying: Yeah. Me too.

Margot gives him a small glance. “Harry?”

He shifts in his seat like he hadn’t expected to be called on. Like his name still feels strange in rooms like this.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed on a spot in the wood grain of the floor, his hands tucked under his thighs like he’s holding himself still.

Then he clears his throat, just once, low and rasped. “Uh…”

The room waits.

He lifts his head slowly. Not all the way. Just enough to be heard.

“I’ve had a… weird week.”

He almost laughs after that. The kind of breath that wants to be a laugh but forgets how.

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck.

“I don’t even know what day it is anymore, honestly. They’re all kind of… folded into each other lately. Like pages stuck together.”

Another pause. He rubs his thumb along the edge of his ring.

“I went to the grocery store the other night and stared at a bag of oranges for ten minutes. Not because I wanted them. I just… couldn’t remember the last time I craved anything. Couldn’t remember how to pick something just because I wanted it.”

No one speaks. Not even a shuffle of a chair. Just that soft white noise humming in the corner.

“I guess that’s why I came back. Because I used to be better at pretending I was fine. And now I’m just… not.”

He finally glances up—just briefly—and his eyes catch on Y/N.

“I’m trying,” he adds, quieter now. “But lately it feels like everything I do is just… managing the fall. Slowing it down.”

He lets the words sit in the air for a few seconds before shifting back in his chair, pulling his sleeves over his hands again.

“And I think I’m just… tired of falling alone.”

Margot offers a soft nod, her voice just above a whisper. “Thank you, Harry.”

He doesn’t look up again. Just gives a small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, like it cost him something to say all that out loud—and he’s not quite sure it was the right currency.

Margot leans forward a bit in her seat, the way she always does when she’s about to thread things together. “What I’m hearing… is that most of you feel untethered. Worn out. Maybe a little invisible in the middle of your own lives.”

Ann hums quietly, a low, understanding sound.

Margot continues, “This space doesn’t fix anything. But it does make room. For you to say things out loud. For someone else to hear you. That’s not small.”

Greg speaks up next, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I get what you mean, Harry. About the oranges. Mine was a pint of ice cream. I stood there trying to remember what flavor I used to like when I was happy. Couldn’t do it.”

Ava smiles faintly, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. “Mine’s music. Everything sounds too loud or too empty.”

Harry shifts slightly. Not in agreement—but recognition.

Margot glances around. “Sometimes we measure healing by big things—breakthroughs, milestones. But often, it’s just remembering what flavor you like. Or letting yourself reach for the oranges. Or showing up to a room like this and telling the truth, even if your voice shakes.”

There’s quiet again, but this time it’s softer. A shared breath. Less like silence, more like rest.

Y/N lets her gaze flick to Harry again, and for a second—just a second—his eyes meet hers.

They don’t smile.

But it’s enough.

A moment passed between two people in the same storm.

Margot glances at the clock. “We’ll stop here for tonight.”

Chairs shift. Someone lets out the breath they’ve been holding for an hour. Coats are tugged on, tea mugs left half-full. No one rushes, but no one lingers either.

Y/N stands slowly, her legs a little stiff from how tightly she’d been holding herself. Her fingers twitch at her sides like they’re used to carrying something—her bag, her keys, a version of herself more composed than this.

Harry moves just after she does. She hears the creak of his chair, the soft scuff of his boots on the floor. He doesn’t say anything. No one does.

The group files out into the hallway, the light there cooler, harsher. A reminder that the world is louder than the room they just left.

She adjusts her jacket. Feels the chill of the hallway settle into her collarbones.

Then—footsteps beside her.

He’s close. Not enough to touch, but enough to feel the shape of him in her periphery. He smells like something faint and clean—cedarwood and laundry detergent. Something ordinary and aching.

They walk side by side down the narrow hall.

Not talking. Not looking.

But she feels it. The awareness. The quiet gravity of another person tuned into the same frequency.

As they reach the front door, he moves ahead just slightly and opens it without thinking. Holds it long enough for her to step through. She murmurs a soft, automatic “thanks,” and he nods—barely.

Then he turns left.

She turns right.

But for a moment, they were moving in the same direction.

And that stays with her longer than it should.

The week unfolds like damp paper—slow, heavy, and a little misshapen.

Monday bleeds into Tuesday without ceremony. She works, she eats, she scrolls. The routine is mechanical. Wake up too late. Make coffee too bitter. Shower too long. She tells herself she’s fine out loud once, just to hear the lie echo.

But the room from Thursday stays with her. It shows up in flashes.

The hum of the white noise machine. The chipped coaster. The way her voice wobbled and no one looked away.

Him.

She doesn’t let herself think too much about him—not directly. But she remembers the way his boots looked worn in. The way his sleeves were pulled over his knuckles. The rasp in his voice when he said he was tired of falling alone. It rings in her ears sometimes, uninvited, like the end of a song she didn’t realize she liked.

On Wednesday, she goes to the same grocery store she always does, but the fruit aisle feels strange now. She finds herself staring at a bin of oranges. She doesn’t want one. She just stands there, lips parted, arms limp at her sides, like she’s looking for something she forgot to need.

She buys a bag anyway.

At home, they sit on the counter for days untouched.

She thinks about not going back.

Thursday morning arrives with a gray sky and a dull ache behind her eyes. She tells herself she’s busy. She tells herself it’s pointless. She tells herself she doesn’t have to go. That no one will notice if she doesn’t. That she didn’t say anything important. That he probably forgot about her the second she looked away.

But then it’s five-thirty, and she’s staring at her coat on the hook like it asked her a question.

She makes tea. Drinks half.

She checks the time again.

She opens the fridge, closes it.

By five forty-five she’s still barefoot, hair damp from a late shower, wearing the same jeans she wore on Monday.

She almost talks herself out of it.

Almost.

But by six, she’s walking out the door with one headphone in, keys jangling in her hand, and that strange flutter in her chest again—the one that feels like maybe something’s waiting for her.

Not everything. Not a miracle.

Just… something.

She’s late.

Not disastrously so—just enough to feel it. Just enough to have to exhale before opening the door, cheeks flushed, fingers cold from the walk over.

The session has already started. Voices low, thoughtful. A laugh, even, from someone she can’t place through the door.

She hesitates.

It’s warmer inside. The familiar hum of the white noise machine, the scent of herbal tea already steeped, a candle burning somewhere that smells faintly of clove.

Seven chairs in a circle.

Only one is empty.

Next to him.

She sees the curls first. The slope of his shoulders hunched slightly forward. A thick cable-knit this time, sleeves still covering his hands. He doesn’t look up when she walks in. No one does. Margot gives her the gentlest nod—welcome back, no fanfare.

She crosses the room quickly, quietly. Her boots are quieter this week.

As she sinks into the seat beside him, something in her unclenches.

Not because she’s close to him.

But because being next to someone means she doesn’t have to face them.

It means she won’t have to hold his eyes if he speaks again like that—if his voice goes low and raw and honest. She can just listen. Without the pressure of being seen.

She tucks her hands into the sleeves of her coat and lets her shoulders ease back into the chair. It’s still warm. He must’ve shifted just before she got here.

Margot’s voice filters in gently. “We were just checking in. Greg was saying he’s been writing more. Not well, but more.”

A soft chuckle from the group. Someone murmurs, “Progress.”

She doesn’t look at Harry. But she feels him shift, just slightly, beside her. His elbow resting on the arm of the chair, close enough that the wool of his sweater brushes her coat with each breath.

She doesn’t know what that means.

But it feels like something.

The circle moves slowly. No one’s in a rush. There’s comfort in the pace, like walking through fog with people who don’t mind the quiet.

Ann talks about a letter she found from her husband—tucked in an old book she hadn’t opened in years. She didn’t read it all, she says. Just enough to know he wrote it for the version of her he was afraid he’d leave behind. Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t cry. She just folds her hands tighter in her lap.

Greg says he made a playlist this week. Just three songs, but they made him feel sixteen again, and that counts for something.

Ava, small and barely audible, shares that she left a voicemail for her mum. No reply. But she did it. She says, “I’m not ready to be okay with things, but I’m trying not to go invisible.”

Y/N listens without moving much. She nods when others do. Offers a soft hum when something lands in her chest.

She doesn’t speak this time.

Her thoughts are tangled, caught somewhere between the smell of clove and the heat radiating faintly off the man beside her.

Then Margot looks to him.

“Harry?”

He pauses. Not out of reluctance, exactly—more like he’s still deciding where to begin.

Then he exhales. “I didn’t sleep much this week.”

His voice is a little rougher today. Lower, maybe. Like it’s caught on something on the way out.

“I kept dreaming about… nothing, actually. Just this feeling. Like I was forgetting something important. Or like someone was trying to reach me, but I was too far away to hear them.”

No one moves. Y/N doesn’t dare.

He shifts slightly, his leg brushing hers—not intentional, not held. Just contact.

“I spent the whole day Tuesday walking around my flat trying to make it feel like mine again. Rearranged furniture. Lit candles. Opened windows. Still felt like I was borrowing someone else’s life.”

He laughs quietly, but it’s dry. No humor in it.

“And then I bought oranges.”

At that, her breath catches.

He keeps going, unaware. “I don’t even like them. They’re too sweet. But I bought them. Left them on the counter. I think I just wanted to prove I could want something again.”

A pause. Then softer:

“They’re still there. Untouched.”

Y/N swallows hard. She stares at her hands. Her coat sleeve is threaded through her fingers.

But there’s a pull at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile. Just the sharp ache of recognition.

She doesn’t look at him.

The room holds his words like breath.

No one rushes to fill the silence this time. It’s not uncomfortable—just full. Weighted in the way only honesty can be. The kind of silence that wraps around people like a shared blanket.

Margot lets it settle for a beat longer, her eyes soft as she looks around the circle.

Then, gently: “That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Wanting to want again.”

A few nods. Small ones. Almost imperceptible. But Y/N feels them. Feels herself in them.

Margot continues, “I think sometimes we mistake healing for erasing the ache. But more often, it’s this—showing up, saying the thing out loud. Noticing that you bought the oranges. That you wrote the text. That you came back, even when you almost didn’t.”

Y/N’s pulse stutters.

It’s not about her. But somehow, it is.

Her shoulders tense, and she shifts slightly in her chair. Her knee brushes Harry’s this time. She doesn’t move away.

Margot’s voice softens even further. “We hold so tightly to the things that hurt us—not because we want to, but because they’re familiar. And we forget that something gentle can exist at the same time. Not instead of the pain. Alongside it.”

Harry’s head tilts, barely.

No one speaks, but the silence feels different now. Not heavy. Not suffocating.

Just real.

Present.

Y/N stares down at her hands again. Her fingers have stopped fidgeting. She doesn’t quite know why.

But her chest doesn’t feel as tight.

And for the first time all week, the thought of next Thursday doesn’t feel unbearable.

The rest of the session winds down like the last notes of a song. No grand finale. Just soft voices, small shifts, long pauses filled with more than words.

Greg talks a bit about his sister. Ann says she finally made an appointment she’s been putting off. Ava doesn’t speak again, but she stays the whole time—and that feels like something sacred.

Y/N doesn’t speak either.

But she listens.

More deeply than she meant to.

She notices the way people breathe before they share. The way they glance down after, like they’re afraid of being seen too clearly. She notices how Harry presses his thumb to the corner of his mouth when he’s thinking. How his foot bounces when someone else is talking, like he’s absorbing what they say in his body.

The hour passes gently. The edges blur.

And then Margot glances at the clock, her expression warm and quiet. “We’ll end here.”

A soft rustle of movement. Coats shrugged on. Boots scraping softly across the floor.

Y/N rises slowly, pulling her sleeves down over her wrists. She doesn’t feel quite ready to leave—but that’s how it always is with things that matter. They end in the middle of a feeling.

She catches the faint scent of his cologne again—something clean and woodsy—and the fabric of his sweater brushes her arm as he shifts beside her.

Still no words.

Still no names exchanged beyond the one they all know.

But when she steps into the hallway and the cold air hits her, she realizes her chest isn’t as tight as it was when she walked in. Her hands aren’t fists in her pockets.

She doesn’t look back.

But she knows he’s behind her.

The days that follow move differently.

Not better. Not worse. Just… different.

Friday is rainy. The kind of rain that soaks through the cuffs of your jeans before you make it to the car. She forgets her umbrella, forgets her lunch, forgets why she walked into the kitchen three separate times. Her mind’s quieter than usual, but not empty—just distant. Like someone rearranged the furniture in her head again.

On Saturday, she does laundry. Folds it while sitting on the floor, back against the couch. She puts on music, lets the hum fill the spaces that used to ache a little louder. A song comes on that she doesn’t remember adding to the playlist. It’s gentle. Melancholy. A little rough around the edges, like it was recorded in a room too quiet. She doesn’t skip it.

That night, she eats one of the oranges.

It’s too sweet, just like she expected.

She finishes it anyway.

Sunday is harder. Lonelier. She stays in bed too long. Stares at the ceiling like it might offer something useful. It doesn’t. She texts no one. Doesn’t check her email. Doesn’t answer the phone when it rings once and stops. But she lights a candle. She changes her sheets. She opens the window, even when it’s cold.

Monday comes and goes.

Tuesday too.

The week is mostly quiet. She works. She cooks sometimes. She forgets to buy more tea. She keeps catching herself looking for something and then not remembering what.

And then it’s Thursday again.

The day sneaks up on her like it always does. She wakes up with that same low, humming ache behind her ribs. The familiar voice in her head says: You don’t have to go. You could just not.

But she doesn’t entertain it for long this time.

Because something in her has started to associate that room—with its mismatched chairs and white noise and flickering candle—with a kind of steadiness. Not comfort, exactly. But a softness.

And him.

She’s not sure what he is yet. A curiosity. A presence. A quiet echo that found its way into her bones.

And so, as the clock ticks past five, she’s already reaching for her coat.

She pulls into the lot with fifteen minutes to spare and immediately regrets being early.

The car engine clicks as it settles. The heater hums low, warm against the cold fogged windows. Outside, everything’s gray—the kind of dusky blue-gray that makes you feel like time is folding in on itself.

She stays in the driver’s seat, hands resting on the steering wheel even though the car is off. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for her bag. Just stares out the windshield, watching the water bead and slide down the glass.

She’s not nervous. Not exactly.

But her heart is beating a little too fast for no reason at all.

She tells herself it’s the weather. The cold. The day she had at work. The ache in her shoulder. The way the week unraveled slowly instead of snapping clean in half.

But she knows better.

She knows it’s because he might already be inside.

Or maybe he’s not.

Maybe he’s running late. Or not coming at all. Or maybe he’s already in that room, sitting in that same chair, the one she ended up in last week without meaning to.

She wonders if he thought about her. Even once.

She hasn’t said a word to him. Not directly. Not yet.

But still, he’s in her mind more than she wants to admit.

Not his fame—though the shape of it hovers somewhere in the back of her mind, unconfirmed but quietly present.

It’s him.

His voice. His stillness. His oranges on the counter.

The way he nodded when she talked about not wanting to be alone, like he understood her in a language she hadn’t realized she was speaking.

She glances down at the dashboard clock. Seven minutes.

She doesn’t move.

She watches her own reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes wide and tired, lips slightly parted like she’s about to ask a question she won’t say out loud.

Then, in her periphery—movement.

A car pulls in three spaces over. Dark. Familiar.

Her pulse skips.

It’s him.

She knows without needing to see his face. The curve of his shoulders. The beanie. The way he lingers before stepping out like he’s bracing for something cold.

She doesn’t duck. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

He walks slowly, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands again. He disappears through the glass front door without looking back.

She waits another full minute.

Then she exhales—long, quiet—and reaches for the door handle.

She opens the door just as he’s walking back toward it.

He’s not inside after all.

He’s standing just off to the side, leaning against the brick wall beneath the overhang. A phone pressed to his ear, one foot braced behind him like he’s holding himself steady. His voice is low but sharp around the edges—frustrated, not loud, but clipped in a way that says this isn’t a conversation he wants to be having.

“I told you I can’t do that tonight,” he says, quiet but tense. “No, I don’t know. I said I’d call back tomorrow.”

