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STOP I’ll cry thank u so so much <33
YOU WROTE ME
SPARE PARTS: blurb 1/1
THE TROUBADOUR, LONDON
(W) strong language, alcohol use, brief smut: if u can call it that
THIRD PERSON’S POV
9 MONTHS POST-SPLIT
“Why can’t you just trust that it’ll be fun?”
“Because you don’t even know who’s playing! What if it’s some screamo guy and I get traumatised.”
“Please, Charlie, you’ve met my friend. You think he’s going to guitar for a screamo guy?”
Charlie pauses, remembering everything she can from the brief meeting between her and Becca’s friend at her house party last week.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Becca rolls her eyes, nodding in gratitude at the bouncers who let them into the Troubadour, past the lines and lines of people. Charlie has to admit that’s promising, at least. Surely a hundred teenage girls wouldn’t be queueing for something unworthwhile.
“I thought as a musician you’d be buzzing for a free invite to the Troub!”
Charlie’s turn to roll her eyes, now.
“The Troub?”
“Let me pretend I’m in on the lingo, too.”
“God, you’re just making it worse.”
Becca is Charlie’s only remaining friend from her pre-band days. In contact far too little, but enough to see each other in between schedules. Becca manages a restaurant in London, and throws killer house parties every Saturday. It’s ritual.
Of course, with band life, Charlie barely ever attended. But since the split and a (much too long) nine month hiatus from the industry, she’s had a little more time for living her 20s like she never entered that competition in the first place.
“You want a drink?” Becca shouts over the already loud crowd. Just as Charlie opens her mouth to answer, her forearm’s gripped so tightly she’s sure the blood supply’s been cut off.
“Oh my God! Charlie Greene?” A girl practically screams in her face, holding the hand that isn’t keeping Charlie there in a death grip over her mouth.
Despite her usually extreme routine when it comes to being avoided in public, Charlie assumed tonight could be a one off. Who would recognise her in this crowd, in this venue? Panic strickens her before Becca has to step in, shoving the girls palm off.
“Dude, don’t touch strangers like that.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just such a huge fan. I can’t believe you’re here! We all thought they were just rumours.”
“What?” Charlie’s dumbfound, forgetting all that media-trained ‘smile at the fans, don’t let them know you want to punch them’ bullshit.
“You know, you and–”
“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but we’re just trying to enjoy our night. You want me to buy you some alcohol to get you to go away?”
“Becca–”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, of course. E-enjoy your night.”
The poor girl scurries away, screaming something to her group but Charlie’s too riddled with guilt to hear what.
“For fuck’s sake, Becs, she’s like sixteen!”
“Gripped you like a forty year old WWE champ though, look at your arm!”
Charlie glances down, noticing the white and red splotches beneath the hazy blue lights. Becca has a point, even if she was a little harsh about it.
“Screw the drinks, let’s just get backstage before anyone else tries to cut off your circulation.”
Nodding, Charlie follows Becca through the crowd, making sure to keep her head down this time. Of course they’re asked for IDs and stage passes before getting through, Becca proudly letting security know they’re friends of the guitarist.
“I’m so proud of Mitch, man. He’s come so far. Can you believe he used to work in a pizza shop?”
“I know, it’s impressive shit,” Charlie nods, hugging her hoodie tight to her chest. Something bad swirls in her gut as she watches the audience from the safety of a thick curtain, seeing whispers and screams shared.
“You don’t think that’s about me, do you?” She points for Becca. Becca scoffs.
“Nah, don’t get too up your own ass, Char. The act’s probably about to come on.”
The band will be entering from stage left, opposite to them both. Charlie has to admit she’s curious. It’s been forever since she’s attended any kind of underground gig, it’s exciting – what music’s really about.
“Gemma Styles.”
Until that moment.
Ears ringing, throat drying, sweat forming. Charlie grips her hoodie so tight her knuckles blanch – she’s wrong, she has to be. It’s just her mind and anxiety playing tricks on her. It’d be impossible for–
“No way, Charlie?”
“Fuck.”
“… Charlie?”
“I mean hi! Sorry, hi!”
Pretending her ears aren’t still painfully ringing, Charlie accepts the open arms of the woman in front of her. Specifically, the sister in front of her. Her ears stop buzzing enough for her to hear Becca’s gasp beside her, and enough to hear her heart coming up through her throat.
“I can’t believe you’re here, it’s so good to see you!”
The one thing Charlie never understood was how Harry could be so intolerable and Gemma could be so… Gemma. Despite the ugliest truth she’s discovered in a while coming undone, she feels somewhat comforted by her hug and her words and her smile.
Perhaps they’re all a little too alike Harry, or perhaps the opposite. She can’t tell. There’s a lot happening.
“Yeah, um…” at a complete loss for words, Becca quickly steps in.
“Hi, I’m Rebecca. Friends with the guitarist.”
“Oh, Mitch! Isn’t he amazing? I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Charlie shoots Becca a pointed glare. She apologises again, a little more sincerely this time.
“So does Harry know you’re here? Bet he’s thrilled, are the others here?”
“Um, no. And no. Not that I know of. I’m actually here for Mitch, too.”
“Oh, I–” Gemma frowns, understandably confused, but is cut off by the house lights dimming and some opening music starting.
Charlie pinches at her arm beneath the once soft material, it only now feels scratchy and too thick. Should she run? It seems like her only viable option. Except her feet are failing her and it’s too fucking late because–
“Hi everyone! I’m Harry, it’s a pleasure. This is my wonderful band, and we’re going to play a few songs for you. Starting with a new one, this is Complicated Freak.”
Frozen to her place, Charlie listened harbouring feelings she couldn’t quite place. Part of her wishes she had just done those few shots before she left like Becca had quite smartly suggested, but a larger part of her wishes she never came.
Because fuck, has she missed him.
She’s missed his voice, and his hands, and his eyes, and his dimples, and she could say she’s missed his hair but that’s gone with the last nine months. She missed watching him concentrate entirely too hard on playing the guitar and she missed watching that crease form between his brows as he closes his eyes and just feels the music. His music.
The music that sounds eerily familiar. Then suddenly flashes of a tour bus come to mind; long hair and slender fingers strumming a guitar. Lyrics that rendered a little to close to home but were promptly ignored at the time now echo the venue, echo her chest.
“Thank you so, so much everyone. I’ll see you soon!”
Harry lifts his palm to the roaring crowd, intimate and small yet still as deafeningly loud as she remembers them always being for him. Begging for an encore, or at the very least one more wave.
But it’s only then that she realises, still stuck to the floor, that he’s taking his guitar off. He’s offering the audience one final bow and kiss, and he’s turning, and he’s walking, and he’s grinning ear to ear and accepting his friends and family’s congratulations, and then he’s stopping, and he’s staring, and his lungs have stopped and his heart has faltered and–
“You wrote me.”
His lips quiver, paused in an effort to say the right thing. Say anything.
“Yeah, I…”
It’s as if the venue and people around them grew wings and flew away as time itself stopped just for them. The first time they had seen eye to eye in the time you could grow a whole fucking baby for God’s sake – and yet they could barely speak. So much unsaid, it’s almost too much. What do you start to say to the love of your life – who you lost?
Luckily, the people around them didn’t actually grow wings.
“We’ll see you later, H,” his older sister squeezes his dead arm, nodding towards Charlie (as if she saw) and then the other confused onlookers who had developed behind them during the show but fuck if Charlie noticed.
Gemma leads the group out, leaving the pair of them in a silent standoff, the muted sound of a dying crowd and crew starting to clean punctuating the quiet.
“Drink?”
“I wanted to call you so many times.” Charlie finally admits, three double vodkas deep.
“Why didn’t you?” Harry almost whispers four whiskeys in.
Malibu’s, their old, usual haunt, has been avoided for the last nine months. Not a single band member dared to go, whether it be that Zayn no longer bartends there or that they were afraid of memories. But it felt like the only place for them to be right now. Elbows leant on the same sticky counter, knees pressed together in their tipsy mis-care, no time passed yet the whole world between them.
“I was scared.” Charlie begins. “I needed time, and after I realised that you leaving us didn’t really matter in the end, I was too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Harry. I saw the tabloids. A month after we split you were seen with this person, that person. You had moved on from us, from me.”
Her confession is startlingly sobering, and Harry can’t help but gulp down a painful lump at the way her eyes water. Harry hadn’t moved on in any sense of the word, Harry was simply trying to find Charlie in anyone he could. The way in which he had coped with his web of feelings for the woman for the past six and a half years.
“I could never move on from you, Char. I was just… lost.”
Charlie snorts, turning to down the rest of her drink.
“Baby I–”
They both freeze. Harry didn’t mean to call her that, but God, doesn’t it feel natural? Isn’t that why it slipped out in the first place? Yet, a slap in the face would have felt better for Charlie. The vodka gets caught in her throat, the once warm liquor running ice cold down her chest.
She turns, her heart melting at the sight of his face. It’s that same heartbreaking, broken concoction of regret and worry knitting his brows and dripping from his eyes. And it has her lips hungrily on his.
He catches her, grabbing her hips as he opens his legs for her and draws her to his chest, breathing in every inch of her. Because that’s what kissing Charlie is like. Oxygen for the first time, water for the first time, life for the first time. His rough hands snake up her back, grip her sides, pinch her skin. Her nails rake at the nape of his neck, muscle memory expecting locks to hold onto but finding short curls as their home instead.
Their tongues and lips work in an unspoken agreement, all the way to her new apartment by the bar, all the way to her bed.
They didn’t speak. They were both far too terrified to lose this moment. They just needed each other, the touch they’d both been desperately chasing for months. Charlie closes her eyes as Harry’s mouth starts its attack on her neck and is transported to Louis’ apartment, where she first felt that same desperation.
“Please.” She breathes, wrapping her legs around his hips, eliciting from him a muffled groan as she grinds up towards him. He nods into her neck, his lips still working down her soft skin. She still tastes the same, that strawberry vanilla he could drink by the gallon.
Charlie claws at his back, making an attempt to remove his black button-up as he moves down her body. She just about manages it as he settles between her legs, pushing up her denim dress without grace or care before biting the edge of her knickers.
