* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT*
Please refer to the list of possible triggers and kinks.
Harry Styles. Twenty-Five. Green eyes. One hundred and ninety-six pounds. Six foot even or one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres. Born to...
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"You know," Sapphire begins, moving to grab a crisp out of the blue porcelain bowl. I'm sure the bowl was initially meant for soup or cereal but we both can't be bothered with specifics. "You were gone for ages, I was nearly convinced you were dead. I was a pain in the ass to not only Tony but Fred. Only to find out you don't have Fred's number," she huffs, throwing a cheddar and sour cream crisp right at my head.
Thankfully, the cards must be in my favour because it misses the precious parts, meaning my eyes. I'd probably end up crying if the crisp were to hit my cornea. Then, not only would I have a slightly bum shoulder, but also a scratched cornea. Not a great combo which is why I'm glad luck seems to be on my side.
"Me? Dying?" A laugh tumbles from my lips as I pick the crisp up off of my shoulder, popping it in between my open lips to eat. "Doesn't sound like me. I'd have to have a really gnarly death. I refuse to let something as simple as a stomach bug take me out,"
The stomach bug. That was Harry's grand cover for me being gone for nearly two weeks. It covered the time we were in Monte Carlo and the healing time for my shoulder. Luckily for me, I can now lift my shoulder up over my head. Liam should hopefully be coming by soon to remove the stitches. Either that, or he'll just tell me to let nature take its course so they fall out naturally. That's definitely something he would tell me.
The past few days have been interesting, to say the least. I would get at least one text a day from Harry asking how I'm doing. If I'm keeping an eye on my shoulder and properly cleaning it. Sometimes he would ask for a photo just to make sure that the stitches aren't inflamed. It's the most I've ever really communicated with him over the phone.
"So," Sapphire coughs to clear her throat right as she moves to place the bowl onto the coffee table. "What are you wearing tonight? We can wear whatever we want and I want to match," She grins, moving to place her legs over mine since mine were propped up on the coffee table. I move my hand over to rest on her knees, rubbing small circles into the exposed skin that rests there.
She's wearing the cutest possible outfit. The top she has on is a cropped white long sleeve shirt, two buttons are done up near her breasts whilst the others remain undone. The shorts she has on are a seafoam green colour, reaching about mid-thigh.
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