He rubs his jaw, thumb dragging along the edge of his mouth as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. There’s something guarded in his posture—shoulders slightly hunched, free hand balled in the pocket of his hoodie.

She pauses for half a second, caught off guard by how real he looks. Raw. Like he peeled something back without meaning to.

He notices her before she can look away.

His eyes meet hers—just for a second—and his expression shifts. Not fully softened, but disarmed. Like he didn’t expect to be seen and is still deciding what to do with the fact that he has been.

She offers a small, cautious smile. Just a twitch at the corner of her mouth. Nothing bold. Nothing big.

But it’s enough.

He looks away for a beat, then into the phone again.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, voice lower now. “Yeah. I’ll text you later.”

He hangs up without waiting for a response.

She steps forward to open the door, and he follows just behind her. Not close enough to crowd her, but close enough to feel the weight of his presence at her back. Quiet footsteps. The faint sound of his breath. The brush of his sleeve against hers as they pass through the threshold one after the other.

No words.

But the silence between them feels different now.

Like it’s holding something.

The room is half full when they enter.

A few murmured hellos, the rustle of jackets, the clink of mugs being set down. The circle isn’t fully formed yet—two empty chairs remain. One next to Greg. One next to Ava.

Side by side.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but the decision’s already made. Her feet move before her mind catches up.

She takes the seat on the left.

Harry slides into the one beside her, his coat unzipped, sweater peeking out beneath. He smells faintly like cold air and whatever soap he used that morning—clean, earthy, familiar.

He exhales softly as he sits back, then leans slightly toward her, voice low enough that only she can hear.

“This is becoming a bit of a thing, isn’t it?”

She turns her head slightly, caught off guard—but not in a bad way.

“You stalking me, or are we just really bad at being unpredictable?” she murmurs back, one eyebrow lifted, her tone dry but amused.

He huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Could be both.”

She smiles without meaning to. Looks down at her hands before he can see too much of it.

There’s something easy in the moment. Something small and golden tucked inside the tension. A flicker of warmth beneath the surface.

Neither of them says anything else.

Margot waits until the group settles. Until the shuffle of coats fades. Until the white noise becomes background again. Then she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I thought we’d try something a little different tonight,” she says gently, voice calm, steady. “Sometimes, we spend so much time sitting near each other without really connecting. So tonight’s about presence. About being seen.”

A few shifting glances around the room.

Y/N’s stomach tightens—not sharply, just enough to make her spine stiffen a little.

“I want you to turn to the person next to you,” Margot continues. “That’ll be your partner for tonight.”

Y/N’s pulse jumps.

She doesn’t move. Just feels Harry shift beside her. The air between them changes—thicker, slower. His knee barely brushes hers.

He doesn’t say anything, but he turns toward her.

She turns too.

They’re facing each other now. Closer than they’ve ever been. His knee to hers. Her fingers curled in her lap. Their eyes meet—and for once, neither of them looks away.

Margot’s voice softens, but there’s steel beneath it.

“The prompt is simple. Tell your partner something you’ve never told anyone else. Doesn’t have to be a big secret. Just something real. Something you’ve held close. Something you think might help them understand you better.”

A slow silence spreads across the room. No one rushes.

Y/N swallows hard.

She can feel the air in her throat. Feel the gravity of his gaze. There’s no pressure in his eyes. Just openness. Curiosity. Like he’s willing to hold whatever she offers—gently, without judgment.

She wets her lips. “I—”

Her voice catches. She looks down, then back up.

“I told someone once that I prefer being alone. That solitude makes me feel safe. But the truth is… I think I just got used to loneliness because it was easier than being left.”

She doesn’t breathe for a moment.

Then she exhales, slow and shaky.

She doesn’t look away.

Harry’s brow furrows, just barely. Not pity. Just understanding. A mirror held up to something he’s maybe felt, too.

He shifts, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t speak right away. When he does, his voice is low. Steady.

“I’ve told people I like privacy. That I keep things to myself because I’m guarded. But the truth is, I think I’m just scared if people knew what I really carry… they’d walk away.”

His words hang in the air between them, warm and fragile.

Neither of them moves.

There’s no comment. No need to respond. Just breath. Just eye contact.

Just knowing.

Openness creates humanity.

And for the first time, they feel more like people than strangers.

The silence between them lingers—but it’s not uncomfortable. It just feels… full.

His words are still hanging in the space, raw and fragile, and she holds them quietly in her chest for a moment, unsure what to do with the ache they leave behind.

Then she leans back just a little. Blinks down at her hands, like she’s weighing whether to say something else. When she speaks, her voice is soft—but there’s a glint of something lighter in it this time.

“Okay, if I tell you this, you’re not allowed to judge me.”

Harry’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile playing at the edge. “No promises.”

She rolls her eyes, but it pulls a smile from her too. “So… I once dated this guy who told me he couldn’t be in a serious relationship because Mercury was in retrograde.”

Harry blinks. Then laughs—quietly, but for real. It cracks something warm open in the space between them.

“I’m serious,” she says, grinning now. “He said the planets weren’t aligned for emotional stability and it would be irresponsible to ‘merge energies’ before the next full moon.”

Harry stares at her like he’s not sure if she’s joking.

“He had a moon tattoo,” she adds, smirking. “On his sternum.”

That makes him laugh again, breathier this time, head dipping toward his chest. “God. I’ve definitely met that guy.”

“Oh, everyone’s met that guy,” she says, grinning now. “I think he haunts yoga studios.”

Harry leans back in his chair, still smiling, one hand running through his hair. “What happened to him?”

“He broke up with me via voice memo,” she says dryly. “Said our ‘vibrations were no longer in sync.’ I think he actually used the phrase ‘emotional dissonance.’”

Harry shakes his head slowly. “Wow. I don’t know whether to feel bad for you or respect the commitment to the bit.”

“You’re allowed to do both.”

There’s a beat.

Then he looks at her—really looks at her. Softly, curiously. Like he’s seeing something underneath the joke.

“You do that often?” he asks, gently. “Make sad things sound funny?”

She blinks. The question isn’t cruel. Just observant.

She shrugs, the smile fading but not disappearing.

His eyes linger on her for a second longer than they should.

And then Margot’s voice filters back into the space, calling the group’s attention. But the thread between them doesn’t snap.

It just stretches quietly, from one chair to the next.

The session winds down slowly. Margot thanks everyone for showing up. Someone stretches. A chair creaks. Coats are pulled from the backs of chairs with the same silent resignation people use when waking from a long, necessary nap.

No one rushes to leave, but the energy has shifted. The room exhales.

Y/N stands, brushing her fingers against the hem of her coat. Harry rises beside her. Their chairs scrape the floor almost in sync.

Neither of them speaks.

There’s something fragile about the moment now—like if either of them tried to wrap it up with a joke or a thank-you or even a see-you-next-week, it might shrink what they shared.

So they don’t.

They walk out together. Not side by side this time, but close. Close enough that their steps fall into rhythm.

Outside, the air is colder than it was an hour ago. The kind of cold that settles on your skin instead of cutting through it. The kind that reminds you you’re real.

She crosses her arms over her chest, fingers tucked into her sleeves. He pulls his beanie lower, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

At the bottom of the steps, they pause.

Not long.

Just enough to almost say something.

He looks at her. His eyes are soft, unreadable, but not closed off.

She meets his gaze, and for a second, there’s something suspended there—like the breath before a question.

Then she gives him a quiet nod.

And he returns it.

No smile. No words.

But something in her chest settles anyway.

She turns left. He turns right.

And they leave the way they always do—

Not together.

But no longer just strangers in the same room.

It’s Tuesday.

Late afternoon, the kind of dusky hour where the light outside is more blue than gold. She’s been aimless all day—ran errands, answered half her emails, stared at a book she never actually opened. So she walks to the little corner market near her flat. The one with handwritten signs and crates of overripe fruit out front. The kind of place that always smells faintly like cinnamon and floor cleaner.

She doesn’t need anything.

But she steps inside anyway.

The bell above the door jingles softly. No music, just the hum of fridges and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

She wanders.

Up one aisle, down the next. Pauses at the spice rack. Scans the shelves without really seeing them. Her thoughts drift—soft, circular things. She thinks about Margot’s voice. About Greg’s playlist. About the sound Harry made when he laughed last week. The way his brow crinkled when she told her ridiculous ex story.

She rounds the last aisle and finds herself standing in front of the freezer section.

Frozen peas. Ice cream. A bag of dumplings with cartoon characters on the front.

And then she’s just… standing there.

Staring at nothing.

Her reflection in the glass is vague, a little warped by the frost.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been frozen in place until she feels it:

A presence behind her.

Not close, but close enough to register.

She blinks and looks up—

And there he is.

Clear as day in the reflection. A little rumpled, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, beanie low over his ears. His head is tilted, like he’s already been standing there a second longer than she wants to believe.

His voice comes, quiet, gentle.

“You okay?”

She startles a little—just enough to let out a breathy laugh. “God. Don’t sneak up on people like that. You’ll give someone a heart attack in front of the frozen veg.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling just slightly. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to sneak.”

She turns around to face him fully.

He’s taller than she remembers somehow. Or maybe it’s just that they’ve never stood this close outside the circle. His cheeks are pink from the cold, and he smells like something warm and clean. Like rain on cotton.

“I just—” she gestures vaguely to the freezer, still half-laughing. “I think I forgot what I came in for. Or maybe I didn’t come in for anything at all.”

He nods, looking past her for a second, toward the shelves.

“I do that too,” he says. “Sometimes I walk into shops just to feel like I’m part of the world again. Like if I stand in the same aisle long enough, I’ll remember how to exist.”

The words settle in her chest like something dropped gently into water.

She looks at him.

Really looks.

And smiles.

“Glad I’m not the only one haunting the freezer section.”

His grin spreads slowly, like he doesn’t mind being seen here. Like this—this odd, accidental moment—is maybe a little bit better than whatever else the day had planned.

They stand there for a second too long—neither making a move to leave, but also not quite sure how to keep standing still.

Then Harry shifts, nodding his head toward the next aisle. “I was coming in for tea,” he says. “Ended up here instead.”

She smiles. “Dangerous detour.”

He gives a soft huff of a laugh, then turns. Doesn’t ask her to follow.

But she does.

They walk slowly, not in sync but close. His hand brushes the shelf as they pass it, fingers trailing lightly along labels and cardboard boxes. She notices he reads things quietly to himself—just under his breath. Like the words are for him alone.

“Chamomile,” he mutters, squinting at a row of boxes. “Tastes like wet hay but makes people feel virtuous.”

She snorts. “You’re not wrong. It’s the salad of teas.”

He laughs at that—genuinely—and it startles her how much it lights up his whole face.

They keep moving, drifting through aisles like ghosts in good company.

He grabs a packet of dried mango. She grabs a small bag of flour.

Neither of them really needs either.

“Do you always come here?” he asks after a beat, his tone casual, eyes on a row of jars.

“Only when I want to feel slightly better than everyone at Tesco,” she says.

That earns her another quiet laugh. He glances at her sidelong, mouth tugging at the corner like he’s storing the smile away for later.

They don’t talk constantly. The silences are soft. Not awkward. Just little pockets of calm between low murmurs and sideways glances.

They pass a display of local honey and he points to one shaped like a bear.

“My mum used to keep one of those in the fridge. I thought it was an actual toy until I bit the top off.”

She smirks. “Traumatizing.”

“I still don’t trust bears.”

They round the last aisle and pause again, standing near the register but not quite ready to say goodbye.

They linger near the register, neither making a move to line up. Her bag of flour hangs loosely from her fingertips. His mango slices crinkle quietly in his hand.

He glances down at her, not rushing the moment, but not letting it pass either.

“You busy right now?”

She looks up, surprised—but only a little.

“No,” she says, voice soft, maybe a little breathless. “Not really.”

He nods once, like he already hoped that was the answer. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

Her smile answers before her words do.

“Sure.”

And just like that, they slip back into step with each other, the store and its strange stillness fading behind them. The sky outside is dipped in that late-evening indigo, the kind that makes streetlights feel like little moons.

They walk without hurry, jackets pulled tighter against the cold. He leads her down a side street, quieter than the main road—lined with small shops and ivy-covered flats. Their footsteps echo softly on the pavement.

After a block or two, he nods toward a tiny café tucked between a florist and a bookstore. The windows are fogged up, the inside amber-lit and nearly empty.

“This place okay?”

She glances up at it, already feeling the charm seep into her ribs. “Perfect.”

He pushes open the door, and a warm bell chimes. Inside, the smell of cinnamon and burnt espresso lingers in the air. The barista offers a casual nod—familiar but not overfriendly.

They order quietly—him a black coffee, her a chai—and slide into a small table in the back near the radiator, their mugs warming their hands before they even speak.

Harry leans back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping idly along the rim of his mug.

“I come here a lot,” he says after a minute. “It’s quiet. No one really bothers me.”

She tilts her head. “You mean, like…?”

He gives a soft, almost sheepish smile. “Yeah.”

It hangs in the air for a second—that unspoken acknowledgment of who he is.

But it doesn’t shift anything. Doesn’t make the moment feel different.

She just nods, fingers curled around her cup. “Makes sense. It feels safe in here. Like a place no one’s trying too hard.”

He chuckles, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Yeah. That’s it exactly.”

They sit like that for a while—soft conversation, long pauses, the occasional spark of a smile passed between them like a secret.

He takes a sip of what’s left in his mug, eyes still on her—not intense, not demanding. Just curious. Present.

Then, gently: “What about you?”

She blinks. “What about me?”

He leans back, resting his elbow on the table, fingers playing absentmindedly with the ring on his middle finger.

“Why do you come to group?”

Her lips part slightly, like the question caught her mid-thought. She glances down, brushing her thumb along the handle of her cup.

For a second, she thinks about deflecting. About making another joke. Saying something like, free tea and emotional whiplash? Who could resist?

But instead, she exhales.

“I think I was afraid of turning invisible,” she says. “Not to other people. To myself.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t shift. Just watches her, eyes soft and steady.

She continues, voice quieter now. “I started feeling like I was floating above my own life. Going to work, answering texts, smiling at the right times… but none of it felt connected to me. Like I was watching someone else do it all.”

She looks up at him again, and the flicker of vulnerability there is so open, so unguarded, it almost startles her.

“I guess I hoped that if I started saying things out loud, I might remember who I was. Or maybe… become someone I could actually live with.”

The words sit there between them. Small. Simple. Devastatingly honest.

Harry nods slowly, his expression unreadable in the best way. Like he’s still holding her words in his hands and trying to fit them gently into the shape of something familiar.

“I get that,” he says quietly.

She gives a faint smile. “Yeah?”

He shrugs one shoulder, gaze dropping to his cup.

“I think we all need a place where we don’t have to pretend we’re fine. Even if it’s just once a week in a room with bad lighting.”

That makes her laugh, soft and real.

There’s a lull between them now. Not quite silence—just a shared quiet, the kind that feels like a thread stretching from his mug to hers, to the space between their knees under the small table.

She shifts slightly, her gaze flicking toward the foggy window. Then back to him.

“I’ll admit something,” she says softly.

He raises an eyebrow, curious. “Yeah?”

She nods, her fingers smoothing the cuff of her sleeve. “When I first saw you… at the group… I was kind of intimidated.”

His brows lift slightly. “Really?”

She nods again, almost sheepish, but still holding his gaze. “Not because of the fame or whatever. I didn’t even realize it was you at first.”

That makes him smile.

“It was just…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “You looked like someone who knew how to carry their sadness well. And that kind of presence… I don’t know. It’s quiet, but it takes up space.”

He stares at her for a beat. Something unreadable flickers across his face—like her words struck deeper than he expected.

Then he huffs out a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“I’m flattered,” he says, grinning. “Though now I’m imagining myself as, like, a moody statue in a museum. ‘Man Who Carries Sadness Well,’ by Some Girl Who Buys Flour Without a Plan.’”

She laughs—loud enough that a nearby couple glances over.

“That’s your art installation name now,” she says. “I don’t make the rules.”

He leans on the table slightly, smile still wide, eyes lit with something warm. “If I’m the statue, does that make you the person staring too long at it while pretending not to?”