The heels of her feet press into his toned back, her palms already fisting the sheets as he harshly grips her hips to push her back into the mattress.
A million thoughts run through Harry’s head, but fear holds him back from saying a single one of them. Months ago, he would’ve told Charlie everything. How good her thighs feel, how fucking pretty she looks laying there, needy for him. How much her soft little pants sound like she should be begging for him, how hard he is for her like this.
But he can’t. For all he knows, he’s simply a mouth right now. He’s not Harry, he’s just something she needs, and fuck if he’ll be whatever she needs.
So he bites into her inner thigh, sucking away the sharpness as she grips and tugs at his hair. He moans into her skin, eyelashes fluttering against her hips as he kisses the top of her pubic bone. His touch is rough in every place but his lips as he makes a path to her core, pressing teasing kisses over her clit. Her knickers are fucking soaked through, and the sight alone is enough to send him berserk.
“Charlie, I’m gonna have to–”
“Please, just–”
With that sliver of permission, he reaches down, squeezing himself over his trousers. The slightly relieved pressure has him gasping against her lace, which quickly becomes wetter. Charlie sits up on her elbows, watching Harry touch and squeeze while he continues to tease her.
And it’s there. In between the need and the pleasure, Charlie begins to cry. Softly, quietly, but enough to garner Harry’s distracted attention.
“Hey, hey,” Harry moves back up her body, tugging her dress back into place as he squeezes her hip, “I’m sorry, I-”
“It’s fine.” Charlie’s voice cracks as her head hits the pillow, hot tears quickly meeting her hairline before she can wipe them away.
“Sweetheart–”
“I’m not your fucking sweetheart.” Charlie murmurs between gritted teeth, sending Harry aback. He sits up on his heels, his touch slowly leaving her. Charlie presses her palms into her eyes, squeezing the tears out as she muffles sobs against her hands.
“That’s the problem.”
It’s hardly above a whisper, but Harry hears every last syllable. Leaning back over her, he removes her fists, gently brushing her blotchy cheeks.
“I’m just drunk and emotional and weird and–”
“Stop it,” Harry murmurs, pulling her up to sit in front of him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” When she doesn’t budge, he drops his head and whispers, “please.”
Charlie finds his eye. In so many ways, he’s unchanged. He still looks at her like that, and it crumbles her, just as easily as it did all those months ago.
“Everything got so fucked up, Harry. The band, me, us. I haven’t sang a chord in months. I see the guys, what, once, twice a month? And you…”
“It’s my fault, Char.” Harry sighs, collapsing beside her, rubbing his face. “I left, I split everyone up–”
“You needed to.” She interrupts, stern. “I didn’t realise at the time, it took me a while to accept it, but you needed to. Niall was starting a family, everyone was starting to burn out, even if we didn’t want to admit it.”
“You did the right thing.”
Those fives words are all that Harry’s wanted to hear for nine months. He’s spent countless, sleepless nights wondering if he’d messed everything up for everyone, forever. If in his selfishness he’d forgotten to use logic.
“I’m just not sure I did.”
Harry frowns, turning to look at Charlie.
“What do you mean, Charlie?”
“I worry that I was… hasty. Rash.”
Harry can’t help the small smile that starts to tug at his lips. He lifts his knees and rests his chin on his palm to hide it.
“I did a really messed up thing, you were justified.”
“No.” Charlie sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I was right to be mad, but I wasn’t right to have said all the stuff I did. I was especially not right to leave you.”
Harry’s chest jumps, but he tries to calm his excited heart before Charlie can finish. When it comes to her, there’s no real predictability. She might be about to destroy him all over again.
“Those six years mean more to me than anything I’ve done in my entire life. You were there through everything, every shitty and amazing thing, all I can think about is flashes of you. My sister, my audition, my first heartbreak, my first– I could go on and on, but the point is, you were there.”
“Even if you annoyed the shit out of me for the better part of it, you’re my life, Harry. I was stupid to think I could ever live it in the same way without you.”
It’s impossible to fight his grin, now.
Charlie finally turns to face him, instantly rolling her eyes at the sight of him. His entirely too wide smile, his glinting eyes and how they quickly flit to her lips, the twitch between his brows that lets her know he’s holding back a comment.
And despite his speechlessness, his answer is obvious.
“You sure you don’t want someone easier?” Charlie lilts, swaying into him.
“Why on Earth would I want anyone else?”
“I don’t know. I yell at you a lot.”
“I’d rather have you hate my guts than have anyone else.” Harry takes her waist, easing her beneath him again as he hovers over her. “I’ve spent my entire life waiting to hear you say that, you know.”
“Entire life is a bit dramatic.” Charlie drapes her arms around his neck, her fingers finding his nape. That hair is going to take some getting used to.
“Nope,” Harry pops his P, leaning down to press a kiss to her jaw. “You’re my life too, Char.”
She leans back into the pillow, her thumb circling his neck. “You mean it?”
It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, now.
“You really have to ask? What more could I possibly do to prove to you that you’re it for me, you always have been.”
Charlie smirks. “I could think of something.”
“Always thinking with your dick, Greene.”
Charlie lets out a scoff, and Harry let’s his chest do whatever it wants.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
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YOU WROTE ME
SPARE PARTS: blurb 1/1
THE TROUBADOUR, LONDON
(W) strong language, alcohol use, brief smut: if u can call it that
THIRD PERSON’S POV
9 MONTHS POST-SPLIT
“Why can’t you just trust that it’ll be fun?”
“Because you don’t even know who’s playing! What if it’s some screamo guy and I get traumatised.”
“Please, Charlie, you’ve met my friend. You think he’s going to guitar for a screamo guy?”
Charlie pauses, remembering everything she can from the brief meeting between her and Becca’s friend at her house party last week.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Becca rolls her eyes, nodding in gratitude at the bouncers who let them into the Troubadour, past the lines and lines of people. Charlie has to admit that’s promising, at least. Surely a hundred teenage girls wouldn’t be queueing for something unworthwhile.
“I thought as a musician you’d be buzzing for a free invite to the Troub!”
Charlie’s turn to roll her eyes, now.
“The Troub?”
“Let me pretend I’m in on the lingo, too.”
“God, you’re just making it worse.”
Becca is Charlie’s only remaining friend from her pre-band days. In contact far too little, but enough to see each other in between schedules. Becca manages a restaurant in London, and throws killer house parties every Saturday. It’s ritual.
Of course, with band life, Charlie barely ever attended. But since the split and a (much too long) nine month hiatus from the industry, she’s had a little more time for living her 20s like she never entered that competition in the first place.
“You want a drink?” Becca shouts over the already loud crowd. Just as Charlie opens her mouth to answer, her forearm’s gripped so tightly she’s sure the blood supply’s been cut off.
“Oh my God! Charlie Greene?” A girl practically screams in her face, holding the hand that isn’t keeping Charlie there in a death grip over her mouth.
Despite her usually extreme routine when it comes to being avoided in public, Charlie assumed tonight could be a one off. Who would recognise her in this crowd, in this venue? Panic strickens her before Becca has to step in, shoving the girls palm off.
“Dude, don’t touch strangers like that.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just such a huge fan. I can’t believe you’re here! We all thought they were just rumours.”
“What?” Charlie’s dumbfound, forgetting all that media-trained ‘smile at the fans, don’t let them know you want to punch them’ bullshit.
“You know, you and–”
“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but we’re just trying to enjoy our night. You want me to buy you some alcohol to get you to go away?”
“Becca–”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, of course. E-enjoy your night.”
The poor girl scurries away, screaming something to her group but Charlie’s too riddled with guilt to hear what.
“For fuck’s sake, Becs, she’s like sixteen!”
“Gripped you like a forty year old WWE champ though, look at your arm!”
Charlie glances down, noticing the white and red splotches beneath the hazy blue lights. Becca has a point, even if she was a little harsh about it.
“Screw the drinks, let’s just get backstage before anyone else tries to cut off your circulation.”
Nodding, Charlie follows Becca through the crowd, making sure to keep her head down this time. Of course they’re asked for IDs and stage passes before getting through, Becca proudly letting security know they’re friends of the guitarist.
“I’m so proud of Mitch, man. He’s come so far. Can you believe he used to work in a pizza shop?”
“I know, it’s impressive shit,” Charlie nods, hugging her hoodie tight to her chest. Something bad swirls in her gut as she watches the audience from the safety of a thick curtain, seeing whispers and screams shared.
“You don’t think that’s about me, do you?” She points for Becca. Becca scoffs.
“Nah, don’t get too up your own ass, Char. The act’s probably about to come on.”
The band will be entering from stage left, opposite to them both. Charlie has to admit she’s curious. It’s been forever since she’s attended any kind of underground gig, it’s exciting – what music’s really about.
“Gemma Styles.”
Until that moment.
Ears ringing, throat drying, sweat forming. Charlie grips her hoodie so tight her knuckles blanch – she’s wrong, she has to be. It’s just her mind and anxiety playing tricks on her. It’d be impossible for–
“No way, Charlie?”
“Fuck.”
“… Charlie?”
“I mean hi! Sorry, hi!”
Pretending her ears aren’t still painfully ringing, Charlie accepts the open arms of the woman in front of her. Specifically, the sister in front of her. Her ears stop buzzing enough for her to hear Becca’s gasp beside her, and enough to hear her heart coming up through her throat.
“I can’t believe you’re here, it’s so good to see you!”
The one thing Charlie never understood was how Harry could be so intolerable and Gemma could be so… Gemma. Despite the ugliest truth she’s discovered in a while coming undone, she feels somewhat comforted by her hug and her words and her smile.
Perhaps they’re all a little too alike Harry, or perhaps the opposite. She can’t tell. There’s a lot happening.
“Yeah, um…” at a complete loss for words, Becca quickly steps in.
“Hi, I’m Rebecca. Friends with the guitarist.”
“Oh, Mitch! Isn’t he amazing? I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Charlie shoots Becca a pointed glare. She apologises again, a little more sincerely this time.
“So does Harry know you’re here? Bet he’s thrilled, are the others here?”
“Um, no. And no. Not that I know of. I’m actually here for Mitch, too.”
“Oh, I–” Gemma frowns, understandably confused, but is cut off by the house lights dimming and some opening music starting.