“I would pretend not to,” she says, mock-defensive. “But I’d definitely be staring.”

He bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh too loudly.

And for a moment—just a moment—they’re not in a café, or a city, or a chapter of their lives marked by grief and unraveling.

They’re just two people.

Leaning toward each other across a table warmed by mugs and soft honesty.

Eventually, their mugs are empty.

The warmth between them lingers, but the café begins to quiet further, the barista wiping down counters and flipping the chairs on the other side of the room. The outside world calls them back—not harshly, just with a gentle nudge.

Harry stretches slightly in his seat, arms overhead for a moment before letting them drop into the sleeves of his coat. “Should we head back?”

She nods, pulling on her jacket. “Yeah. Guess the frozen peas are waiting.”

He grins, standing as she does. “Poor things. Probably wondering what happened to you.”

They step out into the cold together, shoulders hunched, hands tucked away. The sky’s even darker now—ink blue, smudged with streetlight. Their footsteps echo softly on the pavement, the city moving quietly around them.

They don’t talk much on the walk back. But it doesn’t feel empty.

Just easy.

Comfortable.

Every so often, their hands swing close enough to almost touch. Neither pulls away.

The shop is mostly dark when they return. A single dim light glows near the register, and the door is locked now, the hours posted in faded gold lettering.

They pause near the curb, standing a few feet from where their cars are parked, facing each other again in the kind of quiet that asks nothing more.

“This was…” she starts, then lets it trail off.

Harry nods like he understands anyway. “Yeah.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, fingers curled into her pockets. “See you at group?”

His smile softens. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She nods, holding his gaze for a moment longer than she means to.

Then they part—no hug, no lingering goodbye. Just two people stepping away from something soft they weren’t expecting.

But as she turns toward her car, she realizes:

She’s not floating anymore.

She’s anchored.

And this time, she’s walking away with something that feels like the beginning of whatever comes next.

It’s been three months.

The chairs in the group room haven’t changed. Same faded upholstery, same lopsided circle. Margot still lights that candle that smells like clove and patience. The same quiet hum buzzes in the corner, white noise still doing its best to make grief feel less sharp.

But the energy is different now.

At least, it is for her.

Y/N sits in her usual chair, but she doesn’t feel as tethered to it anymore. The edges of the ache have dulled. She still fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, still watches people talk with that same soft focus—but it’s more distant now. Like she’s slowly stepping out of a room she used to live in.

And Harry…

Harry hasn’t been around much.

He missed two sessions in January. One in February. The last three in a row.

He didn’t say why.

No one in the group asked. Not out loud.

But Y/N noticed.

Of course she noticed.

At first, she told herself he must’ve had a conflict. A work thing. Maybe travel. Something temporary.

But week after week, the chair beside her stayed empty, and whatever gentle rhythm they had started to build between them—the slow blooming of trust, the quiet looks, the way he made even sadness feel like something shared instead of suffered alone—it all began to feel like something she imagined.

Something she dreamed during a colder part of her life.

She still thought about him sometimes.

Not always in obvious ways. But in the quiet. In the grocery store when she passed the freezer section. When she heard a song that sounded like the shape of his voice. When she caught herself laughing at something and remembered the exact face he made when he was trying not to do the same.

But life had its way of folding forward.

She started seeing her friends again. She joined a weekend pottery class, half on a whim. She called her sister more. Even downloaded a dating app—though she deleted it after two conversations with men who used too many emojis and talked too much about crypto.

Still, she felt… okay.

Okay enough to think maybe she didn’t need group anymore.

Maybe she’d outgrown the chair. Maybe she’d said what she needed to say. Maybe healing really was just about staying upright long enough for the fog to thin.

So one Thursday, she didn’t go.

And the next week, she didn’t either.

No one called. No one checked in.

She wasn’t offended. That was the deal with group—you came and went when you could, and the chairs would always be there.

But still, something tugged at her chest that night as she folded laundry with the TV on and the clock blinking past 6:00.

It wasn’t emptiness.

It wasn’t grief.

It was a flicker. A shift.

The kind of ache you only notice after something good has left the room.

She didn’t miss therapy.

She missed him.

Not just the sound of his voice or the way he walked beside her like he had nowhere else to be—but the way she felt when he was near. Present. Seen. Like she wasn’t floating anymore. Like someone had quietly taken her hand without her needing to ask.

But people leave.

That’s just how it goes.

And so she folded another sweater. Closed another drawer.

171 notes · View notes

prettygurl-2009 · 12 days ago

Text

This hit deeper than I ever thought it would. Makes me feel seen and I’m not alone. This was a masterpiece, thank you for sharing it. You definitely should be so proud of this one 💜💚

OURS || a harry styles x original character story

cw: infertility/fertility struggles, emotional distress, themes of grief and uncertainty, declining mental health, graphic sexual content, language, alcohol-use, depression, medical intervention for pregnancy word count: 20,355

summary: harry and thea are looking to grow their family. over seasons of trying, their lives look a little bit different; emotions run high, their limits are tested, but if there's one thing for sure: it's their love for one another.

authors note: this is a story that's been on my mind for a while - this took me a full day to write, it just kept flowing out. it's loosely inspired by certain inspirations from landslide by fleetwood mac; following the seasons of our lives, and understanding where who we are when we disappoint ourselves for who we think we should be. it's about the pressures we put on ourselves, even when we have everything we want.

this is a really really special one to me & this is one that I don't think it's one for everyone because it's very emotional, but I hope you give it a chance <3

without further ado; I hope you enjoy <3

_______________________________________________

Spring

The house was quiet in the early blush of morning; a hush wrapped in the pale gray-blue light of spring. Rain ticked gently at the windowpane, not enough to storm, just a soft percussion against the silence. The early spring showers were comforting to them; they always had been.

Thea sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn together, fingers knotted in the hem of Harry’s old T-shirt that she had been wearing the past few nights; it was the t-shirt that she had found out she was pregnant in both other times. It still smelled faintly of him—laundry linen and cedar from the left-over cologne that rubbed from his skin. Her bare toes curled against the tile of the cool floor, the cold seeping through as she counted down the seconds.

The test lay on the edge of the sink, face-down, unread and pending a result.

Outside the door, she could hear the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant thrum of a car passing on the wet road. But inside, time had paused even when it needed to move faster than ever. Thea closed her eyes, inhaling sharply, willing her heart to slow. It felt too fast, too eager, too much like something was about to break open with joy or sadness.

When the timer on her phone buzzed, it startled her. She reached out with trembling fingers, turned it off quickly. She didn’t want Harry to hear it; she didn’t want to make this a big deal. Making it a big deal meant that there would be disappointment if things didn’t go the way she needed it to go.

When she flipped the test, her eyes focused on the words:

Not Pregnant.

The breath left her lungs in a soundless sigh. Not devastation—not yet, no, it was more a bit of confusion, if she was honest. This was only the second test she had taken, they were only on month two of actively trying. It wasn’t supposed to happen overnight, she knew that. Her doctor had said it could take time, and she may have just been lucky with the ease of it with Teddy and Niko. Thea and Harry got pregnant practically on command with their two boys – no scheduling, no ovulation testing, just the pure love and admiration that was bundled up when they tried.

Then, it was like her body had known what to do— fate had simply reached down and tucked new life into her with a gentle sort of magic that only expecting mothers could understand.

This time felt different. She was reaching for something she couldn't quite catch, and she was frustrated with the waiting process.

She sat there for a few more minutes, test in hand, until the world beyond the bathroom began to stir and she had been broken from her thoughts. She heard the boy’s bedroom door creak open and the soft shuffle of little feet padding down the hall—this early, it had to be Niko.

Thea quickly slid the test back into its foil wrapper and tucked it into the bottom of the drawer beneath the sink, under a pile of spare toothbrushes and half-used tubes of ointment. She washed her hands in cold water, splashed her face to feel something, and forced her shoulders to soften before she stepped into the hall and preparing herself for the weekend morning.

When she entered the kitchen, Harry was already up. He stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants and an old band t-shirt that had fraying on the edges, flipping pancakes with Niko perched on the counter beside him. Niko’s cheeks were pink with sleep and joy in helping his dad cook breakfast, his curls tousled as he watched the batter bubble.

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” Harry said over his shoulder, his voice warm and a little husky with sleep as he watched Thea enter. He moved over to kiss her temple as she entered. “Coffee’s on. Teddy’s still out like a log.”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled as she reached for a mug. It didn’t quite reach her eyes—the smile, but Harry was too focused on preventing Niko from sticking a finger into the skillet to notice that.

“Mummy, Daddy said I can do the blueberries,” Niko announced proudly; his legs swinging along the countertop.

“Did he?” Thea poured her coffee, watching her son beam. She moved over to kiss the top of his head, feeling her son’s warmth and certainty made her feel just a bit better. His little arms wrapped around her as she stood and watched Harry grab the small bowl of berries for Niko to help with.

“He’s on berry duty,” Harry confirmed with Niko, watching the little boy nod incessantly. “But only after the pancakes are on the griddle. No sabotage this time, huh?”

“Right!” Niko stated, unwrapping himself from Thea and taking the bowl in his hand.

Thea moved to settle at the table, curling her hands around the mug for warmth and grounding. She took in the scene before her—Harry humming the music he had put on under his breath, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the kitchen, Niko swinging his feet and singing a made-up song about blueberries as he of course enjoyed a few straight from the bowl.

It was beautiful, their life. Full of small, golden joys. But then there was a quiet space in her heart that had begun to echo; the loneliness of knowing that she wasn’t pregnant, and how she was starting to question her own capabilities.

Her attention had been taken as they started to hear Teddy stumbling down a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes and dragging his worn fleece blanket behind him like a cape. He crawled into Thea's lap without a word, nuzzling into her shoulder. She wrapped both arms around him, burying her face in his hair, breathing him in.

“You okay, Mum?” he mumbled into her collarbone. Teddy was so inquisitive and sensitive and understood emotions much more than any six-year-old should; it gave her such confidence in not only their parenting but knowing she had procreated with such a wonderful human being.

“Yeah, baby. Just tired.” She ran her fingers through his hair, managing the bedhead that he sported.

He accepted the answer easily, already half-asleep again in her arms. After a few incidents of too-early blueberrying the pancakes, Harry brought over a plate stacked high with pancakes, blueberries dotting the surface like constellations. Teddy got everyone a cup, Niko brought the juice to the table. They ate as a family, passing syrup and discussing the prehistoric period of dinosaurs, laughter blending with the rain pattering outside. And for a little while, Thea let herself pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t there—this was too important not to soak up.

After breakfast was finished and the boys had run upstairs to get dressed for the day, she lingered in the kitchen, washing the dishes and putting everything into the dishwasher. Harry came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist in a moment that felt intimate, but also made her still.

“Go get dressed,” he said, voice low against her ear. “We’re taking a walk.”

Thea turned towards the window, noticing that the rain had slowed, but just to a small shower, “In the rain?”

Harry nodded, kissing her cheek before her backed away, giving her a small pat on her behind and walking towards the stairs, “The slow kind. The gentle kind. You like that.”

And he was right—he was always right.

After they had managed to get everyone dressed and ready for a walk in the weather, they walked to the park with umbrellas and wellies, the boys splashing in puddles, laughing so loud it startled a pair of geese. There was something magical about holding her husband’s hand and watching the way that their boys loved one another, and life itself.

Thea watched them from a bench under cover as they grabbed onto the wet monkey bars, Harry beside her with a hand on her knee.

“You’ve been quiet this morning” he murmured into her hair, pulling her into him

She let herself melt into him. “Just tired.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment; she could feel that he was wanting to ask a question. She didn’t make eye contact because she didn’t want to upset him or make him think that she was upset. She wasn’t. She was just…

“Any news?”

Thea stilled at his question, and Harry felt it immediately. His fingertips ran against her shoulder, as his head turned towards her, watching her profile.

“I took one this morning,” she told him quietly. “Negative.”

His arms tightened around her. Not in frustration or pity. Just presence.

“It’s only the second month,” he said, shrugging it off. “We’re okay, right? I mean, you’re doing okay with it?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t confident. “Yeah. I know—I’m fine. It’s just—it’s different this time.”

Harry turned her around to face him. His eyes searched hers, soft and steady.

“Well, I want you to know,” he said softly, holding her hands in his, “there’s no pressure from me. None. I don’t want this to weigh on you.”

“I know.” She reached for his hand. “But I want it. It’s just... harder to admit that when it’s not happening, especially because Teddy and Niko were so quick—I mean, I don’t even know that we really planned Niko.”

Harry nodded; a possible smirk trying to cross his face as he remembered the night that Niko was conceived—or the trip they had taken where Niko was conceived. It was unclear the actual date, but he knew that on the fourth day of the trip, he could barely move from how busy they had gotten with one another after being able to be alone for a week.

His eyes turned towards the boys. “Still feels early, doesn’t it? Like we just opened the gate, and maybe the timing is just… not right, right now.”

Thea could tell that Harry was trying to keep the positive mindset, which she appreciated to some degree. Everything he said was true, but she didn’t want to be hopeful right now—she would later, but not right now. Now, she just wanted a moment to feel sorry for herself; she wasn’t sure why.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I feel like I’m already behind, or that something is wrong.”

The wind tugged at her coat. He squeezed her hand, shaking his head.

“We’re not behind,” He told her confidently, “We have so many options if this is really what we want, and we’ll give it a year. If nothing happens, we’ll make sure that nothing is wrong and go another route. There’s no reason to give up on it when everything before has been fine.”

Everything he said was true, she knew that. She felt that—she felt him.

“Mum, look!” Teddy yelled, the boys ran towards them, breaking them out of their bubble before Thea and Harry put their façade back on. Teddy barreled towards them with a black obsidian rock, shiny and wet from the rain, Niko following behind with his wellies sloshing around the puddles.

“Wow!” Thea gave him exaggerated surprise and wide eyes as she looked at it, “Very beautiful, Bear.”

“You think that the dinosaurs saw this rock?” Teddy asked, rolling it around in his hands.

Thea breathed in, “Probably, are we bringing that home with us?”

Teddy nodded, setting the rock between Harry and Thea before the boys ran back out to the playground—they had been loving to pretend that they were knights with armor and swords, sticks in their hands as they let their imagination run wild. It was one of the best parts of parenting: watching their children have imaginations that grew and grew to the point of magical fantasy.

Thea felt the ping in her chest: it was guilt. Guilt that she had been feeling sorry for herself all morning and not taking in these small moments with her boys while they were in such a beautiful age; they were giggling and talkative, so brilliant, and completely independent on so many levels.

She bit her lip as she felt Harry pull her shoulders towards him, kissing her temple.

“Our life is so beautiful,” Harry reassured her quietly, “It can only get more beautiful.”

She nodded, licking over her lips as she felt a sting behind her eye. It could only get more beautiful.

That evening, after they had made, eaten, and cleaned up dinner, while the boys painted paper butterflies at the table, Thea watched them and wondered how long she would carry this mix of gratitude and longing.

Their boys were loud and beautiful and messy. There was so much love here, in the chaos. Still, she wondered what a third would look like seated between them.

Would they look more like Harry? Would they have her quiet streak, or be another storm of joy like Niko? Would they be inquisitive like Teddy?

Harry noticed her staring and smiled from across the table. He mouthed, "Still hopeful?" and she gave him a slow nod. It wasn’t all sadness. It wasn’t even grief yet. But it was something between the lines of waiting and wanting, and she didn’t know how to carry it except with both hands open.

Later, while the boys built a fort out of couch cushions and old blankets to wind the night down with a film, Thea went upstairs to get their nighttime routines started. She wasn’t avoiding Harry—not really. She just needed a few moments to herself, to sort through the dull ache of disappointment that clung to her ribs like cobwebs.

She remembered when they'd first talked about a third baby, curled up together after one of Niko’s rare full nights of sleeping in his own bed. They had made such a deal of it; letting their own thoughts merge back together as a couple and not just as mum and dad.

"What if we went for three?" Harry had murmured, his hand tracing lazy shapes on her bare back.

She'd laughed, breathless and stunned. "Three? You sure?"

"I'm sure," he'd whispered into the darkness, still being able to see her eyes at their proximity. "I could do this forever with you."

And she’d wanted it too. Another little voice in the house, another pair of chubby arms flung around her neck. They had waited until things settled—until Teddy was in school, until Niko was potty-trained, until her work schedule became more flexible. They had waited for the perfect time.

But the body doesn’t always follow the calendar.

She walked slowly through the boys' shared room, straightening rumpled blankets and stepping over LEGO mines on the carpet. On the shelf above Niko's bed was a framed photo of their family from last summer—Teddy with an ice cream mustache, Niko in Harry's sunglasses, and Thea squinting from the sun, her arms draped around them all.

She touched the frame gently. A pang tightened in her chest. How could there be so much fullness, and still, something missing?

Harry found her folding laundry at the end of the small bed. She was tucking one of Teddy’s dinosaur T-shirts into a drawer when she noticed that he had been standing in the doorway.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We don’t need a test to tell us we’re doing something right. Look at those two tornados’ downstairs.”

Thea laughed through a tight throat. “They are a bit much.”

“You gave them to me,” he said, crossing the room now. He bent down in front of her, taking her hands into his as he looked up and saw her—really saw her. “And you’ll give us what we need now. However that looks. We just have to keep loving each other through it.”

She bit her lip before she leaned down and kissed him then, grateful. He always knew how to hold her together.

That night, once the boys were in bed and the house had gone still again, Harry lit the candle on her nightstand—the one that smelled like peonies and old books and really took in the scents of spring. Thea curled into him under the duvet; her head tucked beneath his chin as he rubbed her back, letting the silence of the room speak for a few moments.

He whispered stories about what summer looked like. Imagined their children running wild through a garden they hadn’t planted yet. He spoke as if it was already true, every detail vivid.

“And the baby?” she asked softly.

“They’ll be the loudest one of all,” Harry said softly. “Just like you.”

She smiled, even as her chest ached. Even as the rain began again against the windows.

The following morning, she woke to birdsong and the smell of coffee. Sunlight streamed in pale ribbons across the sheets. She rolled over to find Harry already dressed, hair damp from a shower, a mug in each hand as he gave her a tight smile. He knew she needed to be loved the most and doused in hope.

Hope, she thought again, is a kind of love. And today, they still had both.

+++

A few days later, the house cracked open at the seams more than either of them could handle in the moment. It was just before dinner, everyone home—Harry had gotten home from work just an hour prior, and things spiraled in the way only families with small children could truly understand.

Thea had spent the day with the boys; her part-time job at the library was helpful, allowing their childcare needs to be kept to a minimum. Harry was standing by the stove now, shirt sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, letting Thea handle the rest of the days chores—laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, and currently, vacuuming upstairs.

Niko had refused to wear pants, again. This had been ongoing for quite a while, and Harry and Thea just let it go. But, he was currently screaming from the hallway floor, red-faced and sweaty, because Teddy had told him all the dinosaurs had died. Teddy, now sulking and having emotional turbulence himself, crossed his arms at the kitchen table and shouted back at his brother that he was just telling the truth, and if Niko didn’t like it, he could go play with someone else.

Niko screeched loudly, tears staining his cheeks as he threw a toy truck at Teddy—who matched in the screeching.

Harry, elbow-deep in a boiling pot of pasta, turned sharply to the table. "Enough, both of you! That is not how we talk to each other,” He pointed his finger, “No hitting, Nikolai.”

His voice cracked like a whip across the room. The sound was sharper than usual—too loud, too angry, almost like he was at the end of his tolerance.

“Theodore, go to your room, now.”

Teddy’s face crumpled at the suddenness of his dad’s words; it was more of the shock that scared him. He shoved his chair back with a screech and bolted down the hallway, up the stairs, and slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Niko hiccupped once, startled out of his tantrum, and stared at the kitchen doorway. Thea stood there, her expression hard to read.

“Harry,” she said softly. Too softly—it was the kind of tone that meant trouble. He shut his eyes for a moment. He turned, already sighing.

“I didn’t mean to shout like that, but—”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But they’re kids. And you scared them. You scared me a little, too,” She shook her head, “You don’t talk like that.”

He blinked, chest rising and falling, guilt rising fast as he looked down the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand down his face. “I just—I’m tired. And everything was loud, and it’s been a long day and—”

She crossed the room, touched his hand gently. “I know. I really do. But we have to be better than that. We’ve always said we would be.”

He looked at her, eyes tired, shoulders slumped. There was such a growth about Harry that she couldn’t pinpoint; he looked older, hair shorter but mature, the softness of his features was starting to fade from the young memories that she held of him.

He wasn’t just a young, cocky boy who she fell in love with anymore. She knew there were aspects of him that would come out every once in a while; she loved the way he spoke to her in their intimate moments that reminded her of their youth.

But then there was this Harry. The father she had made of him; the husband she had turned him into. There was a softness to him now, one she couldn’t explain.

“I just don’t want them to think they can’t make mistakes. I want them to feel safe. I messed that up—I’m sorry.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head.

Thea leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Then go fix it.”

He nodded and set the spoon down, brushing his hands on a towel to dry them before heading up towards the boy’s room.

Moments later, she heard him knock on Teddy’s door. It didn’t open right away. But then it did; she heard the softness of the words, not the specifics. Harry got down on one knee next to the boy’s bed where he had been hiding under the covers, and apologized like he meant it, arms open, heart wide.

Teddy didn’t say much, but he hugged him tight.

Down in the kitchen, Thea scooped Niko into her arms and held him close, murmuring quietly that she was sorry he was sad, that daddy mean to yell. Her eyes met Harry’s over their boys’ heads as he returned.

It hadn’t been a perfect way to handle a situation, but it had been real. And sometimes, that was the kind of love that mattered most. The real moments.

That same night, after the boys had gone to bed and the house had fallen into a rare quiet, Thea and Harry curled up together in their bedroom. It wasn’t a scheduled night—it was just a night to them. There was something about the hush that made everything feel closer, more tender. The soft lights of the lamp on the bedside table illuminated around the headboard, a glow of amber giving the room a romanticism.

Thea shifted beneath him, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as he kissed a slow, familiar path down her neck, his knee guiding her thighs apart. It had been weeks since they’d had a night like this—no interruptions, no exhaustion that overtook them first. It was just time; it was just them together.

The boys had gone to sleep quite quickly, which allowed this to be sought after time.

He moved with care, every touch reverent, as if reacquainting himself with every inch of her skin. Her shirt had long since been discarded, his hands beneath her thighs, mouth brushing over her breastbone as he let his hands wander to the edge of her shorts.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he whispered against her, and she hummed in agreement, arching toward him. Her hands knitted through his hair as she giggles just a bit at the softness of his kisses.

Just as he began to slide his hands down the waistband of her pajamas, a soft whimper echoed through the hallway. They both froze.

Another cry, a sniffle. It was closer now, but then there was a tiny knock, then the creak of the door opening.

“Mummy?”

Niko stood there, hair mussed, clutching his favorite stuffed monkey. His bottom lip wobbled, and tears were filled in his eyes like earlier, but he looked completely broken and needing like a hurt puppy.

“I had bad dream.”

Thea blinked, chest rising with a silent, exasperated laugh. Harry rolled off her, falling back against the pillows with a groan muffled by a grin as he pulled the blanket around himself.

Thea had the blanket thrown against her chest as she sat up a bit and took in a deep breath, calling the smaller boy over, “Come here, love.”

Niko climbed into the bed without hesitation, crawling right between them. He snuggled into Thea’s side on top of the blanket as she held him close, and sighed dramatically; his warm cheek pressed to her arm.

Harry turned onto his side, gently brushing the boy’s hair back. “Scary dream? Loud dream?”

“There was a shark in the garden,” Niko murmured, thumb moving to his mouth, but Thea moved it away gently; they had been trying to break the thumb sucking habit.

Thea kissed his head, letting him fall into her touch. “That’s terrifying. We’ll make sure it doesn’t come back tomorrow, okay?”

Niko nodded sleepily, snuggling into his stuffed monkey, just a soft voice speaking out. “Thanks.”

Within minutes of having his hair brushed, he was out again, breathing soft and even.

Harry met Thea’s gaze over Niko’s head. She was laughing silently now, face buried in the crook of her elbow.

Harry sighed and mouthed, “We were so close.”

Thea reached out, lacing her fingers through his. “Rain check.”

He squeezed her hand, smiling at the ceiling. “I guess you’re worth the wait.”

And somehow, even with a squirming toddler wedged between them and desire shelved for another night—it still felt like everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

Like Harry had mentioned before, they weren’t on a ticking clock. These small moments reminded them of that; to enjoy what they had in front of them. And while the night would be full of toddler kicks, and no space in the bed, Thea would soak in every single minute.

Summer

Thea felt the change in the air before she marked it on a calendar. The lilacs were gone, replaced by the buzz of bees in lavender and the tang of sunscreen on small shoulders as she prepared the boys for another day swimming in the blow-up pool in their backyard.

Summer had arrived quietly, not with a bang but with a sigh, and the long, warm days brought with them a particular kind of expectation.

The ovulation calendar on the fridge had more marks on it now, just a few months later. Little hearts, red dots, their hopeful stars in the corners. Thea had begun logging symptoms in her phone, charting basal temperatures, listening to podcasts about fertility over breakfast while the boys painted at the kitchen table.

Even Teddy had started calling the stickers on the calendar her "wish stars," not knowing the weight each one carried. Niko tried to peel one off and stick it to his forehead once, giggling until she laughed too hard to stop him.

She didn’t want it to consume her. But it had begun to trickle into everything they did.

Every cramp, every headache, every mood swing felt like a message from her body she couldn’t quite translate; it was always a reminder that she was failing. Hope made her hyper-aware. Disappointment made her mute.

And in between it all, she clung to the gentle routines of motherhood, wiping sticky fingers and tying shoelaces, brushing crumbs from the table and kissing Niko's knees after falls. Folding laundry while Harry read to the boys in the next room, making grocery lists while thinking about due dates that never appeared.

But then there was the aspect of being a wife; being a partner. Harry was there through it all, and she knew that every movement, every word spoken between them had been calculated to what had been going on behind the scenes of it all.

It was as if there were two tracks in her mind—the life she was living, and the one she was waiting for.

She couldn’t have been more grateful for Harry if she tried; Harry tried to keep things light. He cracked jokes during scheduled intimacy by letting her know that her that she was late to her appointment with the love doctor, teased her gently about their shared Google calendar reminders, cooked elaborate meals to distract her when the test was negative again in early June.

He even baked a lemon cake from scratch. He picked peonies from the neighbor’s yard because he knew she loved them and wanted her to smile when she woke up. He made a playlist titled "Hopeful and Horny" and played it while they folded laundry, wiggling his hips until she finally cracked a laugh. He wore ridiculous boxer shorts with tiny hearts on them one morning and strutted around like a runway model just to get a smile.

She loved him for it; she did. But she could see the worry in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. In the way his hand lingered on her lower back, as if he could soothe something inside her just by touch. The way he watched her when she wasn't watching him.

"Maybe it’s the timing," she offered one night, their limbs tangled under the ceiling fan, sweat glistening between them after their scheduled session. "Maybe we’re just missing it by a day or two."

"Or maybe we’re just tired right now," Harry said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her temple. "And this is going to happen when we’re not looking."

But they were always looking. Every cycle was a countdown; every day was crossed off the calendar waiting for a new one. Every month another chance, another test, another quiet ache of disappointment when she got her period. And underneath it all, there was the pressure to stay soft with each other and to not let the want harden them.

It wasn’t helpful that they were both stressed; there were many arguments—stupid ones, nitpicking and petty. Ones about milk left out or who forgot to switch the laundry from the day before, so they had to run it again. But they weren’t really about the left-out milk or undone laundry. They were about pressure, unspoken and constant. A weight pressing down even on the days that felt easy.

Harry and Thea weren’t like this; they had never fought about anything. But now, they got under each other’s skin.

One afternoon, Thea snapped at Harry for letting Niko eat too many popsicles before lunch.

It wasn’t a big thing, really, just one of those tired, half-hungry moments where words came out too sharp and fast. She had been unloading the dishwasher, the sink still full from after breakfast, when she noticed the empty plastic wrappers tossed on the counter.

She counted three of them when she held them out to Harry.

“Seriously?” she said, eyes narrowing. “You let him eat all of those? He’s not going to touch his lunch now.”

Harry had barely looked up from where he was drying off a sippy cup. “He’s three. He wanted something cold.”

“That’s not the point.” Thea narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head.

Harry shrugged, placing the cups back in the cabinet. “Well, I didn’t think it’d ruin his entire appetite.”

“It’s not about ruining his appetite, it’s about boundaries. You can’t just give in because it’s easier,” She didn’t want to raise her voice, “I also told him no.”

That was when Harry set the cup down with a little too much force, the clatter echoing through the kitchen; Thea stilled. “You know what?” he said quietly, and then louder—“Sorry I’m so fucking incompetent.”

He didn’t slam the door when he left, but the silence that followed was louder than anything he could have said. Thea didn’t follow right away, almost shocked by the way that he spoke. She stayed in the kitchen, breathing through the heat rising in her chest. She knew she’d been too harsh. It wasn’t really about the popsicles.

It never was.

Ten minutes later, she stepped outside with the screen door creaking behind her.

The sun was high and bright, hanging heavy in the sky like it couldn’t be bothered to move. The air was thick with honeysuckle, warm and heady, the scent curling lazily in the breeze. Cicadas droned in the background. Somewhere, a lawnmower hummed distantly; the boys were in the small pool in the back, one that Harry had set up for them that morning and they never left in the summer.

She found him at the edge of the yard, shirtless, knee-deep in the garden bed. He was yanking weeds with tight, angry fists, tearing them straight from the roots like they’d wronged him personally. His back glistened with sweat, the muscles beneath his shoulder blades shifting with each pull. His hair clung damp to the back of his neck.

The flower beds were a mess now; half-dug up, soil scattered in uneven mounds across the grass. Clumps of earth clung to his forearms, his knees. One of the tomato cages was bent at an awkward angle, shoved aside in his frenzy.

It was like something had needed breaking, and this was the only thing he could break without consequence. She stood quietly for a moment, arms crossed over her chest, watching him. He didn’t acknowledge her; he just kept pulling.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” she said eventually, squinting in the warm June sun, her voice softer than it had been in the kitchen. “It’s just… I get overwhelmed, you know.”

Harry paused, breath caught in his throat. He didn’t turn around, and just let the weeds fall from his hand and dropped back on his heels.

“I know,” he said, voice low and rough, nodding. “Me too.”

Thea took a step forward, the grass warm beneath her bare feet. She crouched beside him, not touching him yet. Just sitting in the wreckage of their backyard garden, the heat of the day pressing against their skin like a held breath.

“Let’s not fight about popsicles,” she murmured, grabbing at some of the weeds he had been throwing.

Harry gave a tired, huffed-out laugh, rubbing his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Then stop talking to me like I’m the fucking babysitter.”

Thea’s heart dropped; shaking her head as she tries to explain, “I wasn’t. I’m just tired. And you’re—”

“I’m tired too.”

They sat there, side by side, the dirt between their fingers and the silence between their breaths. Thea looked over at him—really looked this time. His jaw was tight, his hands raw from pulling, but his eyes were soft. Hurt. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at feeling like he couldn’t get it right.

And she understood that. God, she really did.

She reached out, brushed her fingertips lightly over the curve of his knuckles, dusted with soil and sweat that was caking it on. “You’re a good dad,” she said. “I wouldn’t be wanting you to have my third if I didn’t think that.”

Harry looked at her then, finally, and something in his shoulders released. Not fully, but enough for her.

“Yeah?” he asked.

She nodded with a confirmation. “Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m sorry.”

Their boys shrieked in the kiddie pool nearby, splashing and laughing as if the world were simple. For a moment, they just sat there, watching their children and breathing through the quiet. Then Harry reached for her hand. Their fingers were dirty and warm, and neither of them let go.

They didn’t really talk again until dinner; just letting their moods mellow out. And even then, it was just about what movie the boys wanted to watch afterwards. But something had eased in the silence. +++

A few weeks later, they decided that they needed to leave the house.