Charlie pinches at her arm beneath the once soft material, it only now feels scratchy and too thick. Should she run? It seems like her only viable option. Except her feet are failing her and it’s too fucking late because–
“Hi everyone! I’m Harry, it’s a pleasure. This is my wonderful band, and we’re going to play a few songs for you. Starting with a new one, this is Complicated Freak.”
Frozen to her place, Charlie listened harbouring feelings she couldn’t quite place. Part of her wishes she had just done those few shots before she left like Becca had quite smartly suggested, but a larger part of her wishes she never came.
Because fuck, has she missed him.
She’s missed his voice, and his hands, and his eyes, and his dimples, and she could say she’s missed his hair but that’s gone with the last nine months. She missed watching him concentrate entirely too hard on playing the guitar and she missed watching that crease form between his brows as he closes his eyes and just feels the music. His music.
The music that sounds eerily familiar. Then suddenly flashes of a tour bus come to mind; long hair and slender fingers strumming a guitar. Lyrics that rendered a little to close to home but were promptly ignored at the time now echo the venue, echo her chest.
“Thank you so, so much everyone. I’ll see you soon!”
Harry lifts his palm to the roaring crowd, intimate and small yet still as deafeningly loud as she remembers them always being for him. Begging for an encore, or at the very least one more wave.
But it’s only then that she realises, still stuck to the floor, that he’s taking his guitar off. He’s offering the audience one final bow and kiss, and he’s turning, and he’s walking, and he’s grinning ear to ear and accepting his friends and family’s congratulations, and then he’s stopping, and he’s staring, and his lungs have stopped and his heart has faltered and–
“You wrote me.”
His lips quiver, paused in an effort to say the right thing. Say anything.
“Yeah, I…”
It’s as if the venue and people around them grew wings and flew away as time itself stopped just for them. The first time they had seen eye to eye in the time you could grow a whole fucking baby for God’s sake – and yet they could barely speak. So much unsaid, it’s almost too much. What do you start to say to the love of your life – who you lost?
Luckily, the people around them didn’t actually grow wings.
“We’ll see you later, H,” his older sister squeezes his dead arm, nodding towards Charlie (as if she saw) and then the other confused onlookers who had developed behind them during the show but fuck if Charlie noticed.
Gemma leads the group out, leaving the pair of them in a silent standoff, the muted sound of a dying crowd and crew starting to clean punctuating the quiet.
“Drink?”
“I wanted to call you so many times.” Charlie finally admits, three double vodkas deep.
“Why didn’t you?” Harry almost whispers four whiskeys in.
Malibu’s, their old, usual haunt, has been avoided for the last nine months. Not a single band member dared to go, whether it be that Zayn no longer bartends there or that they were afraid of memories. But it felt like the only place for them to be right now. Elbows leant on the same sticky counter, knees pressed together in their tipsy mis-care, no time passed yet the whole world between them.
“I was scared.” Charlie begins. “I needed time, and after I realised that you leaving us didn’t really matter in the end, I was too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Harry. I saw the tabloids. A month after we split you were seen with this person, that person. You had moved on from us, from me.”
Her confession is startlingly sobering, and Harry can’t help but gulp down a painful lump at the way her eyes water. Harry hadn’t moved on in any sense of the word, Harry was simply trying to find Charlie in anyone he could. The way in which he had coped with his web of feelings for the woman for the past six and a half years.
“I could never move on from you, Char. I was just… lost.”
Charlie snorts, turning to down the rest of her drink.
“Baby I–”
They both freeze. Harry didn’t mean to call her that, but God, doesn’t it feel natural? Isn’t that why it slipped out in the first place? Yet, a slap in the face would have felt better for Charlie. The vodka gets caught in her throat, the once warm liquor running ice cold down her chest.
She turns, her heart melting at the sight of his face. It’s that same heartbreaking, broken concoction of regret and worry knitting his brows and dripping from his eyes. And it has her lips hungrily on his.
He catches her, grabbing her hips as he opens his legs for her and draws her to his chest, breathing in every inch of her. Because that’s what kissing Charlie is like. Oxygen for the first time, water for the first time, life for the first time. His rough hands snake up her back, grip her sides, pinch her skin. Her nails rake at the nape of his neck, muscle memory expecting locks to hold onto but finding short curls as their home instead.
Their tongues and lips work in an unspoken agreement, all the way to her new apartment by the bar, all the way to her bed.
They didn’t speak. They were both far too terrified to lose this moment. They just needed each other, the touch they’d both been desperately chasing for months. Charlie closes her eyes as Harry’s mouth starts its attack on her neck and is transported to Louis’ apartment, where she first felt that same desperation.
“Please.” She breathes, wrapping her legs around his hips, eliciting from him a muffled groan as she grinds up towards him. He nods into her neck, his lips still working down her soft skin. She still tastes the same, that strawberry vanilla he could drink by the gallon.
Charlie claws at his back, making an attempt to remove his black button-up as he moves down her body. She just about manages it as he settles between her legs, pushing up her denim dress without grace or care before biting the edge of her knickers.
The heels of her feet press into his toned back, her palms already fisting the sheets as he harshly grips her hips to push her back into the mattress.
A million thoughts run through Harry’s head, but fear holds him back from saying a single one of them. Months ago, he would’ve told Charlie everything. How good her thighs feel, how fucking pretty she looks laying there, needy for him. How much her soft little pants sound like she should be begging for him, how hard he is for her like this.
But he can’t. For all he knows, he’s simply a mouth right now. He’s not Harry, he’s just something she needs, and fuck if he’ll be whatever she needs.
So he bites into her inner thigh, sucking away the sharpness as she grips and tugs at his hair. He moans into her skin, eyelashes fluttering against her hips as he kisses the top of her pubic bone. His touch is rough in every place but his lips as he makes a path to her core, pressing teasing kisses over her clit. Her knickers are fucking soaked through, and the sight alone is enough to send him berserk.
“Charlie, I’m gonna have to–”
“Please, just–”
With that sliver of permission, he reaches down, squeezing himself over his trousers. The slightly relieved pressure has him gasping against her lace, which quickly becomes wetter. Charlie sits up on her elbows, watching Harry touch and squeeze while he continues to tease her.
And it’s there. In between the need and the pleasure, Charlie begins to cry. Softly, quietly, but enough to garner Harry’s distracted attention.
“Hey, hey,” Harry moves back up her body, tugging her dress back into place as he squeezes her hip, “I’m sorry, I-”
“It’s fine.” Charlie’s voice cracks as her head hits the pillow, hot tears quickly meeting her hairline before she can wipe them away.
“Sweetheart–”
“I’m not your fucking sweetheart.” Charlie murmurs between gritted teeth, sending Harry aback. He sits up on his heels, his touch slowly leaving her. Charlie presses her palms into her eyes, squeezing the tears out as she muffles sobs against her hands.
“That’s the problem.”
It’s hardly above a whisper, but Harry hears every last syllable. Leaning back over her, he removes her fists, gently brushing her blotchy cheeks.
“I’m just drunk and emotional and weird and–”
“Stop it,” Harry murmurs, pulling her up to sit in front of him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” When she doesn’t budge, he drops his head and whispers, “please.”
Charlie finds his eye. In so many ways, he’s unchanged. He still looks at her like that, and it crumbles her, just as easily as it did all those months ago.
“Everything got so fucked up, Harry. The band, me, us. I haven’t sang a chord in months. I see the guys, what, once, twice a month? And you…”
“It’s my fault, Char.” Harry sighs, collapsing beside her, rubbing his face. “I left, I split everyone up–”
“You needed to.” She interrupts, stern. “I didn’t realise at the time, it took me a while to accept it, but you needed to. Niall was starting a family, everyone was starting to burn out, even if we didn’t want to admit it.”
“You did the right thing.”
Those fives words are all that Harry’s wanted to hear for nine months. He’s spent countless, sleepless nights wondering if he’d messed everything up for everyone, forever. If in his selfishness he’d forgotten to use logic.
“I’m just not sure I did.”
Harry frowns, turning to look at Charlie.
“What do you mean, Charlie?”
“I worry that I was… hasty. Rash.”
Harry can’t help the small smile that starts to tug at his lips. He lifts his knees and rests his chin on his palm to hide it.
“I did a really messed up thing, you were justified.”
“No.” Charlie sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I was right to be mad, but I wasn’t right to have said all the stuff I did. I was especially not right to leave you.”
Harry’s chest jumps, but he tries to calm his excited heart before Charlie can finish. When it comes to her, there’s no real predictability. She might be about to destroy him all over again.
“Those six years mean more to me than anything I’ve done in my entire life. You were there through everything, every shitty and amazing thing, all I can think about is flashes of you. My sister, my audition, my first heartbreak, my first– I could go on and on, but the point is, you were there.”
“Even if you annoyed the shit out of me for the better part of it, you’re my life, Harry. I was stupid to think I could ever live it in the same way without you.”
It’s impossible to fight his grin, now.
Charlie finally turns to face him, instantly rolling her eyes at the sight of him. His entirely too wide smile, his glinting eyes and how they quickly flit to her lips, the twitch between his brows that lets her know he’s holding back a comment.
And despite his speechlessness, his answer is obvious.
“You sure you don’t want someone easier?” Charlie lilts, swaying into him.
“Why on Earth would I want anyone else?”
“I don’t know. I yell at you a lot.”
“I’d rather have you hate my guts than have anyone else.” Harry takes her waist, easing her beneath him again as he hovers over her. “I’ve spent my entire life waiting to hear you say that, you know.”
“Entire life is a bit dramatic.” Charlie drapes her arms around his neck, her fingers finding his nape. That hair is going to take some getting used to.
“Nope,” Harry pops his P, leaning down to press a kiss to her jaw. “You’re my life too, Char.”
She leans back into the pillow, her thumb circling his neck. “You mean it?”
It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, now.
“You really have to ask? What more could I possibly do to prove to you that you’re it for me, you always have been.”
Charlie smirks. “I could think of something.”
“Always thinking with your dick, Greene.”
Charlie lets out a scoff, and Harry let’s his chest do whatever it wants.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
#harry styles smut#harry styles x oc#harry styles angst#harry styles series#1d ot5#one direction series#harry styles x reader#harry styles#1d series#1d smut#spare parts series#harry styles friends with benefits#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#harry styles fic
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Hey hi hello,
so I’ve decided to leave Tumblr as a writer (never as a reader, the fics are toooo good and my mutes are toooo lovely) just because I simply do not have the time around uni and work and friends – so I’ve cut my new series before I could get into it; there was only the prologue out and I’m not big-headed enough to think anyone cared LOL but just as a lil PSA.
I will be posting one blurb for Spare Parts as it’s nearly finished and kinda wraps up the series (it’s how Charlie and Harry rectified things ;)) but other than that, it’s over and out from me <3
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💌Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome💌
i'm seeing this so so late but LOVE? thank you xx
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Thank u for the tag babe !!! 💚 this is so fun I love stuff like this. My on repeat playlist is a mess so I’m nervous hehe
1. MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, Elley Duhé
2. All Too Well (10 min TV), Taylor Swift
3. Love on the Brain, Rihanna
4. Wild Thoughts, DJ Khaled
5. Yoko Ono, Mob Rich
6. Welcome To Japan, The Strokes
7. Sleepover, Hayley Kiyoko
8. Shark Smile, Big Thief
9. Annie, Neon Indian
10. When Love’s Around, ZAYN
(Only one member of 1D making it to this list was a surPRISE)
(Slacking on tags cos so many moots have already participated)
@starfoxrry @sirtommyholland @folkloreslovechild @b-reads-things
Rules: shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist and post the first ten track 🎶, then tag ten people!
Ooooo this is gonna be fun!!!
I was tagged by @strwbrrydaydreams
1. Seeing Blind- Niall Horan feat the RTE Concert Orchestra
2. You & I- One Direction
3. Fade- Lewis Capaldi
4. Flicker- Niall HorN feat the RTE Concert Orchestra
5. Our Song- Anne-Marie & Niall Horan
6. Illusion- One Direction
7. Canyon Moon- Harry Styles
8. Pointless- Lewis Capaldi
9. Steal My Girl- One Direction
10. Little Freak- Harry Styles
🫣🫣🫣🫣
I’m tagging these people but this is 100% not obligated! Just for fun!
@be-with-me-so-happily @kaminokatiee @swiftmendeshoran @fruitmans @erggggggggg
@harrysmimi @a-strange-familiar @violetsandfluff @missmielyhoran @watermelonlovershigh @mouthfulloftoothpasterry
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This is SO kind ahhh, thank you thank you thank you my love <3
CHAPTER LIST
SPARE PARTS: a series
[COMPLETED]
PROLOGUE
I. BIRTHDAY BLUES
2. OUT OF STYLE
3. GROUPIES
4. SAY MY NAME 18+
5. TEASE
6. UP IN THE AIR 18+
7. JEALOUS (pt. 1) 18+
8. JEALOUS (pt. 2) 18+
9. SATELLITE
10. SNEAKING SUSPICION
11. LATE NIGHT TALKING 18+
12. ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT 18+
13. PRETEND ALLEYWAYS
14. CHEAP WINE 18+
15. COMPLICATED FREAK 18+
16. OUR SONG 18+
17. YOU HAVE ME 18+
18. EASY LIKE
19. GRIEF 18+
20. FINAL SHOW
EPILOGUE 18+
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None of the links for spare parts series are working?
Ahh ur right, thank u for bringing this to my attention!!
I’ve re-linked literally every part of my master list, so hopefully it should be working now (I pray it is for the sake of my thumbs)
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My love!! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I’ve so enjoyed your support throughout this whole journey, never more than ur own work tho. To hear this from such an amazing writer like yourself is so so nice, thank you a million times over <3
EPILOGUE: SIX YEARS LATER
SPARE PARTS: a series
LONDON
(W) strong language, oral (male receiving)
THIRD PERSON’S POV
FOUR YEARS LATER
Cheers ring throughout the arena, thumping so loud even the floors shook. Charlie watches off stage, hands over an agape mouth as she tries to process just how proud she is – which is a pretty impossible feat. Amelia’s screams deafen her from the left, her own jumping adding to the shakes and only making her husband worry because a woman only two months from her due date definitely shouldn’t be moving like that.
(Even if she insists she knows what’s doing by the third time round).
“Oh, my God, this is going straight to his dick,” Liam laughs, whistling so loud that a few fans nearly spot them hidden behind the curtain. It was absolutely essential no one saw them – this wasn’t their night in the slightest.
“Thank you so much London!” Louis belts to the crowd one last time, trying his best to soak those emotional final few moments in before descending and joining his friends backstage.
They all scream, engulfing him in a suffocating group hug Amelia’s forced to bow out from early. Louis is clearly high on adrenaline, nearly shaking with the thrill of it all, as his former bandmates lap over each other to congratulate him.
“God, it felt so weird at first,” he pants, nodding his thanks toward the crew member who handed him a water as they all made their way to the tour buses. His tour buses, “being up there alone, but it was incredible. I just want to go out there and do it all again.”
“Good job you’ve booked a whole ass tour then,” Niall grips his shoulders, kissing the back of his sweaty head.
“Lou, you were fucking ace!” Zayn shouts over the phone Liam nearly forgot he was holding. It’s a miracle the signal and battery even held up in the 02, especially from Zayn’s hotel in Florence.
“How’s the exhibition going?” Louis responds, taking Liam’s phone to face Zayn for a minute.
The five of them climb onto the buses, each taking a minute to gasp at how different it is. Like slipping on an old cardigan, they all expected to see the red leather they were so used to and the posters they’d chosen and the always stocked mini fridge. This bus is all Louis now.
“So good,” Zayn begins to break up as the bus quickly sets off to Louis’ London apartment, “I had a buyer yesterday, meeting with him after tomorrow’s gallery opening.”
Everyone gives their congratulations, then Louis hangs up the phone before Zayn turns into nothing but a blob of pixels, handing Liam’s phone back to him.
“I’ve never seen a crowd like that,” Niall shuffles on the sofa he would never say is uncomfortable, but, well. It’s no Spare Parts tour bus. “So impressive mate.”
Amongst the pumped up conversation about Louis’ first solo show, Charlie feels her silenced phone buzzing away in her back pocket. Pulling the device out, she can’t help the small smile that makes it’s way onto her face – earning knowing groans from the others.
There’s only one person who can elicit that smile.
“Just answer it.” Louis chuckles.
“It’s just because I told him to call if there was an emergency–”
“Answer it before I do!” Amelia intercepts, throwing a cushion at Charlie. She barely catches it before it hits her face, so as she stands to take the call, she sticks her tongue out at her best friend.
And a finger.
Charlie hears a muted, “love you too!” as the door to the bunks close and she’s alone.
“Hi,” Charlie accepts the FaceTime, unable to hold back her smile as her husband comes into frame. “Everything okay?”
“Look,” he holds up a toy, specifically a 2 year old Rubik’s cube that aims to help with colour awareness. Charlie thought it was dumb, but it’s hard to argue with Harry when it comes to Reagan. “Our kid’s a genius.”
Charlie scoffs. The cube has one side completed in red, all four squares.
“Our kid’s two years old,” Charlie cocks her head, “but did she really do that?”
“Yep, we sat there for like an hour–”
“We?”
“Well her fingers aren’t the strongest.”
Charlie breathes out puffy laughter.
“Who did the cube?”
A pause. Tired eyes crinkling at the seams.
“Okay, so I physically did it, but she told me where to go!”
“Rae can say, like, five words, she did not.” Charlie loudly guffaws. Then she realises Harry’s been whispering this whole time, so she quickly clamps her mouth. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes,” Harry yawns, “took fuckin’ forever.”
“Hey! No swearing with Rae in the house.”
“She doesn’t know what they mean, Char.”
“And what happens when we send her to preschool with that in her vocabulary?”
“God, I don’t know. Do we go to jail?”
Charlie rolls her eyes, Harry cracks a lazy smile.
“How was it?”
“Oh, H, it was amazing. He was so good.”
“I’m sad to have missed it,” he yawns again, “I always knew he’d kill it solo.”
“Mm,” Charlie props her chin on her palm, “go to sleep baby.”
“Not tired.” Harry lies, his fringe tickling his lashes as he shakes his head.
“You just yawned three times in five minutes.”
“I want to stay up.” He nearly sounds like a sulking child.
“I’m not going to be back till gone midnight.”
A pause. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles, “we’re nearly at Louis’ apartment and I promised I’d actually stay at this party.”
“Do you have to?”
“If ready-to-burst Amelia is, I hardly have an excuse.”
Harry softly laughs, and Charlie wants to wrap herself in that laugh. In fact, she’s wanted to go back to her husband and her daughter and their dog for hours, but she can’t hide away from yet another party.
“I’ll be back at 12:30.”
“Okay babe,” Harry yawns. Again. “Have fun. Give Louis my congratulations.”
“I will,” Charlie let’s her eyes drop over Harry for a minute. After three years of marriage, the sight of him in sweats and blankets and messy curls is no less sexy than when he’s in his silk shirts and his–
“You’re pulling that face.” Harry snaps her out of it.
“What?”
“Your eyes,” Harry shifts, Daisy’s fur visible in the corner of the screen as she clearly hogs her side of the bed, “you sure you don’t want to come back early?”
The door to the bunks open and Liam’s head peaks through, “Charlie, we’re here.”
“Okay, I’ll be one minute.” Charlie smiles, standing up.
“You alright, Harry?” Liam shouts.
“I’ll be one minute,” grits lilts, shooing Liam out with a smirk.
“I really need to go now,” Charlie’s attention reverts back to the screen, to Harry. “I love you. Stay up.”
“Always,” Harry has to have won some kind of world record for yawning at this point, “I love you.”
2 YEARS LATER
Thousands upon thousands await him, chanting and cheering for him as the final recognisable song from his (carefully curated) pre-show playlist slowly fades to a halt.
He should be jumping up and down on the spot, breathing short, sharp breaths and recounting the lyrics he always forgets (and probably will always forget). He should be hyping himself up to play his first ever stadium alone, he should be warming up or fuck, praying.
But no. He’s nowhere to be found.