One of their ideas involved taking the boys to the beach for a weekend. It was a last-minute, summer escape to breathe something saltier than their house. Thea wore a white sundress, her hair braided back in a pretty French braid, and she smiled more that day than she had in weeks.

They built sandcastles, of course. Harry was the king at building sandcastles, being very articulate and being patient with the boys. Teddy buried Harry’s legs in the sand. Niko collected shells and gave Thea each one with a kiss to the back of her hand as they laid in the sun. They let the boys stay up past bedtime and ate fish and chips on the boardwalk, salt on their fingers and the sound of crashing waves in their ears.

Harry watched her splash in the surf with Teddy while Niko dozed on a towel. She looked radiant, so alive in the heat and wind, her laugh carried by the sea breeze. Something about being in the ocean and letting her hair down made even the tensest moment feel like it could be washed away by the salt water. Teddy clung to his mum’s side as they waded in the water, laughing when a big wave would come around.

To Harry, it felt like falling in love again. But not new love—deeper love, an earned love. A love that had been through the ringer.

That night, back at the rental house, she curled into him in bed, the scent of saltwater still clinging to her skin that had turned a darker shade of tan. The windows were open, the air warm and slow, cicadas humming outside along with the sounds of the water hitting the shores. She wore one of his old T-shirts and nothing else, and he knew without asking that she just wanted to be held.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, not doing much except moving the warm air around the room.

Harry had one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting against the dip of her waist. He was half-asleep, lulled by the sound of water and the sticky, slow rhythm of summer nights. His fingers idly traced the hem of the shirt she wore.

“You know what I miss?” she whispered into the darkness.

“Hmm?” He echoed; his eyes were closed as he just listened.

“Us. Just being us. Not planners or hopefuls or testers. Just... you and me.”

He rolled to face her fully. “Then let’s just be us tonight, huh?"

There was no rush. No sense of calculation or looking at the schedule and trying to understand how to track temperatures.

He leaned in and kissed her, slow and warm, like she imagined the ocean at night would feel if it washed up on her body. Her hand slid into his curls, and his fingers moved under the hem of the shirt to find her bare hip, the curve of her ass. Her breath hitched when he squeezed gently, and the kiss deepened, their mouths opening like they were starving for something that had been waiting just beneath the surface.

Thea shifted beneath him, rolling to her back, pulling him over her. The old mattress dipped with their weight, and the air between them sparked like a struck match.

Harry pushed the shirt up her torso, dragging it slowly so it bunched beneath her arms. He leaned down, kissed her sternum, her ribs, the underside of her breast, pausing to suck and mark her where tan lines had formed. She gasped softly, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him there, encouraging him to take more.

They weren’t in their heads tonight. There was no "should we" or "what if." Just a slow burn of want that felt familiar and feral and organically them.

He pulled her underwear down, slow, one side at a time as he shimmied them down her legs, letting his knuckles brush along the inside of her thighs. When she was bare, he sat back on his heels and looked at her with her legs spread open for him, chest rising and falling, flushed and already wet for him.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured back at her, like it was something he hadn’t said to her in a while but had never stopped thinking.

She pulled him back down with a smile, one hand sliding into the waistband of his boxers. He gasped at the feeling of her hand around him as she helped him out of his own underwear, eyes fluttering as she pumped him; something dirty, something that didn’t happen very often nowadays. “So are you. Especially when you look at me like that, Styles.”

Their mouths met again, messier this time, hungrier with a need that neither of them had realized was built up. Her thighs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing into the backs of his legs. He slid into her with one slow, grounding thrust, and they both gasped at the sensation—how familiar and electric it still was, even after all this time.

They didn’t rush. His hips rocked into hers in long, rolling waves, her back arching to meet him. The headboard tapped softly against the wall, the rhythm of their bodies syncing with the pulse of summer outside. She clawed at his back, left little half-moon indents in his skin. He kissed her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—every place he used to know by heart.

At one point, he pulled out and flipped her over, hands gripping her hips as she buried her face into the pillow, muffling a moan when he slid back in. It was a little dirtier now, a little grittier—like how they used to do it on those college nights when they couldn’t get enough of each other. She smiled into the pillow at the familiarity that hadn’t been so frequent.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his voice low and wrecked against the back of her neck. His hips snapped forward again, a little rougher this time, and he bit down on her shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp and clutch the pillow tighter.

Every thrust dragged a moan from her throat, high and broken, her body rocking with the force of his pace. Her knees were wide, pressed into the mattress, back arched in offering. She was dripping around him, so wet he could feel it slick and hot down his thighs, the way her body gripped him like it didn’t want to let go.

His fingers dug into her hips, bruising almost, pulling her back to meet him as he drove into her, deeper each time. Skin slapped, wet and obscene, and the only sounds in the room were her panting, his groans, the creak of the bed, and the soft lapping of waves through the open window.

“Fuck—baby,” he growled, breath catching as she tightened around him; he knew the game she played. “Your pussy is so fucking good… always taking me so good.”

She whimpered, her voice gone high and desperate. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he panted, then leaned over her again, chest flush to her back, his hand sliding between her legs. He found her clit easily, fingers slick, and began circling it in slow, filthy little strokes. “Gonna come for me?” he murmured into her ear. “Let me feel you fall apart? Hm?”

Her reply was a choked cry, her hips stuttering, thighs beginning to shake as the pleasure built fast and sharp. His name spilled from her mouth again and again like prayer, like surrender to his dirty games, and then she shattered with a sob, pulsing around him in waves that made his own climax slam into him like a freight train.

He groaned deep in his throat, fucking her through it, losing rhythm, and finally buried himself one last time, spilling into her with a curse and a tremble. His whole body seized, mouth open against her damp skin, like the force of it had knocked the breath from his lungs.

He stayed inside her for a moment, pressed to her back, their bodies sticky with sweat, tangled in the sheets and each other.

Eventually, he slid out with a groan and collapsed beside her, chest heaving, arm falling heavy across her as she fell onto her side. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breath still unsteady, a small, satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The fan whirred around them. The waves kept rolling outside the open window. And the two of them lay there, ruined and warm and absolutely right, the scent of sex thick in the air and his cum slowly leaking down her thighs. Familiarly.

Then she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together, still catching her breath.

“That,” she whispered, smiling into the dark, “felt like us.”

Harry leaned over, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered back, “Still got it in us, apparently.”

Afterward, she cried. It was not loud, but it was after they had gotten ready for bed and everything got quiet again. Just tears that came from some tender place she hadn’t touched in a while. Harry didn’t ask her to explain; he didn’t need her to. He just held her tighter and let her soak the pillow with her fallen tears.

And in the dark, between breaths, they remembered how to feel like home.

+++

July crept in, hot and thick and with unnamed emotion. Their bedroom became a haven of fans and quiet music, a retreat from the weight of wanting. Even their kisses grew quieter, slower. Grief didn’t always roar, sometimes it was just a sigh.

Still, the tests stayed negative. Today was a difficult one; they were all difficult, but this seemed to rock Thea harder.

One evening, Harry came home with a bouquet of yellow roses, a new stack of books from a few authors that he knew that Thea liked, a bar of dark chocolate tucked in the bag, along with a new small bullet vibrator—that was just to be cheeky, but also to remind her.

“Just because,” he said, placing them beside her on the couch.

She looked up from the TV she had been watching in the quietness of the boys playing in their room, her eyes shining. “You always know what I need.”

“You need reminding that you’re loved. Not just on the two days a month we cross our fingers." He moved over to where she was sitting, flopping down next to her.

She leaned into him, head resting against his chest. The TV played some old movie neither of them were watching. His fingers threaded through her hair. Thea closed her eyes and let herself exist without expectation for a moment.

“Do you think it’ll happen?” she asked quietly.

He kissed the top of her head, speechless for a moment before he felt her settle into him. “I don’t know,” He told her truthfully, “But I hope.”

She nodded, but her throat caught.

+++

One Saturday morning in July, Thea met her sister Erika at their usual coffee shop—a small, airy place tucked beside the library, with ivy growing up the brick and mismatched mugs. Erika was already seated at their usual corner table, two iced lattes in front of her, a pair of sunglasses propped in her hair.

“You look tired,” Erika said bluntly, handing Thea a straw as she squinted up at her.

“Wow, thanks,” Thea replied dryly. She stirred her drink and took a long, needed sip. “You always know how to flatter a girl, huh?”

Erika grinned, unapologetic as she leaned forward. "It’s what sisters are for. So... how’s everything?"

Thea hesitated. She hadn't meant to bring it up. But something in her chest cracked the moment she saw her sister's familiar eyes—the ones that had known her before marriage, before babies, before grief had a name in her repertoire.

“We’ve… actually been trying,” she said finally, voice low. “For a third. But it’s not happening.”

Erika blinked almost blankly, like she hadn’t heard her at first. She reached across the table and squeezed Thea’s hand. “Oh, hon. How long?”

Thea nodded, swallowing hard, remembering the last few months. “It’s only been a few months. But it was so easy before. And now I’m doing everything—temping, tracking, testing. I feel like I’m on a timer all the time."

Erika was quiet for a beat. Then she said, “You remember how I got pregnant with the twins?”

Thea blinked, sighing. “By accident. On a cruise.”

“Exactly. Drunk on overpriced wine coolers and not a single ovulation app in sight. There may have even been a bit of ass play—”

Thea barked a surprised laugh to interrupt her sister, “Okay! I get it.”

“Point is,” Erika continued, “even when we’re doing all the ‘right’ things, bodies are weird. Mine decided to double down for no reason and yours is just... taking its sweet time. Doesn’t mean it won’t get there.”

Thea thought for a moment, nodding. “It’s just hard. I feel like I’m failing at something that should come naturally.”

Erika leaned back, holding her cold cup in her hands. “Thea, you’re raising two actual tiny humans who think you hung the moon. You’re not failing at anything. You’re human. And honestly, sometimes I think the people who try the hardest are the ones who love the deepest."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching a little girl chase a pigeon across the patio.

Erika added, more lightly, “Besides, you really want to be outnumbered? My twins colored on the cat last week. In Sharpie,” She took another sip, “Marshmallow has a green ass.”

Thea snorted into her coffee. “That helps. A lot."

“Good. Because even though I know you want three, it may not be happening for a reason beyond you.”

Thea gave her sister a soft smile, “So, how is being a mum of twins going?”

“I’m wearing yesterday’s dry shampoo and a shirt I stole from my husband, and a diaper."

They both laughed until tears prickled Thea’s eyes.

She reached for her sister’s hand again. “Thank you. Really. I just needed to say it out loud."

“Say it as many times as you need. You’re not alone. And if your uterus needs a pep talk, I have wine and several colorful metaphors ready."

“Deal,” Thea said, smiling genuinely now. “Big deal."

Her sister tipped her cup toward her with a smirk, eyebrows raised. “So. You and Harry, then. Still good?”

Thea lifted a brow herself, glancing at Erika for a moment before shaking her head. “What does that mean?”

Her sister grinned wickedly, leaning back in her chair. “Is he still as good in the sack as he was when you were younger? I was a little worried that’s why you stayed—don’t get me wrong, very glad he’s been the best dad to the boys, but you know.”

Thea laughed, covering her face with her hand. “Oh my god, stop.”

“What? I’m just saying—it was the only thing I couldn’t argue with. You two had that thing. Like, walls-shaking, might-die-of-lust kind of thing. Remember that holiday that we went on as a family and Harry came for the first time?”

Of course, Thea remembered that trip. It was when they were nineteen and full of love and lust and completely unbothered by the world around them. They had to be touching at all hours of the day, and she could barely walk through a doorway without Harry’s eyes trailing her. They had sex on every surface, anytime they were alone. She knew that her family could sense the glow that they both had. It wasn’t just the holiday tan.

“Yes,” Thea pulled her lips into her mouth, “I do remember.��

“Course you do, you were animals.” Erika joked. “Either way, I hope you still want each other like that.”

Thea rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She swirled the latte, and stared out at the patio of the café, the warm breeze playing with the hem of her shirt.

There was a pause before she bit on the straw. “But… yeah. We still have that.”

Erika’s teasing faded a little, her tone softening. “Then maybe that counts for something. That you still want each other, after everything.”

Thea nodded slowly. “It does. Especially now. It’s like—when the rest of life feels too big, he’s still the only person I want touching me. Still the one who knows how.”

Erika touched her cup with her sister’s, this time in something like sisterly solidarity. “To good sex with the same person for a decade. Miracles do happen.”

Thea clinked her cup against hers and smiled back at her. “Cheers to that.”

As she drove home, the sun pouring in through the windshield and the iced latte sweating in her cupholder, Thea felt lighter. It wasn’t that anything had changed.

But the weight had shifted. Just enough for her to understand that. And for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was holding it alone.

Later that same weekend, Harry found himself at his mum’s for lunch—just him and his sister, Maeve, and the smell of roast chicken filling the kitchen like childhood. It wasn’t planned, not really. He’d dropped the boys off for a few hours to play with their cousins and stayed for tea, and then Maeve had shown up with a box of old books she wanted to donate.

They sat around the kitchen table, sunlight pooling on the floor, windows wide open to let in the breeze. His mum passed around plates of food while Maeve poured some water, chatting about her work and her daughter’s obsession with glitter glue.

“So,” his mum said after a lull in conversation, eyeing him over her glasses, “how’s Thea? She looked a little run-down last time I saw her.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, not sure if he was wanting to bring up in conversation what had been going on at their house. He figured that between his mum and sister, they should have an opinion on it—he didn’t really know if he wanted them to, but he figured he could test it anyways.

“She’s fine, tired,” Harry said gingerly, tentative before he smirked upwards, “We’ve been trying again. For a third.”

Maeve nearly choked on the sip of her water. “You mad bastard.”

“Thanks for the support,” Harry muttered, smirking. He picked at the corner of his plate, reluctant to look either of them in the eye.

His mum reached across and touched his wrist. “You don’t have to tell us, love.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just... not going the way it did before. Not as quick. And it’s hitting Thea a bit hard.”

Maeve softened immediately seeing her brother’s reaction. “That’s rough. I get it. It’s not just a want, is it? It becomes this... ache.”

Harry nodded, taking in a large inhale. “She’s doing everything right. Temping, charts, the apps, all of it. And I can’t do anything but show up when the calendar tells me to. I feel like... I don’t know. Useless.”

His mum gave a sad little smile, tilting her head. “That’s because you love her. Watching someone you love carry something heavy—especially something you can’t fix… it’s awful.”

Maeve leaned forward towards him. “You’re not useless, H. You’re the anchor. You’ve always been the one people lean on. Just keep being that. And for God’s sake, let her cry without fixing it. That’s the trick.”

Harry cracked a grin. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“I have three, so I know how it feels—it feels like when there’s a gaggle of geese and one is chasing you, the other is squawking, and the other is flapping its wings.”

They all laughed, low but communal, the kind of laugh that came from knowing too much.

His mum let her hands rest on his wrist as he stared at the table, wondering if he wanted to talk about it—or why he felt so lonely talking about it. “Three’s a lot. But if anyone can do it, it’s you two. Just don’t forget to be kind to each other while you wait.”

He nodded again, quietly grateful.

As he packed up to leave, Maeve slipped a chocolate bar into his pocket.

“For Thea,” she said. “And maybe a bit for you.”

When he got back to the house, the boys were still napping, and Thea was on the couch with a book he had gotten her. He kissed her forehead and tucked the chocolate beside her without a word. She looked up, surprised, and he just shrugged.

+++

In late August, a heat wave struck. They abandoned the oven in favor of cold pasta salads and watermelon slices. The boys ran shirtless through the sprinkler all day. Harry built blanket forts and read them stories by flashlight. They ate dinner on the floor, drank lemonade by the pitcher, and left chores undone.

Thea wandered the garden barefoot, letting the dirt cool her skin. Sometimes she stood at the edge of the tomato patch and whispered prayers into the wind. Not always to a god, most of the times, sometimes just to the universe, or to the cells in her body.