He’s late.
“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” his manger, Jeff, paces over Ibrox’s backstage, about ready to quit, steam leaking from his ears - cartoon or not, his top client is always the one to make that happen.
Jeff could accept late six years ago. It was nerve wracking, opening a tour alone after a controversial departure from the band. Plus, he was well aware of his reputation, Jeff knew what he was signing on for.
But the man’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. The man’s not some stupid early twenty-something who sees this whole thing as a fun little quest he gets to dictate. Over the years, and especially through the pandemic, he finally matured. He finally realised that being punctual is actually okay! And more than that, it doesn’t give your manager and crew kittens three minutes before Golden is supposed to blast to 50,000.
… except when it comes to pre-show blowjobs from his wife.
“Oh, my God, baby.”
Harry throws his head back, fingers taking turns in fisting the cushy sofa beneath him and raking through Charlie’s curls. Her tongue swirls his tip, her own insistence for punctuality urging her to make him finish as soon as possible. She looks up at him through long lashes, knowing eye contact while she mouths him like that will have him tipping over the edge in no time.
It was never even supposed to happen. She only went in his dressing room to wish him luck, see how he was doing, give him a chaste kiss if anything. And, if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to see his outfit before the world did.
Catching him half-dressed with the hair that told her he’d been nervously messing with it for half an hour, well. Who wouldn’t drop to their knees and kiss their way to his cock in their mouth?
“Yeah, shit,” Harry pants, forcing his head to roll forward so he can watch her. “How do you just seem to get better at this?”
Charlie smiles around his prick, injecting butterflies into his stomach and–
“Harry, I’m going to ask one more time.”
“One minute!” Charlie surfaces, barely able to breathe as she shouts at Jeff this time. Jeff’s grumbles are audible from the other side of the door, as are the sound of feet shuffling away.
If there’s one person Jeff isn’t going to yell at, it’s Charlie.
Harry’s eyes widen, embarrassment heating his neck, but Charlie’s hand pumping his shaft silences him till he’s biting blood into his bottom lip and announcing,
“Baby, I’m gonna–” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence before her mouth is back on him, and he’s coming down the back of her wonderful throat.
The noises he makes as he finishes only spur her to suck him through his orgasm, all the way till he’s pulling her away and twitching with sensitivity.
“Okay, you need to go.”
Charlie stands, wiping her mouth and shanking his boxers and trousers up for him while he lays back, dazed the fuck out of his mind.
“Huh?” He barely understands a word she’s saying, let alone able to comprehend where he is and what he’s about to do.
“You have a show, H,” Charlie straddles his lap to fix his hair, styling it quickly in the way she knows he likes. Harry’s hands instinctively fly to her waist, grinning lazily as she fusses over his fucked-out appearance.
“That might’ve been your best work, sweetheart.”
“Shut up,” Charlie mumbles behind a smile. He pecks her swollen lips.
Standing up, she adjusts herself, too. Her hair that had been ragged at by a feral Harry, her lipstick that was practically cheekstick by now. Her top, that he’d messily yanked down during their initial make out session when he insisted he just had to bite at least one mark into her breasts.
“Okay, you have two minutes,” Charlie checks her phone, grabbing his white tank and jacket from his coat-rack. Coming round from the head, panic starts to set in.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing up. Charlie turns around, noticing that gone-off look in his eyes which tells her he’s either about to brush it off completely or melt into a panic attack. Neither are exactly great coping mechanisms, but Charlie really needs to prevent the latter right now.
“H, it’s nothing.”
She throws him the tank, waiting for him with the jacket. He glances at her, that postcoital glow long gone. Anxiety was starting to seep into those gaps she had managed to close just a few minutes ago, but were starting to crack at the seams.
“50,000 is not nothing.”
Charlie puts his jacket on for him, afraid he’d stand there forever if she didn’t.
“50,817.” She corrects. He scowls. “Sorry.”
“Look, of course it’s not nothing. It’s a huge deal. But I know you,” she grabs his face, forcing his eyes to still on something solid. A stray curl falls against his forehead, framing his furrowed brows. “You’re going to get on that stage, and you’re going to fucking kill it.”
Harry huffs a breath, unconvinced.
“Honey, you’ve done it before.” Charlie smiles softly, brushing away the strand.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “with you.” He nudges his nose against hers, and Charlie wants to cry at his vulnverability. It’s rare she sees a Harry like this. For as long as she’s known him, he’s remained stoic in the face of fear, and although he’s not as rigid as he used to be – he’s never one to panic so much.
Endearingly, Charlie can pinpoint when he became much more of a worrier to one day, one person.
“H,” Charlie firms up, “it’s just like that. You have your band, you have me and your friends and–”
Harry interrupts the beginning of Charlie’s pep talk by grabbing her face and kissing her, hard. As if he was pouring out all of his nerves into her mouth and something in her lips and her tongue managed to just kill them. He pulls away, pepping light kisses against her cheek and jaw, making Charlie chuckle softly as his hair tickles her face.
“Okay, okay,” she leans back, forcing him away from her skin, “round two after the show, yeah?”
Harry holds his pinkie out. Charlie rolls her eyes, and holds her pinkie out. They kiss their respective thumbs and Harry nods.
“You got this.” She scrunches her nose, and Harry swears he feels his heart drop out of his stomach, which, how? After all this time, how does she still manage to do that to him.
It needs to be studied.
As he leaves his dressing room, Charlie gives him a swift slap to the ass, laughing as he turns and playfully scowls (despite knowing full well he loves it). She says a silent prayer for her husband as she follows him toward the stage, the sound of thousands of impatient fans already deafening.
They round the corner to backstage, where the team and Jeff are minutes away from breaking down themselves. Jeff nearly drops to the floor in relief at the sight of Harry, but wastes no time in calling tech over to mic him up.
Charlie gratefully smiles at Sarah, taking a fussing Reagan from her arms. Harry turns to let the team thread his mic through his jacket, and finds his remaining anxiety instantly dissipating at the sight of his daughter wearing entirely too big headphones and fisting at Charlie’s t-shirt as she complains about said defenders.
“Hi, princess,” Harry coos, reaching out for Reagan to grab his finger with her little hand.
“Daddy, you look funny.” Reagan giggles, wiggling enough for Charlie to set her down.
“Heey,” Harry lilts, getting the go ahead from the tech man before bending to his four-year-old’s height. “You don’t think I look handsome?”
Reagan shakes her head, brown curls bouncing against her cheeks.
“You look like play-dough.”
Charlie snorts, because she kinda hit the nail on the head. Harry’s band are giggling, too, as they prepare to get on stage. Harry narrows his eyes at them all.
“Do I have to wear these?” Reagan bashes her fists against the headphones.
“Afraid so, Rae,” Harry adjusts them so they sit a little looser on her head, but she’s still unhappy. “Your ears are too little right now,” he tries to explain, but if he knows his daughter at all, he knows she’ll be upset throughout the whole show because her hairdo’s squashed.
That’s Auntie Amelia’s damning influence.
“I don’t want to interrupt, but–”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry stands, not deaf to the chants for him outside.
He kisses Reagan’s head, then turns to his wife.
“How’s Daisy?”
“Daisy’s fine,” Charlie sighs around a smile. Of course Harry’s worried about their dog right now. “Lia and Niall texted, she’s passed out on the sofa.”
Harry nods, clearly trying to delay the inevitable. So Charlie hurries it along for him, knowing he could stand there and ask stupid questions all evening to avoid that initial opening.
“Don’t fuck it up.” She winks, pinching his chin. Harry breathes short laughter from his nose, his lips squashed as Charlie pulls him for one final good luck kiss. Reagan sticks her tongue out at the sight of her parents’ affection, to which Harry does the same back and earns a tinkling of giggles back.
Charlie lifts Raegen so she can blow a kiss to her dad, currently jumping up and down and getting a few final stretches in before the opening to Music For A Sushi Restaurant fills the stadium, the screams become deafening, and Charlie watches as her rockstar husband takes the same stage her rockstar self did last year.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
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SPARE PARTS IS COMPLETE!
I started this series so long ago, and it’s been a ride to complete, but I’m so so proud. I’m so thankful for all the support and new friends derived from this series, I’m endlessly grateful for it all <3
I will most likely post some blurbs to fill in gaps (especially between the final part and the epilogue) (especially because I know I will not be able to let this series go HA) but for now, that’s the book closed on Spare Parts.
Thank you for reading x
CHAPTER LIST
SPARE PARTS: a series
[ONGOING]
PROLOGUE
I. BIRTHDAY BLUES
2. OUT OF STYLE
3. GROUPIES
4. SAY MY NAME 18+
5. TEASE
6. UP IN THE AIR 18+
7. JEALOUS (pt. 1) 18+
8. JEALOUS (pt. 2) 18+
9. SATELLITE
10. SNEAKING SUSPICION
11. LATE NIGHT TALKING 18+
12. ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT
13. PRETEND ALLEYWAYS
14. CHEAP WINE 18+
15. COMPLICATED FREAK 18+
16. OUR SONG 18+
17. YOU HAVE ME 18+
18. EASY LIKE
19. GRIEF 18+
20. FINAL SHOW
EPILOGUE 18+
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EPILOGUE: SIX YEARS LATER
SPARE PARTS: a series
LONDON
(W) strong language, oral (male receiving)
THIRD PERSON’S POV
FOUR YEARS LATER
Cheers ring throughout the arena, thumping so loud even the floors shook. Charlie watches off stage, hands over an agape mouth as she tries to process just how proud she is – which is a pretty impossible feat. Amelia’s screams deafen her from the left, her own jumping adding to the shakes and only making her husband worry because a woman only two months from her due date definitely shouldn’t be moving like that.
(Even if she insists she knows what’s doing by the third time round).
“Oh, my God, this is going straight to his dick,” Liam laughs, whistling so loud that a few fans nearly spot them hidden behind the curtain. It was absolutely essential no one saw them – this wasn’t their night in the slightest.
“Thank you so much London!” Louis belts to the crowd one last time, trying his best to soak those emotional final few moments in before descending and joining his friends backstage.
They all scream, engulfing him in a suffocating group hug Amelia’s forced to bow out from early. Louis is clearly high on adrenaline, nearly shaking with the thrill of it all, as his former bandmates lap over each other to congratulate him.
“God, it felt so weird at first,” he pants, nodding his thanks toward the crew member who handed him a water as they all made their way to the tour buses. His tour buses, “being up there alone, but it was incredible. I just want to go out there and do it all again.”
“Good job you’ve booked a whole ass tour then,” Niall grips his shoulders, kissing the back of his sweaty head.
“Lou, you were fucking ace!” Zayn shouts over the phone Liam nearly forgot he was holding. It’s a miracle the signal and battery even held up in the 02, especially from Zayn’s hotel in Florence.
“How’s the exhibition going?” Louis responds, taking Liam’s phone to face Zayn for a minute.
The five of them climb onto the buses, each taking a minute to gasp at how different it is. Like slipping on an old cardigan, they all expected to see the red leather they were so used to and the posters they’d chosen and the always stocked mini fridge. This bus is all Louis now.
“So good,” Zayn begins to break up as the bus quickly sets off to Louis’ London apartment, “I had a buyer yesterday, meeting with him after tomorrow’s gallery opening.”
Everyone gives their congratulations, then Louis hangs up the phone before Zayn turns into nothing but a blob of pixels, handing Liam’s phone back to him.
“I’ve never seen a crowd like that,” Niall shuffles on the sofa he would never say is uncomfortable, but, well. It’s no Spare Parts tour bus. “So impressive mate.”
Amongst the pumped up conversation about Louis’ first solo show, Charlie feels her silenced phone buzzing away in her back pocket. Pulling the device out, she can’t help the small smile that makes it’s way onto her face – earning knowing groans from the others.
There’s only one person who can elicit that smile.
“Just answer it.” Louis chuckles.
“It’s just because I told him to call if there was an emergency–”
“Answer it before I do!” Amelia intercepts, throwing a cushion at Charlie. She barely catches it before it hits her face, so as she stands to take the call, she sticks her tongue out at her best friend.
And a finger.
Charlie hears a muted, “love you too!” as the door to the bunks close and she’s alone.
“Hi,” Charlie accepts the FaceTime, unable to hold back her smile as her husband comes into frame. “Everything okay?”
“Look,” he holds up a toy, specifically a 2 year old Rubik’s cube that aims to help with colour awareness. Charlie thought it was dumb, but it’s hard to argue with Harry when it comes to Reagan. “Our kid’s a genius.”
Charlie scoffs. The cube has one side completed in red, all four squares.
“Our kid’s two years old,” Charlie cocks her head, “but did she really do that?”
“Yep, we sat there for like an hour–”
“We?”
“Well her fingers aren’t the strongest.”
Charlie breathes out puffy laughter.
“Who did the cube?”
A pause. Tired eyes crinkling at the seams.
“Okay, so I physically did it, but she told me where to go!”
“Rae can say, like, five words, she did not.” Charlie loudly guffaws. Then she realises Harry’s been whispering this whole time, so she quickly clamps her mouth. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes,” Harry yawns, “took fuckin’ forever.”
“Hey! No swearing with Rae in the house.”
“She doesn’t know what they mean, Char.”
“And what happens when we send her to preschool with that in her vocabulary?”
“God, I don’t know. Do we go to jail?”
Charlie rolls her eyes, Harry cracks a lazy smile.
“How was it?”
“Oh, H, it was amazing. He was so good.”
“I’m sad to have missed it,” he yawns again, “I always knew he’d kill it solo.”
“Mm,” Charlie props her chin on her palm, “go to sleep baby.”
“Not tired.” Harry lies, his fringe tickling his lashes as he shakes his head.
“You just yawned three times in five minutes.”
“I want to stay up.” He nearly sounds like a sulking child.
“I’m not going to be back till gone midnight.”
A pause. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles, “we’re nearly at Louis’ apartment and I promised I’d actually stay at this party.”
“Do you have to?”
“If ready-to-burst Amelia is, I hardly have an excuse.”
Harry softly laughs, and Charlie wants to wrap herself in that laugh. In fact, she’s wanted to go back to her husband and her daughter and their dog for hours, but she can’t hide away from yet another party.
“I’ll be back at 12:30.”
“Okay babe,” Harry yawns. Again. “Have fun. Give Louis my congratulations.”
“I will,” Charlie let’s her eyes drop over Harry for a minute. After three years of marriage, the sight of him in sweats and blankets and messy curls is no less sexy than when he’s in his silk shirts and his–
“You’re pulling that face.” Harry snaps her out of it.
“What?”
“Your eyes,” Harry shifts, Daisy’s fur visible in the corner of the screen as she clearly hogs her side of the bed, “you sure you don’t want to come back early?”
The door to the bunks open and Liam’s head peaks through, “Charlie, we’re here.”
“Okay, I’ll be one minute.” Charlie smiles, standing up.
“You alright, Harry?” Liam shouts.
“I’ll be one minute,” grits lilts, shooing Liam out with a smirk.
“I really need to go now,” Charlie’s attention reverts back to the screen, to Harry. “I love you. Stay up.”
“Always,” Harry has to have won some kind of world record for yawning at this point, “I love you.”
2 YEARS LATER
Thousands upon thousands await him, chanting and cheering for him as the final recognisable song from his (carefully curated) pre-show playlist slowly fades to a halt.
He should be jumping up and down on the spot, breathing short, sharp breaths and recounting the lyrics he always forgets (and probably will always forget). He should be hyping himself up to play his first ever stadium alone, he should be warming up or fuck, praying.
But no. He’s nowhere to be found.
He’s late.
“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” his manger, Jeff, paces over Ibrox’s backstage, about ready to quit, steam leaking from his ears - cartoon or not, his top client is always the one to make that happen.
Jeff could accept late six years ago. It was nerve wracking, opening a tour alone after a controversial departure from the band. Plus, he was well aware of his reputation, Jeff knew what he was signing on for.
But the man’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. The man’s not some stupid early twenty-something who sees this whole thing as a fun little quest he gets to dictate. Over the years, and especially through the pandemic, he finally matured. He finally realised that being punctual is actually okay! And more than that, it doesn’t give your manager and crew kittens three minutes before Golden is supposed to blast to 50,000.
… except when it comes to pre-show blowjobs from his wife.
“Oh, my God, baby.”
Harry throws his head back, fingers taking turns in fisting the cushy sofa beneath him and raking through Charlie’s curls. Her tongue swirls his tip, her own insistence for punctuality urging her to make him finish as soon as possible. She looks up at him through long lashes, knowing eye contact while she mouths him like that will have him tipping over the edge in no time.
It was never even supposed to happen. She only went in his dressing room to wish him luck, see how he was doing, give him a chaste kiss if anything. And, if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to see his outfit before the world did.
Catching him half-dressed with the hair that told her he’d been nervously messing with it for half an hour, well. Who wouldn’t drop to their knees and kiss their way to his cock in their mouth?
“Yeah, shit,” Harry pants, forcing his head to roll forward so he can watch her. “How do you just seem to get better at this?”
Charlie smiles around his prick, injecting butterflies into his stomach and–
“Harry, I’m going to ask one more time.”
“One minute!” Charlie surfaces, barely able to breathe as she shouts at Jeff this time. Jeff’s grumbles are audible from the other side of the door, as are the sound of feet shuffling away.
If there’s one person Jeff isn’t going to yell at, it’s Charlie.
Harry’s eyes widen, embarrassment heating his neck, but Charlie’s hand pumping his shaft silences him till he’s biting blood into his bottom lip and announcing,
“Baby, I’m gonna–” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence before her mouth is back on him, and he’s coming down the back of her wonderful throat.
The noises he makes as he finishes only spur her to suck him through his orgasm, all the way till he’s pulling her away and twitching with sensitivity.
“Okay, you need to go.”
Charlie stands, wiping her mouth and shanking his boxers and trousers up for him while he lays back, dazed the fuck out of his mind.
“Huh?” He barely understands a word she’s saying, let alone able to comprehend where he is and what he’s about to do.
“You have a show, H,” Charlie straddles his lap to fix his hair, styling it quickly in the way she knows he likes. Harry’s hands instinctively fly to her waist, grinning lazily as she fusses over his fucked-out appearance.
“That might’ve been your best work, sweetheart.”
“Shut up,” Charlie mumbles behind a smile. He pecks her swollen lips.
Standing up, she adjusts herself, too. Her hair that had been ragged at by a feral Harry, her lipstick that was practically cheekstick by now. Her top, that he’d messily yanked down during their initial make out session when he insisted he just had to bite at least one mark into her breasts.
“Okay, you have two minutes,” Charlie checks her phone, grabbing his white tank and jacket from his coat-rack. Coming round from the head, panic starts to set in.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing up. Charlie turns around, noticing that gone-off look in his eyes which tells her he’s either about to brush it off completely or melt into a panic attack. Neither are exactly great coping mechanisms, but Charlie really needs to prevent the latter right now.
“H, it’s nothing.”
She throws him the tank, waiting for him with the jacket. He glances at her, that postcoital glow long gone. Anxiety was starting to seep into those gaps she had managed to close just a few minutes ago, but were starting to crack at the seams.
“50,000 is not nothing.”
Charlie puts his jacket on for him, afraid he’d stand there forever if she didn’t.
“50,817.” She corrects. He scowls. “Sorry.”
“Look, of course it’s not nothing. It’s a huge deal. But I know you,” she grabs his face, forcing his eyes to still on something solid. A stray curl falls against his forehead, framing his furrowed brows. “You’re going to get on that stage, and you’re going to fucking kill it.”
Harry huffs a breath, unconvinced.
“Honey, you’ve done it before.” Charlie smiles softly, brushing away the strand.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “with you.” He nudges his nose against hers, and Charlie wants to cry at his vulnverability. It’s rare she sees a Harry like this. For as long as she’s known him, he’s remained stoic in the face of fear, and although he’s not as rigid as he used to be – he’s never one to panic so much.
Endearingly, Charlie can pinpoint when he became much more of a worrier to one day, one person.