Once, she found a ladybug on her finger and cried like it was a sign. She cried more often now. In the car. In the shower. When she saw a stranger with three kids at the grocery store. When Niko asked, innocently, if their next baby could have red hair like the doll in the book she had been reading for bedtime.

But she still laughed, too. Still found Harry in the doorway of a room and thought how lucky she was.

Thea didn’t stop hoping—not yet. But she began to ask new questions:

What if this was it? Could she be happy with two? Was she less if her body didn’t give them another?

She didn’t voice them aloud—not yet. But the questions lived in the quiet.

And Harry, he was always there. A constant hand on her back. A note left in her coat pocket. An extra strawberry on her plate because he knew she’d give the first to Niko when he asked. He didn’t push her. He didn’t rush her. He just stayed. And loved her. They hadn’t given up. Not yet.

But something had shifted between them all. The heat of wanting had become something heavier; something deeper. It wasn’t desperation, no, it was devotion.

Autumn

September arrived with a crispness in the air and a hush that seemed to stretch out across the days. The trees began to tinge with color—burnt oranges, golds, and rusts—and the evenings came earlier, curling into their home like a familiar guest. Thea loved autumn, always had. But this year, it felt different. Like the world was letting go of something she was still trying to hold.

One thing that had hit her the hardest was Teddy starting school. Being six, he was starting his first year of primary and there was such a hole in her heart that she hadn’t even been paying attention to.

He wore his new shoes with pride, his backpack bouncing behind him as he ran ahead to his classroom. Harry helped him pack his small backpack the night before, giving him his bath, his pep talks on how to meet new friends.

Thea stayed strong until the car door closed, and then she cried—harder than she expected. Not because she was sad, exactly, but because she felt too many things at once: pride, joy, loss, and that quiet ache that never quite went away with a child growing up. She sat in the driver’s seat with the radio off, her coffee growing cold, remembering the way his hand had slipped from hers without hesitation.

The silence in the house that afternoon was its own kind of heartbreak. Niko played quietly on the rug with his trucks, not asking where his brother was, as if he instinctively knew this was something that would happen now—or he didn’t want to upset Thea. Thea folded Teddy’s little uniform shirts from the drying rack, smoothing them flat with shaking hands, and felt the shape of his growing up press against her chest like a bruise.

She didn’t regret it. She was proud, of course, but she missed him terribly.

Niko turned four the following week—another moment that hit her harder than expected. They threw a party in the backyard with blue balloons and a dinosaur cake with kids and parents from Niko’s play group.

She was smiling, but her eyes were far away—watching Teddy grow too fast, Niko turn another year older, and herself fall behind in a race she never meant to enter. She wanted to freeze this moment: Harry rolling in the grass with Nerf guns, Niko roaring with cake on his face, Teddy trying to explain paleontology to a three-year-old. But time didn’t freeze; it only marched on, quicker.

And that ache in her chest stayed right where it was, nestled between joy and longing.

+++

One evening, after the boys were asleep and the dishes were done, Thea joined Harry on the front porch. In the evenings, he had been sitting out here and reading his books; she let him sit in silence for a bit, he deserved it after working all day. The air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves, and she wrapped herself in a blanket as she settled beside him. Today, she wanted to distract him.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crickets before he looked up from his book when she went to speak.

“I keep thinking,” she said softly, “what if this is it? What if it doesn’t happen?”

Harry didn’t answer right away; they sat on the swing that hung from their porch. He reached over, took her hand and took in a deep breath.

“Then we’ll raise two incredible kids and be grateful every day of that. And we’ll still build a life full of love and adventure. You and me,” He swallowed, clearing his throat, “It will take time to… move on from. But we’re the story, remember? We get to write it how we want it.”

She blinked fast, nodding. “I just thought... I don’t know. That I’d feel it. That I’d know when I’m done trying."

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “We don’t ever really have to stop, if you don’t want. We just have to come peace with the results.”

There had been a moment when Harry watched her carefully, seeing the sunken in features of her that looked like a ghost of who she was. Harry was never one to push; pushing her to do something never worked. But this wasn’t the woman he loved sitting next to him. This was a shell of her.

For the first time, Harry felt scared.

Then he asked, gently, “Are you okay?”

She blinked again, surprised by the softness in his voice, how close the question landed to the ache inside her. It took her a moment to answer him, because she tried to settle on an answer that felt correct.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I keep saying I’m fine, so I don’t have to explain how tired I really am. It’s like my hope is a thread I’ve been holding too tightly. My hands hurt from it.”

He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Would it help to talk to someone? Like, someone besides me?”

She looked over at him, eyebrows drawing slightly together. Harry worried that he overstepped but then shook his thoughts about that away. He was doing the right thing.

“I mean it,” he added quickly, turning towards her. “Not because I think something’s wrong with you. But because I love you. And because sometimes the strong ones—”

“—need help too,” she finished his sentence, voice breaking a little.

Harry squeezed her hand at the break in her voice, noticing the tears in her eyes. “Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, just listening to the crickets and the rustle of dry leaves across the porch steps.

“Maybe,” she said finally, nodding. “Maybe I do—maybe I need to.”

“Okay,” he said, quietly letting the word fill the space. “Then we’ll figure that out together.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, blanket tucked up to her chin.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me for loving you,” he replied. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

They stayed there until the air grew cold and the stars came out from behind the soft clouds that had come over the autumn sky, a shared silence between them that was heavy, but healing.

Later that night, after Thea had fallen asleep curled on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from the porch, Harry stared at her for a moment before he grabbed his keys and drove across town to his mum’s house.

It was a quiet drive there, a thoughtful one. But his thoughts were so jumbled he wasn’t sure where to place them. After he had knocked on her door, she opened the door in slippers, eyebrows lifting at the sight of him.

“Harry?” she asked gently. “What is it?”

It was then that he realized he didn’t have an answer to the question. He didn’t know why he was there.

He just stepped inside and shook his head. “Sorry. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

She didn’t ask questions right away, knowing that something was eating him up. As a mother, she just ushered him to the kitchen and turned on the kettle They sat at the table in silence, the low hum of the heat filling the room until the water boiled.

When she finally placed a cup of tea in front of him, he wrapped his hands around it but didn’t drink any of it.

“I don’t think Thea’s okay,” he said at last, voice low and rough. “She says she’s managing. And I know she wants to be. But I can see it eating her up. The waiting. The pressure. The heartbreak.”

His mum nodded, waiting.

“I feel so useless,” he went on. “Like I’m holding everything with frayed hands. Trying to be strong for her and for the boys, and at the same time, I’m terrified I’m doing it all wrong. I want to fix it. But I can’t. And it’s driving me mad.”

She reached across the table, laid a hand over his.

“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “you’re not supposed to fix her. You’re supposed to love her.”

“I do,” he whispered, eyes wet. “More than anything.”

“Then that’s what you do. You love her through this. And when she breaks down, you let her. You be the steady one—not the perfect one. The present one.”

Harry looked down, shoulders sagging with the weight of it. “I’m just scared.”

“I know,” she said. “But love is still worth being scared for.”

He let out a long breath, blinking fast at the way that he could feel the tears prickling the back of his eyes. Then nodded.

And for the first time in weeks, he let himself cry—quiet and unguarded. Not because he was weak. But because he loved so deeply, he didn’t know where to put it all.

He covered his eyes with his hands, feeling the sob catch up to him before he shook his head. His mum jumped from her seat to move towards him, letting him fall into a hug with her.

“Oh, Harry,” She held him as he cried; it wasn’t something that happened often enough for her to know how to handle. Her eyes shut as she rubs his back to quiet him. He let himself be someone’s son for a moment, not a father or a husband or a man trying to hold up the sky. “She’s going to be okay.”

Harry had come to the conclusion that he just didn’t know how to love anyone as much as he loved her. And he didn’t know how to handle the sadness that overcome her; it didn’t just affect her, it affected him. Everything that was happening to her was happening to him, and he didn’t know how to stop it—how to make it better.

She pulled back to look at him, brushing his hair out of his face the way she always had. “You keep showing up by staying soft, even when the world makes you want to harden. You keep kissing her forehead. You keep making the boys laugh. You keep doing the little things. That’s how we hold the people we love when they’re slipping.”

Harry wiped at his face with his sleeve, laughing under his breath. “I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now.”

“No one does,” she told him, definitely. “We just figure it out in pieces. And when the pieces don’t fit, we make room.”

They sat together in the quiet for a while, drinking tea that had long gone lukewarm.

Before he left, she packed him a container of stew and an old photo from when Teddy was born—Thea asleep in a chair with the baby on her chest, Harry bent over them, his face lit with awe.

“Just in case you forget what you’ve already done right,” she said, handing it to him.

By the time he pulled into the driveway at home, the lights were low in the living room. He walked inside to find the blanket had slipped off Thea’s shoulders. He tucked it back around her, brushing a kiss over her forehead.

She stirred just a little at the movement.

“You okay?” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

He settled beside her on the couch. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I am now.”

They fell asleep like that, tangled together, not knowing what tomorrow would bring—only that they’d face it side by side.

+++

At the end of October, Harry planned something small—just for them. He booked a night at a bed-and-breakfast two towns over, close enough that his mum could watch the boys.

They drove with the windows down, music playing softly, whatever Thea wanted. The trees were truly at their peak, fiery and full, and Thea let her hand drift through the air outside the car like a ribbon.

The inn was old and smelled a bit musty but had character that couldn’t be replicated, with creaky floors and quilts folded at the foot of the bed. They walked through a pumpkin patch that afternoon, laughing at the absurd shapes. They drank cider from paper cups. They touched fingers in the car like teenagers. All of it being a reminder of what they were, who they had been.

That night, after a dinner near the pier where they both had a little too much wine that they had to walk home, Harry gave her a small box.

Inside was a necklace: a delicate silver chain with three small stars—simple and shining like something made of quiet wishes.

“Two for the boys,” he said softly, pointing to it, “One for what we’ve hoped for. No matter what happens next, that part is ours too.”

Thea’s fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the stars to her chest. The gesture, the thought, undid her.

She didn’t speak. She just looked at him with eyes that had loved him through seasons of waiting, and kissed him, so slow and so sure.

It started gentle, it always did. The kind of kiss that said: I remember you. I still want you.

His hands were reverent, moving slowly over her arms, her sides, the curve of her back. She leaned into him, into the warmth of his chest, into the certainty of his touch. His mouth trailed down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin, and when she whispered his name, it was with a need that had nothing to do with making a baby—and everything to do with being seen as his wife. His partner.

He undressed her with care, as if it were something sacred. And when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her underwear, she gasped, head tipping back. He murmured something quiet against her collarbone—something that sounded like “God, you’re everything”—and she felt her heart swell too big for her body.

They made love that night like it was a beginning instead of an end.

Like it wasn’t about schedules or trying for two lines on a test. It was just skin and breath and the kind of intimacy that comes from years of knowing someone in both silence and chaos.

She guided his hands, showed him where it ached and where it healed. He moved inside her with something close to awe. It was slow, deep, full of reverence and restraint, until restraint gave way to something hungrier. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders. Every kiss felt like a question of her sanity, every sigh an answer.

And when they came, it was together—trembling and breathless, her name on his lips like a promise.

Afterward, they laid tangled together, her head on his chest, the windows open to the rustle of leaves and the hum of crickets outside. The necklace still hung between her breasts, the stars catching faint moonlight.

Thea stared at the ceiling, letting herself feel all of it—the weight, the want, the wonder. The ache that had dulled, the love that hadn’t.

For once, she didn’t try to name the feeling. She just let it be.

The next morning, they lingered around the small room. Breakfast was warm cinnamon rolls and strong coffee, served in chipped floral China. Harry pulled a chair close to hers on the porch of the inn, both of them bundled in oversized sweaters. The sky was blue with the hint of winter in it; she could smell snow if she tried hard enough.

“We could do this more,” she said, watching the wind ruffle the bare branches of the trees that had lost all of it’s leaves.

“Get away?” He asked softly.

“Just... remember who we are. When we’re not parents. When we’re not hoping. Just us.”

Harry nodded, finishing his sip. “Let’s remember, then. Even when it gets hard.”

She reached for his hand, fingers cold but sure. “Let’s promise.”

They drove home in silence and song, windows down, the air biting but invigorating. When they returned home later that day, the boys barreled into their arms with sticky hands and glitter in their hair. Maeve reported bedtime disasters and cereal for dinner but said it with a smile.

As Harry carried their bags upstairs in the house, Thea lingered in the hallway, watching the boys chase each other down the stairs. She touched the star necklace at her throat.

Something about Thea had started to feel… happier. More put together. Maybe more alive than before. She had her ups and downs, but she knew the person who was there for them all.

Even in her darkest hour, she knew who was there.

+++

A few days later, they went out to dinner with friends—Ben and Lila, college friends who now lived two neighborhoods over, who had one baby and another on the way. Harry and Thea hadn’t been very good about meeting with friends, so they decided to reach out.

They met at a cozy Italian place downtown, the kind with candles stuck in old wine bottles and menus written on chalkboards.

Thea wore her favorite dress, the green one with the sleeves that made her feel pretty, and Harry had shaved and put on cologne. For a little while, it felt easy. They ordered drinks, shared appetizers, laughed over stories from years ago and what had been going on in their lives so far.

Thea wanted to be a good friend and ask about how the pregnancy was going, how excited they were. She tried to push herself to ask questions, to keep herself engaged. It wasn’t always about her, after all.

But then, halfway through dessert, Lila leaned in with a fond smile and said, "You guys are so good with your boys—I love seeing your posts online, they’re always so handsome and smart. Honestly, if anyone should have a big family, it’s you two."

Ben chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You’re the ones we looked up to when we started having kids," He took a sip of his whiskey, “Thinking of having more?”

Harry laughed softly, polite and tight-lipped. Thea managed a smile, knowing it was coming from a place of love. She reached for her wine glass to buy herself a second. "We’re... figuring things out."

“Of course you guys will,” Lila smiled, “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was sooner than later.”

In the moment, she watched Harry shift in his seat; it wasn’t really just an uncomfortable look, it was a bit of a… frustrated one.

The moment passed. Lila started talking about baby names, about the ones that she loved and was thinking of using—they were having a girl. Harry changed the subject, nonchalantly taking it back to asking about if they were putting their son in sports.

After dessert, they paid the bill. Said goodbye on the sidewalk with hugs and promises to do it again soon. The car was mostly quiet on the drive home. It wasn’t until they hit the main road that Thea spoke.

"Well, that was fun."

Harry kept his eyes on the road, lips tight as he tried to not say anything else. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause, the sound of the car on the road was the only silence they had. Then she whispered, "That comment didn’t bother you?"

He exhaled slowly. "Yep."

"I know they meant well," she said quickly, defending the moment. "I know. But—"

"It still hurt."

She turned her head to the window. "I felt like a defective doll. Like, 'Oh, of course they’ll have another soon.' Like it’s that easy."

Harry gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I wanted to say something. I just didn’t want to ruin the night."

"I get it. I do. But I’m so tired of pretending. Of laughing it off and then crying in the bathroom."

Harry reached for her hand. "You don’t have to pretend with me."

She looked at him then, eyes full.

"I know. But I feel like I have to pretend with everyone else. Like it’s shameful. Like I’m not doing my job as a woman or a mother or a wife—like I’m missing something."

He pulled the car into their driveway and shut off the engine. They sat in the quiet hum of the evening.

"You are doing everything," he said, turning toward her. "You are carrying the weight of hope and heartbreak every day. And I hate that people don’t see that. But I do. I see all of it."

She wiped a tear from her cheek and gave him a small smile. "Maybe next time I’ll just say, 'We’re infertile, but thanks for the vote of confidence.'"

Harry laughed, surprised. "Honestly, I’d pay to see that."

They walked inside together, not lighter exactly, but together. And that made all the difference.

+++

One evening in early November, over dinner with the four of them sitting at the table, Teddy put down his fork mid-bite and looked up at them with serious eyes.

“Where do babies come from?” he asked, as serious as he could be.

Thea nearly choked on her water, coughing into her napkin as Harry stopped chewing midbite as he stared straight ahead at his son.

“Wow,” Thea said, eyes wide as she looked at Harry, raising her brows at the suddenness of the question.