“H,” Charlie firms up, “it’s just like that. You have your band, you have me and your friends and–”
Harry interrupts the beginning of Charlie’s pep talk by grabbing her face and kissing her, hard. As if he was pouring out all of his nerves into her mouth and something in her lips and her tongue managed to just kill them. He pulls away, pepping light kisses against her cheek and jaw, making Charlie chuckle softly as his hair tickles her face.
“Okay, okay,” she leans back, forcing him away from her skin, “round two after the show, yeah?”
Harry holds his pinkie out. Charlie rolls her eyes, and holds her pinkie out. They kiss their respective thumbs and Harry nods.
“You got this.” She scrunches her nose, and Harry swears he feels his heart drop out of his stomach, which, how? After all this time, how does she still manage to do that to him.
It needs to be studied.
As he leaves his dressing room, Charlie gives him a swift slap to the ass, laughing as he turns and playfully scowls (despite knowing full well he loves it). She says a silent prayer for her husband as she follows him toward the stage, the sound of thousands of impatient fans already deafening.
They round the corner to backstage, where the team and Jeff are minutes away from breaking down themselves. Jeff nearly drops to the floor in relief at the sight of Harry, but wastes no time in calling tech over to mic him up.
Charlie gratefully smiles at Sarah, taking a fussing Reagan from her arms. Harry turns to let the team thread his mic through his jacket, and finds his remaining anxiety instantly dissipating at the sight of his daughter wearing entirely too big headphones and fisting at Charlie’s t-shirt as she complains about said defenders.
“Hi, princess,” Harry coos, reaching out for Reagan to grab his finger with her little hand.
“Daddy, you look funny.” Reagan giggles, wiggling enough for Charlie to set her down.
“Heey,” Harry lilts, getting the go ahead from the tech man before bending to his four-year-old’s height. “You don’t think I look handsome?”
Reagan shakes her head, brown curls bouncing against her cheeks.
“You look like play-dough.”
Charlie snorts, because she kinda hit the nail on the head. Harry’s band are giggling, too, as they prepare to get on stage. Harry narrows his eyes at them all.
“Do I have to wear these?” Reagan bashes her fists against the headphones.
“Afraid so, Rae,” Harry adjusts them so they sit a little looser on her head, but she’s still unhappy. “Your ears are too little right now,” he tries to explain, but if he knows his daughter at all, he knows she’ll be upset throughout the whole show because her hairdo’s squashed.
That’s Auntie Amelia’s damning influence.
“I don’t want to interrupt, but–”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry stands, not deaf to the chants for him outside.
He kisses Reagan’s head, then turns to his wife.
“How’s Daisy?”
“Daisy’s fine,” Charlie sighs around a smile. Of course Harry’s worried about their dog right now. “Lia and Niall texted, she’s passed out on the sofa.”
Harry nods, clearly trying to delay the inevitable. So Charlie hurries it along for him, knowing he could stand there and ask stupid questions all evening to avoid that initial opening.
“Don’t fuck it up.” She winks, pinching his chin. Harry breathes short laughter from his nose, his lips squashed as Charlie pulls him for one final good luck kiss. Reagan sticks her tongue out at the sight of her parents’ affection, to which Harry does the same back and earns a tinkling of giggles back.
Charlie lifts Raegen so she can blow a kiss to her dad, currently jumping up and down and getting a few final stretches in before the opening to Music For A Sushi Restaurant fills the stadium, the screams become deafening, and Charlie watches as her rockstar husband takes the same stage her rockstar self did last year.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
#spare parts series#harry styles series#one direction series#harry styles x oc#harry styles enemies to lovers#harry styles smut#harry styles angst#1d series#1d smut#1d ot5#harry styles friends with benefits#harry smut#harry styles x reader#one direction
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XX. THE FINAL SHOW
SPARE PARTS: a series (20/20)
MSG, NEW YORK
(W) strong language
epilogue out 9pm BST ;)
THIRD PERSON’S POV
ONE WEEK EARLIER
“You know what’s funny about this?”
“Incredible sex is funny?”
Charlie rolls her eyes, tilting her head to meet Harry’s gaze. Sort of. Within their position, it proves to be a little difficult. Their fingers tangle and untangle in an unspoken game, Charlie’s cheek presses into Harry’s chest and they just lay there – basking in uninterrupted peace. It’s so strangley normal at this point.
“If I had never kissed Zayn at Louis’ party, we wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have found me crying in the toilet and I wouldn’t have let you edge me.”
Harry’s chest winced at the mention of her kissing Zayn, her kissing anyone that isn’t him, but he remains cool. Chuckling, even, at the bitter tone she dips into at the recollection of what he did to her that night.
“As much as I’d love to give you some line about how we were destined, I have to agree with you, baby.”
“You can use other nicknames, you know.”
Charlie twists completely onto her stomach now, letting her chin fall on her arms. Harry plays with her hair, fingers grazing her back, smiling at the goosebumps that develop beneath his touch.
“I can?” Harry lilts.
“Mm. You haven’t used princess in a while.”
“You hated princess.”
Charlie shrugs. “Try it now. Unless you still think I’m a stuck-up brat.”
“Hey,” Harry tilts his head, thumbing at her bottom lip, “I never said that.”
“You implied it.” Charlie grins, pushing her face up with her palm as her elbow digs into his chest. Harry looks up at her now, still tracing her morning-kissed features.
“Fine,” Harry clears his throat, “princess.”
“Like slipping on an old sweater.” Charlie grins, Harry scoffs.
“You don’t call me anything,” Harry palms at her nape, scratching at the hair there. Charlie’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head while she resists the urge to beg him for a full body massage.
“You don’t seem like the pet name type.”
“I’m actually a huge fan of honey-bunch if you’d ever bothered asking me.”
Charlie snorts. Harry wants to write a song about it.
“Okay, honey-bunch,” Charlie leans forward, nudging his nose with hers, “whatever you want.”
PRESENT DAY
When the five of them stepped onto that stage those years ago as nothing but spare parts, they never could have imagined they would ever even play further than that Battle of the Bands arena – let alone Madison Square Garden.
Niall saw himself playing guitar in his bedroom around his usual 9-5. Liam envisioned packing away the drumsticks and moving to university and living the life his parents had always planned for him. Charlie saw singing in the shower and Louis saw bass behind closed doors and Harry saw songwriting in rare minutes.
This? This was unfathomable.
Even more so as Charlie stands before them all, hands as firm on her hips as her mind was set on the simple fact that she is,
“Not doing it.”
“What the fuck do you mean you’re not doing it?” Louis spits, furrowing his brows behind his overgrown fringe, calloused fingers pausing their play with his worn pick.
Typically, the guys would put this up to pre-show nerves. It’s not unusual for Charlie to question every aspect of her career moments before it’s time to mic up, but calling a band meeting only minutes before – the sound of screams echoing the dressing room Amelia and Zayn were forced to vacate – that’s call for suspicion.
“The show?” Niall questions, scratching the back of his neck.
“Charlie, if you’re nervous–” Liam starts.
“I’m not nervous,” Charlie finishes, “I’m just not doing it.”
She avoided Harry’s eye the whole way over here, scared she’d crumble if she’d meet it. It took kicking him out of the room and a turmoil over a trillion different possibilities to come to this conclusion, it took risking being late to solidify that this is the right thing – the only thing – to do.
She wasn’t going to throw all that away because of some stupid eyes.
And yet, as she repeats her bold statement, Harry’s face seems to be the only one she can find. He’s standing away from the guys, practically cornered, anxiously playing with his bottom lip as his eyes start to well with something. Fear? Sadness? Frustration? It’s untangeable, but Charlie fixates on it and finds it only fuels her resentment.
“I still don’t understand what the fuck you’re talking about.” Louis scoffs, shoving his pick in his pocket to fold his arms.
Charlie’s eyes zero in on Harry. She has no idea what he’s thinking, and vice versa, all they know is this is the most normal they’ve been in months. Charlie mad at Harry. If anything, her belittling stare should be a home comfort.
“Do you want to tell them or should I?”
Harry drops his hand, scowling. Anger starts to bubble in the spaces guilt boiled only a few seconds ago. The boys all look at Harry, and Niall’s quick to roll his eyes.
“Oh, Jesus, what did you do this time?”
“Knew it was only a matter of time before you fucked it up.” Liam joins in.
“Leave it out,�� Harry snaps, despite knowing he has no real reason to.
“Well?” Charlie sniffs, straightening her back.
“Guys!” Paula’s voice booms from outside the locked door, “two minutes, I won’t tell you again!”
“Okay!” Charlie retorts.
Paula mumbles something about them skating on thin ice, but leaves. At the end of the day, the show can’t start without them – their own rules apply right now.
“Harry?” Louis asks again, his tone beyond annoyed.
“Charlie, you’re a real prick.” Harry sighs. Charlie shrugs. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this, I had a plan.”
Charlie guffaws at that. “Tough shit, they have a right to know–”
“Oh my God, know what?”
“He’s leaving.”
Silence thrums throughout the dressing room, making the space suddenly huge.
“You what?” Niall’s the first to break it, sounding amused. Unconvinced.
“You heard me.” If looks could kill, Harry’d be a goner. “Harry decided to sign a solo contract last year with Columbia,” her voice begins to wobble, but she can’t mess this up, “to leave after this tour.”
“Yeah, right.” Liam scoffs.
“Bullshit.” Louis laughs a little too loudly.
“Harry?” Charlie prompts.
Harry collapses onto the arm of the sofa, mumbling. “It’s true.”
“Speak up.” Charlie spits. Harry glares at her.
“It’s true,” he repeats, harsher. “Look, I was going to tell you after we were finished–”
“You what?” Niall scoffs, repeating himself.
“I can explain at a better time, but right now we need to get on stage and perform to fucking thousands of people.”
“No way,” Liam jibes, “I don’t believe you.”
“What would fucking possess you?” Louis bites.
Harry glares at Charlie, again. He knows full well he’s in the wrong here, but fuck her for dropping this bomb moments before what was supposed to be the best show of the whole God damn tour. There’s no way he has the time or space to explain now–
“Right, enough is enough!” Paula’s voice travels around the four walls, the persistent sound of her fist thrumming through their chests, “out, now!”
Harry quickly scrambles to rectify some of it – if any. If that’s even remotely possible at this point. Everyone’s looking at him like he just killed a cat, but his main priority is Charlie and her initial statement.
“We have to do this together, Charlie.”
“That’s ironic.” She snorts – the sound less sweet, now.
“As much as I could kick his head in right now,” Liam seethes, “he’s right. We’re not performing without you.”
“Tough shit. I’m not giving them a lie.”
“Ten seconds before I kick this door in!”
“Okay!” They all shout in unison this time.
“Charlie,” Harry steps forward, reaching out for her shoulders but she steps back, out of his touch. He tries not to wince at that. “Please.” Harry rarely pleads, but it seems that when it comes to this girl he’d get on his knees and beg with his life if she so wished.
Charlie feels those same, annoying tendons being yanked at in her chest. Harry’s eyes and his tremble and his mouth all seem so bitterly sincere, it kills her. So she glances at the band behind him, all clearly as angry as her, and searches their faces for some kind of answer.
Nothing. Nothing helpful, at least.
“Just one more show.” Harry pulls her back. “One more, then you can hate me forever.”
“That sounds like a tempting offer.” Charlie retorts quickly.
How much quipping at Harry feels like slipping on an old jumper. Sure, maybe complete refusal was a bit hasty. Perhaps even a little irresponsible – but it felt like good payback for Harry’s carelessness. But in looking at her bandmates’ faces, she realises maybe it was just selfish anger.
“Fine,” she ignores Harry’s deep sigh of relief, “but fuck you.”
Harry’s heard those words from Charlie’s lips a million times over the last six years, but God if that time didn’t sting. Salted by the guys’ glares and shoulder barges as they follow Charlie out the dressing room, hearing earfuls from Paula as they ascend to the stage.
As much as they tried, that show was clearly a blip. Fans were already buzzing on Twitter about how something feels up; Charlie’s distance, Harry’s wobbles, Niall’s fumbles. Not a part of them let the excitement of MSG seap into the cracks formed by that contract, and instead of an adrenaline filled debrief at their tour-wrap party the five of them sat in Louis’ hotel room.
Arguing.
“We were never going to do this forever.”
“We only put out two fucking albums,” Liam’s usual level-headedness seems to be long gone, “and you already want to call it quits.”
“I’m not quitting, I’m moving on,” Harry knows he has no right to be frustrated, but trying to explain where he’s coming from fifty times gets exhausting. “I don’t feel like this is the place I want to be at anymore. We were sixteen when we started and I used to be okay with every decision being made for me, but I can’t do it now.”
“You have freedom–”
“No, I don’t,” Harry snaps, interrupting Louis, “half the songs I wrote for this album got either cut or changed. Every fucking adult life experience I’ve ever had has been because other people set that up for me, or because it was a band decision. I can’t live like that anymore.”
“Wow,” Niall laughs bitterly, “didn’t realise we were such a chore.”
Harry sighs, refusing to explain himself for a fifty-first time.
“I understand I should have said something earlier, but that’s the only thing I can apologise for.”
“You’re not gonna say sorry for fucking us all over?” Niall sniffles.
“God, I have not fucked–”
“You’re not listening,” Charlie finally cuts through her silence. Everyone’s heads snap in her direction after nearly forgetting she’s been sat here, just absorbing the conversation. “You didn’t listen to me, and you’re not listening to them. We can’t do this without you.”
“Of course you can,” Harry’s voice leaves him hoarsly. “You’re all more than capable.”
“Do you really think that low of us?” Liam quips.
“Yeah,” Louis joins in, “we wouldn’t want to do it without you.”
Harry swallows, a thick tension fogging up the suite.
“Then I don’t know what to say.”
“Jesus,” Niall murmurs, rubbing his face before groaning, “you’re such an idiot, H.”
Harry presses his tongue into his cheek; he can’t dispute that one.
“So is this it?” Louis murmurs.
They all look at each other, waiting for someone to have an answer, a solution, but no one does. They can’t do it without Harry, and Harry isn’t doing it.
“I’m not ready for this to end.” Louis continues.
“It doesn’t have to.” Harry tries to resolve the issue, again. Obviously, it doesn’t work.
“We’ve fuckin’ established at this point we’re not doing this without you,” Niall’s tone starts to soften. “Maybe this is a good idea.”
“What?” Liam splutters.
“Look, Harry’s leaving, I’m getting married. We’ve just finished tour, if there’s any time to split…”
“Oh yeah, that’s all well and good for you guys. But what the fuck do we do, huh?”
“Whatever we want...” Liam mumbles to himself.
“What?” Louis stands, “You can’t seriously be okay with this?”
“Maybe they’re right,” Liam shrugs, still sounding defeated, “what if we are out-growing this thing?”
“This thing?”
“I mentally checked out the moment I found out.” Charlie cuts in, coldly. “I’m not saying I’m happy about it, I’m fucking terrified, but…” keeping her eyes on Harry, Charlie speaks to the room when she asks, “can we have a minute?”
The guys give each other looks, but obey, leaving Harry and Charlie. Harry can’t even look at Charlie. He doesn’t know what he feels, what he can even say. He’s sorry, and he’s angry, and he’s so God damn in love with her that he’s afraid to speak.
“I need a fuckin’ drink,” Louis grumbles before the door slams.
A second of silence before Charlie’s feet padding on the floor matches the thrumming of Harry’s heart, and then she’s suddenly before him, standing between his legs as he stays perched on the edge of the bed.
Hesitant, she reaches out, forcing him to look up at her. A sharp inhale takes her off guard at the sight of him – he looks so wrecked, so on the verge of tears, she nearly decides to forget the whole thing and crumble into forgiveness. Into his arms.
“Charlie,” he mutters, “I need you to be okay with me.”
She swallows the forming lump in her throat, but it’s not working against the pads of his fingers against her hips, kneading apologetic circles into her skin.
“Please,” he asks again. Begs.
Charlie carresses his cheeks, heart breaking at the way he absentmindely falls into her warmth. His eyes even flutter closed for a second as he wonders if this is the last time she’ll ever let him lean into her like this.
“I don’t expect forgiveness I just…” he kisses her palm, his lips moving desperately up her arm as his voice cracks, “I can’t lose you, you know that, right?”
Despite Charle’s heart melting into a trillion painful specs, she remains firm.
“Harry, you lied.” She whispers.
He stands, holding her face as he continues his apology path to her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her lips. Mutual tears salt the kiss as she caves in for a second; her hands fist at his shirt as her muscles fall into memory and all she can think about is his lips on hers. Harry sighs into her mouth, fingers clawing at her nape as he begs with his tongue.
“No,” Charlie suddenly pulls back, ugly logic clouding her vision, “no, Harry I can’t.”
Their foreheads press together, jagged breaths mixing to become one as he keeps her close, as close as he possibly can for as long as he possibly can. He’s almost scared to ask the question,
“So what are we supposed to do now?”
Charlie looks up at him with those eyes, a look of disappointment- no, is it anger? Sadness. Harry really can’t tell. All he knows is she’s never looked at him like that before, and he never wants her to look at him like that again.
What are they supposed to do now?
“I know space is the last thing I’ll ever want from you.” Harry answers for them.
When Charlie doesn’t respond, Harry tries to clear his throat; rid himself of that painful lump as he prepares himself to finish his sentence.
It doesn’t work. It’s painful. So, so painful.
“Space is probably what you want, right?”
If you had asked Charlie twenty four hours ago what she wanted from Harry, space wouldn’t have even made it on the list. But now, after everything, after what should have been the best show of the whole tour but turned out to be the worse – yeah. Space sounds nice.
So she nods, shortly yet enough for Harry to register it against his skin.
“Okay.” He whispers, his voice cracking.
Leaving her isn’t close to what Harry wants to do, but he forces himself to step away from her. He knows looking at her will only make things worst, so keeping his head down he starts for the door.
But Charlie’s palm around his wrist stops his feet and his heart.
“Harry,” his name leaves her rushed, pained.
She steps in front of him. “I love you.”
He feels his whole world collapse beneath him.
“I just need a minute, okay?”
Harry’s never felt relief like that in his entire life.
“Okay.”
After six years, eight months, and several days, Harry can do a minute.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
#spare parts series#harry styles series#one direction series#harry styles x oc#harry styles enemies to lovers#harry styles smut#harry styles angst#1d series#1d ot5#1d smut#harry styles fic rec
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hey! do you know when the next part of the series is coming out?
hi ! You may or may not be happy to hear I’m dedicating the whole of today to finishing the last part + the epilogue, so either tonight or tomorrow!!
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Are u ok friend 😅
hi love! I am, sorry I’m so MIA - uni, waitressing and writing is a JUGGLE lmao. how are you?
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Cant wait for the next chapters eep, I know you’ve been working hard and it’s gonna be so worth it!
Aw thank u love!! Neaarlly done around uni and work hehe. This is so sweet to hear <33
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I can’t believe the last time I posted work was 20 days ago IM SO SORRY AHH but this is me promising that the last part + the epilogue of spare parts will be out within the next 2 weeks <3
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HI. jesus. sorry. it’s been a minute. i’m working to upload the last chapter of spare parts and it’s epilogue simultaneously, hence the wait. so in the meantime, here’s a sneak peak of some scenes from part 20 ;)
#spare parts series#harry styles series#one direction series#harry styles x oc#harry styles enemies to lovers#harry styles smut#harry styles angst#1d series#1d ot5#1d smut#harry styles fic rec#harry styles x reader
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Lonely Cowgirls Fic's of the Week
Here are this weeks recs - hope you love them as much as I do!
List posted: 12 March 2023
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Complicated by @stylesharrys cos you know I'm a messy bitch who loves drama.
This one shot by @harryisalrightig is super cute and funny!
Gonna plug this series by @around1302 again cos I'm fully invested now and you should be too. Part 19 is here and it's goooood.
Off the Deep End by @foolforharrry the smut in this is top tier, made me quite emotional if I'm honest.
wherever I go, you bring me home by @madeintheniamh this shit is so so cute - I don't even want kids but this made me broody...
Trouble After Paradise Part One by @elzdaizy - this part is super angsty and brings all the feels, Part Two is also out and on my to-read list I can't wait to read Part Three to see where the writer concludes the journey!
💗💗💗
Nel xo
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