“Um,” Harry said, blinking fast, trying to understand where that had come from. “That’s... a great question, mate. Why are you curious?”

“Eli from school says his mummy has a baby in her tummy,” Teddy continued, completely serious, shrugging as he stabbed a bite of chicken. “He said it grew there because she kissed his dad a lot. And they got extra married. Like, twice or something.”

Niko laughed so hard milk came out of his nose. “Extra married!” he howled, pointing at his brother like it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. Thea, still red from her coughing fit, let the smile grow over her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to Harry. “Extra married.”

“I mean, I guess we’ve been slacking,” Harry said under his breath. “Only got married once.”

Thea nudged him beneath the table, still laughing. She wiped her mouth, took a deep breath, and met Teddy’s gaze.

“Well, that’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?” she said. “And not entirely wrong. Babies do grow in their mummy’s tummy, but it’s a bit more... complicated than kissing.”

“Like how complicated?” Teddy asked, squinting like he was gearing up for a quiz.

Harry jumped in, biting at his lip. “It’s like gardening, I think,” he said. “You need a seed and a place for it to grow, and lots of love and time.”

“Like when we plant tomatoes?”

“Exactly like that,” Thea said, thankful for the metaphor. “Except instead of dirt, the seed goes into the mummy’s tummy, and if it sticks and grows, then you get a baby.”

Teddy mulled this over. “Where do you get the seeds to grow babies?”

Thea's breath caught, eyes glancing at Harry before he clicked his tongue and shook his head to try and manage an answer for him.

“Eli’s dad probably bought them at the store.” Harry nodded before he took another bite. “They kissed a lot, got married again, and then put the seeds in his mum’s tummy. Boom. Baby.”

Thea smirked at his answer, nodding a few times before she caught his glance; his foot caught hers under the table.

“Do you want another baby?” Teddy asked suddenly, turning his wide, curious eyes on her.

She paused, looked at Harry before turning back to Teddy—glancing at Niko.

“We’d love another one,” she said honestly. “But we love what we already have. You, Niko. You both are everything to us, you know that?”

Harry leaned forward towards Teddy. “Sometimes we dream about one. That’s all.”

Teddy seemed satisfied with this; it was a moment that warmed Thea’s heart. He nodded and picked up his fork again. “Well, I hope the seed works. I want someone littler than Niko. He keeps sitting on my bed when I’m reading.”

“I do not!” Niko yelled at him.

“Yes, you do!” Teddy nodded.

Niko scrunched his nose, looking a little too much like Harry, “I’m guarding you!”

“From what? My books?!”

Dinner dissolved into giggles and squabbling and a heated debate about who had more green beans on their plate left. Thea leaned back in her chair, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Later that night, as they washed the dishes, Thea turned to Harry, elbow deep in suds.

“You were really good with that,” she told him, leaning her cheek against him.

“I blacked out a little,” he replied, drying a plate. “Pretty sure I compared conception to salad.”

She laughed again, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for planting your seeds in my garden.”

+++

A week later, they sat in the doctor’s office, Thea clutching a clipboard of intake forms, Harry bouncing his knee up and down like a drumbeat.

It had taken months to admit it was time to ask for help. Something about the dinner with Teddy had set a moment in Thea’s heart; maybe it was time. Now they were here— blue walls, waiting room magazines, a tray of paper cups in the corner.

They were there for testing, making sure that everything was normal. The tests weren’t painful, just drawn out and took a lot of energy between the two of them.

Blood work, hormone panels, and ultrasounds. Harry gave his sample in a room with posters that made him blush and a nurse with a very professional tone; something very demeaning that he couldn’t think too much about. Thea tried to make him laugh about it, but she could only get a smile.

Thea had never felt so clinical in her own body. She smiled politely, and she thanked people too much each time they came in and out of the room. She counted the tiles on the ceiling and avoided making eye contact with herself in the mirror afterward.

When they returned to the office for all their results two weeks later, Thea felt her stomach twist into a thousand little knots at the answers. The doctor, kind-eyed and composed, sat across from them and cleared her throat with her clipboard—their fate sitting in her hands, literally.

"I want to start off by telling you that everything looks normal," she said. "Which, in a way, is good news.” The doctor gave them a smile, Harry side-eyed Thea for a moment as he watched her shoulders loosen from the news. “But it also means we don’t have a clear answer. This happens sometimes. We call it unexplained infertility."

Thea stared at the table, fingers twisting in her lap. Harry reached over, squeezed her knee.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, shaking his head, “Or where do we go from here?”

"It means your bodies are doing what they should—all of Thea’s numbers are correct, your sperm count is at perfect levels for conception. But for some reason, conception isn’t happening naturally. You’re still young, and there are options. There are many paths to growing a family, and we obviously want to make sure that you are able to grow that family."

They nodded, dazed.

Thea swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, to ask the right question, to be the kind of person who knew how to advocate for herself in moments like this. But her mouth felt dry, and her thoughts were tangled. She glanced sideways at Harry, who was still staring at the doctor, brow furrowed, jaw tight.

“So, what now?” he asked again, this time more softly.

The doctor leaned forward, her voice calm and measured as she could tell that there may have been some frustration. “There are several options. We can begin with intrauterine insemination—less invasive than IVF, and sometimes successful after just a few rounds. If that doesn’t work, IVF is the next step. And of course, there’s also the path of adoption, if you’d prefer to pursue something non-medical. None of these are easy, but all are valid.”

Thea looked down at her hands. She hadn’t realized her nails were digging into her palm.

“Is it… is it my fault?” she whispered, not meaning to say it aloud.

The doctor’s face softened at her, shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s no one’s fault. Please hear me when I say that—this isn’t about blame. It’s about biology, timing, and sometimes things we don’t fully understand yet,” The doctor licked her lips and gave her a pressing smile, “But we have modern medicine, and we have ways to help you.”

Harry turned to her, his expression suddenly raw.

“Thea,” he said quietly, trying to grasp where she was.

“But we did everything,” she murmured, her voice cracking, almost unsure of the uncertainty of the unexplained. “All the right things. The tracking, the testing. The vitamins. The no caffeine. The waiting. The prayers. And still…”

The doctor tried to meet her eyes, “Sweetie, you’re not a failure.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t cry in front of this woman in a lab coat who was holding all their quiet heartbreak in a manila folder. After a moment, Harry looked at the doctor and she gave him a tight smile.

“I’m going to give you both some space,” the doctor said gently, “Take your time. When you’re ready, I’ll have my nurse bring in a referral packet, and we can walk you through what the next steps might look like—if and when you're ready,” She held the file close to her, “If it’s not today, that’s okay. We’re here for when you are.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Thea stared at the floor.

Harry exhaled. “We’re still us,” he said, as if that mattered more than anything else. “We still have our boys. We still have each other.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s just not how I pictured it. I thought it would be… like, what the fuck? Unexplained infertility? How is it unexplained? How—it just feels like I’m failing.”

He shook his head, unable to come up with an explanation of the unexplained. “You’re not failing, baby.”

She looked at him finally. Really looked. His face had softened, but there was a heaviness around his eyes. He was trying to be strong, for her, for them. She could see it.

“Can we not tell anyone yet?” she asked, grabbing her purse. “About the results. About this appointment. I just want to keep it… between us. For a little while.”

“Of course,” he said. “For as long as you need.”

She squeezed his hand. It didn’t feel like closure. Not yet. But it felt like something real. A place to start from. Or start all over again.

But life went on, and being a mum and dad went on.

That night, after dinner, the house felt unusually quiet. Thea was wiping down the counters while Teddy and Niko chased each other through the living room in socked feet, their laughter echoing off the walls. She looked up when she realized Harry wasn’t with them—he was usually the one dragging out bedtime with tickle fights and extra storybooks.

But the boys said he’d gone to “get something from the garage.”

Thea was a bit confused by Teddy’s statement, but she shook her head as she continued the nighttime chores. She finished loading the dishwasher, washing the dishes in the sink. She waited for a while—noticing that the time went from 7 to 7:30. Five more minutes. Then, ten. Twenty. She checked the bathroom. His office. He hadn’t come back.

Nothing.

Her heart started to thrum uneasily as she saw the light on in the unattached garage. Her heart stopped for a moment before she decided to make her way out there. The temperatures had dropped significantly from October to November, and it was quite chilly.

She slipped outside of the door, telling the boys to get upstairs to their room before she got back. The night cool against her skin and padded barefoot across the stone path toward the garage. She pushed open the side door slowly, it was ajar, and there he was.

Harry stood by the workbench, shoulders slumped, head bowed, a bottle of whiskey next to a half-empty glass. He swayed slightly where he stood, like gravity had become a little heavier. There was a second glass beside the first—unused, forgotten. The scent of alcohol lingered in the room, sharp and earthy, cut with motor oil and sawdust.

“Harry?” Thea said softly. He didn’t turn around; didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement before.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, which of course meant he wasn’t.

She stepped closer, a step at a time. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He gave a hollow laugh, but it was short-lived. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—couldn’t do bedtime tonight. I—I couldn’t.”

She looked at the bottle. Then at him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked him gently, taking in a breath. Her hands dug into her back pockets of her jeans as she approached him.

He exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure whether to lie to her. She could tell that tried to come back to the world, he swallowed and responded with raspy breath. “A little.”

Thea’s heart thumped louder. “The boys asked for you.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I know, and I hate that I wasn’t there.”

He turned around then—his eyes bloodshot, lips parted, flushed in a way that wasn’t just from the whiskey. He looked like someone unraveling at the seams.

“I hate this,” he said again, his words slurred but sharp with feeling. “I hate that you have to go through all this, and I’m just standing on the sidelines. I hate that I can’t take the pain or the tests or the pressure off your shoulders. I hate how small I feel in all of it. How powerless.”

Thea moved to him quickly, her hands finding his arms, grounding him.

“You don’t have to do it all,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be the answer. You’re supposed to be with me. That’s it.”

He leaned into her like a man giving up the last of his weight. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling how unsteady he was—physically, emotionally.

“I wanted to be the easy part,” he murmured into her hair. “I wanted to be the one thing in your life that didn’t feel like a fight.”

She pulled back enough to cup his cheeks, her thumbs brushing the warmth of his tear-stained skin. “You are, Harry. You are the easy part. This? This is just life. And I’d rather live it with you falling apart than pretending to hold it all together until you snap—we will figure this out.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m scared I’m going to lose me too.”

They stood like that, swaying gently, in the soft, alcohol-sweet air of the garage. He was shaky and tired, and a little drunk, but present—and for Thea, that was enough.

“Please don’t turn to this.” She told him, pleading, begging as she pushed the glasses and the whiskey bottle away. “This—we aren’t going to do this, okay?”

Harry’s jaw was tight as he nodded into her. Tears burned in his eyes; he felt like shit, he looked like shit. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t think of a better way to make the pain go away.

Eventually, she guided him back into the house, one arm around his waist, the other holding his hand. The boys were in their room, the house dim and quiet—she tried to make it unknown that he was in the house, she didn’t want the boys seeing him like that.

She helped him sit on the edge of their bed, pulled his shirt off over his head, and kissed the top of his shoulder.

“Just go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll take care of bedtime.”

Harry nodded, his hand still clasped in hers. “Thanks for finding me.”

“Always,” she whispered back to him. “Loving you is my favorite thing to do.”

Winter

December came with a stillness, as if the world was holding its breath.

Frost clung to the windows each morning, and Thea found herself waking earlier than usual, just to sit in the silence before the boys filled the house with their usual noise. She would wrap herself in Harry's sweatshirt, sip her tea by the window, and watch the steam dance.

They hadn’t made a decision yet. Not about IVF. Not about adoption. Not even about stopping. It was a liminal space—a pause that felt both peaceful and terrifying. But the urgency had eased. The need to solve something had softened into something quieter.

Thea no longer tracked every temperature or symptom. The ovulation stickers were gone from the fridge. Her body, for the first time in a long while, belonged only to her.

The holidays were noisy and sweet in all the best ways. The house constantly smelled like cinnamon and pine, and the stereo kept skipping halfway through Harry’s White Christmas CD because Niko had jammed a raisin into the CD slot.

Teddy made lopsided ornaments at school out of popsicle sticks and sequins, proudly hanging them in clumps on the same branch until it sagged under their weight. Niko got caught chewing on the corner of a salt dough snowman craft that Thea had sat down to do with the boys, the white paint smudged on his lips like frosting and cried when Thea took it away.

There were snowball fights in the front yard until the boys’ cheeks turned pink and Thea had to coax them back inside with promises of marshmallows. There were flannel pajamas all around and matching socks that never stayed on. Harry read The Polar Express by the glow of the Christmas tree while the boys curled into their parents’ sides, eyes heavy with sleep.

Every night ended in drinking cocoa—thick and too sweet, with whipped cream mustaches and sugar highs that led to pajama dance parties in the living room. It was chaos, sticky and warm, and somehow it felt like magic, even with the mess, even with the exhaustion. Especially because of it.

Thea wanted her boys to feel that magic that had been so drained from them for so long.

One night, just a few days before Christmas, the house finally stilled.

The boys were asleep upstairs, their soft snores crackling faintly through the baby monitor on the side table. Outside, snow drifted in lazy spirals beneath the porch light, collecting in hushed white piles. The tree lights glowed dimly in the corner, casting golden halos against the walls. A fire popped in the grate, low and comforting.

Thea lay stretched along the couch, her socked feet tucked beneath Harry’s thigh. A half-finished cup of tea rested on the coffee table, steam no longer rising. Harry’s arm was draped behind her, his hand lazily curling through the ends of her hair. They didn’t need to talk. The silence had a weight to it that felt intimate, not empty. Safe.

“I love you more now than I ever have,” Thea said softly, her voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

Harry turned to look at her. His brows furrowed slightly, not from confusion but from the intensity of hearing something he didn’t know he needed.

“I mean it,” she added, her voice steady now. “Not just in the easy moments. But in the ones where we don’t know what comes next. You make the not-knowing feel okay.”

His throat worked around the emotion building there. He didn’t speak at first. Just studied her face like he wanted to remember it exactly how it looked—soft and honest in the glow of the lights, with her sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder and her fingers curled near her chin.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead—slow, reverent, lingering.

“That’s all I want, Thea,” he murmured. “For us to feel okay. However this looks.”

She blinked up at him, eyes shimmering slightly.

“It’s not always going to be glitter and gingerbread,” she said; her eyes felt the burn of a few tears as she stared at the Christmas tree. “I just… I just have these moments where I get sad that this is what I was made for, and I—I feel like I don’t know how to feel.”

He smiled faintly, rubbing hands through her hair. “I know.”

“But I’m so lucky.”

Harry let out a quiet breath and pulled her closer into his chest. Her hand settled over his heart, and he covered it with his own. Through the window, the snow kept falling. The tree lights blinked on, then off again, a quiet rhythm in the stillness. And in the space between heartbeats, between the mess and the magic, they chose each other again.

Not just in the easy moments. But in all of them.

+++

The living room smelled like cinnamon and roast potatoes and a large roast chicken that could feed a hundred people, and it was about ten degrees too warm from the oven working overtime.

The wrapping paper littered the floor, clinging to socks and bare feet. Teddy and Niko were in the corner with Maeve’s youngest, building a leaning tower of wooden blocks while the older two took turns flying a paper plane dangerously close to the Christmas tree.

Harry’s mum moved through the kitchen like a practiced orchestra conductor, towel thrown over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from heat and champagne. She opened the oven, checked the parsnips, then closed it again with a decisive nod. “Gravy’s done,” she called, even though no one had asked.

Harry had disappeared somewhere with Maeve’s oldest to assemble a toy castle, and Thea found herself alone in the kitchen for the first time that day, standing by the sink with a glass of cranberry juice and flushed cheeks of her own—not from the warmth, but from watching Harry with the kids.

He was in his element here, his hands always full. His heart was wide open.

Maeve leaned her hip against the counter beside her, stealing a segment of clementine from the charcuterie in front of Thea.

“Been a minute since we’ve all been under one roof,” she said casually.

Thea smiled, taking a sip of her juice. “I’m still full of breakfast, too,” She turned towards the dinner being prepared, “Feel like I may explode.”

“She lives for this,” Maeve replied, her voice fond as she gestured to her mum. “You alright, though? You’ve been a bit… floaty today.”

Thea hesitated. She looked at the frosted kitchen window, where snow dusted the garden wall. “Yeah. I’m good. Just… tired.”

Maeve didn’t push. But Harry’s mum came around the corner just then, holding a tray of pigs in blankets, and she caught the tail end of the exchange.

“She’s not just tired,” Harry’s mum said gently, setting the tray down. “She’s been carrying a lot. I see it.”

Thea felt her shoulders stiffen slightly. “It’s okay, really—”

Maeve shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t shrink it. You can say it.”

Thea looked between them; two women who loved Harry fiercely, who had welcomed her without condition—and slowly set her glass down as she thought about telling them everything that had been going on.

“We’ve been… thinking,” she said, hesitating as she licked over her lips. “About other options. For trying. To get pregnant, I mean. Not today. Not tomorrow. But... soon, maybe.”

Maeve reached for her hand instantly, grounding her. She didn’t want to say anything until she let Thea finish.

Thea’s throat worked. “Sometimes it feels like maybe we’re pushing something that just... isn’t going to happen again. And other times it feels like I’m giving up too soon.”

Harry’s mum wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward, “Darling,” she said softly, “you have never done anything wrong in my son’s eyes. You know that, don’t you?”

Thea blinked a few times, parted lips closing as she glanced at the floor.

“He’s been head-over-heels for you since he came home from uni one Christmas break,” she said, turning to Maeve who was smirking at the remembrance of the day. “Walked through that door beaming, like someone had handed him the sun and he couldn’t believe he got to keep it.”

Maeve let out a quiet, knowing laugh. “You should’ve seen him. Wouldn’t shut up. All we heard about was this girl, Thea,” She tilted her head, “And he’s never lost that stupid smile when he talks about you, either.”

Thea looked down, overwhelmed for a moment by how much love they gave her. How much space they made for her to just exist in the gray areas—without judgment, without needing to perform gratitude.

Harry’s mum gave her arms a squeeze. “Whatever you two decide, it’s already the right choice. Because you’re making it together.”

From the other room, there was a loud crash and the unmistakable sound of Harry laughing as one of the kids shouted, “It was his idea!”

Maeve turned and grinned. “Well. Sounds like your sun is being a menace.”

Thea wiped her eyes quickly and laughed, her heart aching and full at once. “Yeah,” she said. “But he’s mine.”

Harry’s mum smiled, eyes crinkling back at her. “Yes, love. He always was.”

+++

On New Year’s Eve, they stayed in.

There was no glitter, no clinking glasses or crowded parties. Just a blanket fort made from sofa cushions and old sheets, lit with the warm glow of fairy lights clipped to laundry pins. The boys had helped build it with the kind of serious concentration only kids could muster—Teddy determined to engineer “roof support beams” out of broomsticks, while Niko insisted they needed two flashlights “in case one gets scared.”

They ordered pizzas and ate them cross-legged on the rug, slices greasy and hot in their hands, laughter echoing off the walls with each melted cheese pull and story about their favorite parts of the year. Harry wore flannel pajama pants and one of Thea’s old university sweatshirts. She wore thick socks and no makeup, her hair up in a messy twist. It was imperfect and quiet and theirs.

By ten-thirty, Niko was fast asleep on Harry’s chest, his little fists tucked beneath his chin. Teddy drifted off moments later with his head on Thea’s arm, his breathing slow and steady, his long limbs flopped across her like he had no idea he was growing so fast.

The TV still played in the background—some countdown special in Times Square, the noise muffled and irrelevant. Outside, snow had begun to fall again, blanketing the neighborhood in a hush.

At some point before midnight, Thea blinked awake. Her arm was numb beneath Teddy, and the lights of the fort cast soft shadows across the ceiling. She slowly untangled herself and stood, stretching her legs as quietly as she could. Padding into the kitchen in her pajamas, she poured herself a mug of warm spiced cider from the slow cooker they’d forgotten to turn off, its sweet scent still lingering in the air like comfort.

She didn’t need noise or fanfare. She just wanted a minute of stillness. The clock on the microwave read 11:53. Only seven more minutes of the year.

A moment later, Harry appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck out in all directions, flattened on one side, and he still had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He looked like the grown-up version of the boy he must’ve been—sleepy, kind, quietly wonderful.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the tile floor barefoot. “You left me.”

“You were snoring,” she teased gently, handing him a mug of his own.

“Rude.” He took it anyway, standing close beside her as they both leaned back against the counter, watching the snow fall through the window above the sink. The silence between them was comfortable—easy. It didn’t need to be filled.

“We didn’t make any resolutions,” he said after a while, sipping the cider.

Thea glanced over at him, shrugging. “I don’t want to make promises we can’t control.”

He nodded slowly, understanding completely what she meant. “Then let’s not make promises. Just... intentions.”

She considered that for a moment and nodded, then smiled softly. “I intend to find joy. Even when it’s not obvious. Even when I have to really, really look for it.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the low light. Then: “I intend to keep kissing you in the pantry when the boys aren’t looking.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, unexpected and warm as she thought about the way he looked at her.

“I intend to hold your hand,” she whispered, “no matter what happens.”

Harry didn’t reply right away. He reached out and laced his fingers through hers. The kitchen was quiet but full—with everything they’d shared, everything they hadn’t said aloud, everything they were still building together.

When Thea turned her head, she watched as the clock ticked to midnight.

Somewhere in the distance, a few scattered fireworks cracked through the air—soft and distant behind the snowfall. Niko stirred in the next room, but didn’t wake. Teddy muttered something incoherent and rolled over; both of them sleeping into the new year.

They clinked their mugs together—porcelain meeting in the smallest toast.

“Happy New Year,” Thea said, her voice thick with something close to wonder.

Harry leaned down and kissed her softly. It was just a small kiss; a knowing one that made her hum in acknowledgement as they stared at each other for a moment.

“It will be,” he said, putting the intention into the universe to be caught. “It will be.”

And outside, beneath a sky that didn’t ask anything of them, the snow fell softer than ever.

+++

January was cold in the way only the start of a new year could be—bright skies, brittle winds, and mornings where the frost stretched across the windows like lace. Life had fallen into a rhythm again. School runs, lukewarm coffee, wool socks, and Lego landmines scattered across the hallway. The holidays had passed, but their softness lingered. There was a quiet steadiness to the days now, like everything had settled just slightly into place.

There was a letter that arrived on a Wednesday.

Thea found it among a small pile of post on the kitchen counter tucked between a bank statement and a coupon flyer for carpet cleaning. The envelope was clinical and white, the logo of the fertility clinic embossed in the corner.

She stood there for a moment with her thumb beneath the seal, the kettle starting to hum behind her. When she finally opened it, her eyes scanned the page once, then again, before she set it gently on the counter.

Consultation appointment offered: February 12th, 10:30 AM.

There was no rush of dread, no panic. No buzzing in her ears from being overwhelmed. Just a quiet hum in her chest, like something long held had found its place to rest.

She didn’t call Harry right away at work. She didn’t need to. Instead, she folded the letter in half and slid it into the drawer beside the sink, where she kept the extra birthday candles and takeaway menus and the measuring spoons she always forgot were there.

Not out of avoidance. But out of peace.

That afternoon, while wrangling Niko into his boots to go pick Teddy up from school, she slipped on her long gray coat—the one with the deep inside pocket where she kept tissues and receipts. As her hand brushed the lining, she felt something crinkled and unfamiliar.

It was a small square of folded paper. It was cream-colored, soft at the edges. Harry’s handwriting on the outside in blue ink from the pen that sat by the sink to write notes for groceries.

She opened it slowly, the sounds of the boys echoing in the hallway, snow boots thudding against tile.

whatever path we take, I’m already home.

Her breath caught. Not in that cinematic way, but in the real, aching way where your chest pulls tight before the tears ever come.

He must’ve tucked it there days ago. Maybe even weeks. He hadn’t asked if she’d found it; hadn’t drawn any attention to it. That was how Harry loved her—quietly, consistently. With notes she didn’t know to look for until she needed them most.

She folded it again with careful fingers, pressed it against her chest just beneath her scarf. She didn’t cry—not really. Just stood there for a moment, eyes shut, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

There were decisions ahead that would come with possibility and risks. But standing in the front hall, coat half-zipped, her child laughing behind her, she knew something with absolute certainty:

Whatever came next, their family would be walking into it together.

And she was no longer afraid.

Spring

Three months later. The snow had melted, the times had changed.

Thea stood in the bathroom again.

She’d been feeling off all week. It was nothing really dramatic—just a lingering nausea in the mornings, a strange fatigue that had her yawning before dinner, a faint sensitivity to smells that made her gag when she opened the fridge and saw the left-over chicken from dinner. She’d chalked it up to something going around; Teddy had brought home three colds from school since winter break, and Niko had a habit of sharing his sneezes with open-mouthed affection.

There wasn’t a reason to feel the hope. Not now, not when peace had finally settled into her like snow on a quiet morning. But the nagging feeling had stayed, curling in her belly like a whisper. That hope was always just there.

Thea was still rubbing her temples when Harry walked into their bedroom, carrying a mug of peppermint tea.

“Still feeling sick?” he asked gently, setting the mug on her nightstand. Thea had been under the covers, trying to let her mind relax.

She nodded, holding onto the blanket as she shrugged. “It’s probably just a bug. I’ve just been so tired.”

Harry hesitated, then gave her a look that was part teasing, part hopeful. For the first time in a while, his eyes had a gleam in them that she found to be optimistically cautious.

“Would it be crazy if I suggested taking a test?”

Thea blinked at him, biting the inside of her lip as she spoke quietly. “Really?”

He shrugged, smiling. “Just to rule it out. Humor me.”

There was a hesitancy about it this time. Not dread—just a deep quiet, like her body already knew the answer and was waiting for her mind to catch up.

She opened the drawer beneath the sink, hand brushing past a half-used box of band-aids and a faded bottle of nail polish. There, near the back, was the last test. She paused, held it in her hand for a moment. The foil wrapper crinkled faintly as she turned it over.

They’d nearly forgotten they still had one.

By now, the ritual was muscle memory. She didn’t overthink it. Just followed the motions, her limbs moving like she was outside her body—automatic, practiced, steady. She took the test, washed her hands, and set it down on the counter, screen faced up, untouched.

The phone timer ticked to life beside it: five minutes.

She exhaled and leaned forward, both palms on the counter, head bowed.

Harry stepped beside her, brushing her hand with his fingers. They stood next to one another in silence, watching the screen like it might explode.

The first line appeared. And then another.

Two.

Thea’s breath hitched, her body stiffening as if trying to resist what her eyes were already telling her. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling the quiet gasp that escaped. Her eyes whipped to Harry’s face, searching for confirmation, for disbelief, for shared understanding.

He was staring at the test like it might vanish, his brow furrowed, mouth slightly open. “Is that…?”

She nodded once, then again, her throat too tight to speak. The tears came fast—not the kind that poured, but the kind that welled so thick and full she couldn’t blink them away. “Harry…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, wide and shining, as if seeing her for the very first time. He moved slowly, as though afraid he might spook the moment. Like she was something breakable. Like this was something sacred.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, tight and sure, drawing her into his chest. His face pressed into the curve of her neck, and she felt his breath catch. They stood like that for a long time—silent, swaying slightly, the hum of the world around them softening into nothing. It felt like holding something invisible but real. Like they were comforting someone already here.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with wonder.

She let out a breathy, tear-laced laugh against his shoulder. “I thought I had the flu.”

Harry pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing his knuckles against her damp cheek.

Thea laughed again, chest shaking, heart racing. His hand stayed on her face, thumb stroking just beneath her eye. Her hands were on his ribs, her forehead resting against his. Behind them, on the counter, the test sat in the gentle light of the morning—two clear lines glowing like a secret they could finally keep.

The waiting was over: their garden had suddenly begun to bloom.

Nine Months Later – Autumn

The house was louder now.

Not in a bad way—never that. Just in the way a home grows louder when it’s full of life and happiness and joyful moments that may have been chaotic to some, but necessary to others. When the walls know every laugh, every cry, every set of socked feet thudding down the hall.

It was a crisp October morning. Wind scratched at the windows, and golden leaves danced across the porch as they did every year. The air inside was warm, the scent of bergamot and maple lingering from breakfast and someone’s forgotten apple slice browning on the counter.

In the corner of the living room, the baby stirred, letting out a cry that sounded far too fierce for such a tiny chest to produce. Thea rose slowly from the couch, moving with the practiced sway of a mother whose body remembered the rhythm even when her mind was fogged. She wore leggings, wool socks, and one of Harry’s old university sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her hair was in a lopsided twist, and she had that early-motherhood glow—equal parts sleep deprivation and sacred softness; her body hurt, but in an aching way that felt natural.

She lifted their newborn daughter from the bassinet with a quiet hum, settling her gently against her shoulder. The way the baby scrunched when lifted made her smile, kissing her soft face as she held her close. The baby calmed almost immediately, cheek squished against Thea’s collarbone, making those tiny, contented grunts that felt like the most private song.

From the hallway, Niko barreled in wearing one rain boot and holding an orange crayon like a sword. “Teddy took my sock! He’s gonna use it as a flag!”

Teddy, already in his school jumper and wearing a makeshift crown made of pipe cleaners and paper leaves, charged past them, waving the sock like a victory banner. “Long live the Sock Kingdom!”

Thea sat back on the couch with a sigh that was equal parts tired and amused. “It’s not even eight-thirty.”

Harry emerged from the kitchen like a man who’d lived three lives in the past hour. His curls were a bit wild from wrangling school bags, his flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he had that look—part joy, part exasperation—that only came from parenthood on a weekday morning.

“Alright, you two,” he said, stepping over a pile of acorns someone had collected and dumped on the rug—for who knows what. “Teddy, backpack. Niko, you need both socks to fight dragons. That’s just science.”

He herded them toward the front door, multitasking like a pro—finding missing mittens, buttering toast, and handing out gentle warnings not to jump from the stairs again. When the chaos calmed momentarily—Teddy put on his own shoes, Niko pulling his arms into his shirt sleeves as he circled the door, ready for primary.

Their daughter had dozed off against her chest, mouth open slightly, one tiny fist curled in the fabric of Thea’s sweatshirt.

“Let me take her,” Harry said softly.

He moved with quiet reverence, unfastening the baby wrap from where it hung on the chair and securing her to his chest. His hands were steady, careful, practiced. When he was done, he gave her the softest bounce, his lips brushing her temple as he began humming a familiar lullaby—half tune, half breath, something only their daughter knew.

Thea leaned back into the cushions, eyes on him.

Harry looked up at her at the same moment. For a second, the noise dulled. The boys were still yelling from the front door, the wind still scraped the windowpanes, the kettle began to whistle again—but between them, it was quiet.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

His eyes asked, You okay?

Hers answered, I am now.

He smiled, soft and crooked. She exhaled, the weight of the morning easing just slightly.

He shifted the baby higher on his chest, wrapping a hand around her tiny back. “She’s got your nose,” he said.

“She’s got your lungs.”

They both laughed quietly. Outside, a gust of wind knocked a small pumpkin off the porch step, and Teddy’s muffled voice called out, “Dad! The pumpkin made a run for it!”

Harry pressed one more kiss to their daughter’s head before heading out to wrangle the boys into the car.

“Let’s go, out to the car.” Harry held the small baby against him, as he prepared to take the boys to class and take the baby with them—giving Thea some time to herself, to shower, to clean the kitchen if she so chose.

Thea watched them as she leaned against the doorframe—her boys in their too-big coats, Harry bent to tie a shoelace, their daughter curled against his chest like she’d always belonged there.

This wasn’t the dream she’d once imagined. It was louder, messier, and constantly in motion.

But it was golden like the leaves outside, fleeting and brilliant. It was mugs left half-full, jackets never hung up, freckles on sleepy cheeks.

It was real. And all she could think as she saw Harry look back at her with a love that she couldn’t have believed was so real, so complete.

All she could think: ours.

383 notes · View notes