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[gucciforasushirestaurant]

There is no stronger force than that of a girl’s desperation to write about her male hyperfixation.

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

bodyguardrry x stripper!y/n?

pink pony club

in which harry is a bodyguard at the club y/n dances at

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: spicy content, minor violence, a small unwanted touching scene, smut (thigh riding, spitting, dirty talk, breast play, one "sir" mention, minor slapping......I think that's it gkdfjgkjd)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Harry doesn’t care much about his job.

He’s not all that interested in working night shifts that start at 8:30 p.m. and don’t end until 4 a.m. He’s not tempted by the constant flow of alcohol, the endless lines of powder that decorate the bartop and booth tables, and the half — and sometimes fully — naked girls that make their money by twirling around oiled up stripper poles and sweet-talking businessmen. 

His job as a bodyguard is simply a means to an end. A paycheck. A way to survive. 

Unless Y/N is working.

The second she started at Pink Pony Club, it felt as if his world brightened up. She emitted an effervescent pink hue everywhere she went, bathing Harry in it with her bright smile and sweet eyes. He’s always kept a special eye on her — while he didn’t care for the logistics of his job, he took the safety of the dancers seriously, and Y/N was no exception. In fact, maybe she was the exception. 

He was the only dancer he watched. She was the only one he spoke to. His pretty, shy, pink girl. 

When she took one-on-one dances in the Red Room, he was the guard she asked to accompany her. He never minded. No, he dropped everything to be there with her, even if it meant standing there stoically, watching as she grinded on the lap of a man that would tip her too little. 

If it were him, he would never take her perfect presence for granted. 

He would sit back and let her take her time. Shower her in every compliment his brain could churn out. He’d comply with the strict no touching rule, but god, if his hands wouldn’t tremble at his sides. He’d have to sit on them to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Sometimes, it’s what he wished those grimy men would do. Like this piece of shit, who’s been shelling out hundred after hundred dollar bills to keep Y/N locked away in the Red Room all night. It’s been hours and the guy can barely keep his head up straight. From Harry’s spot in front of the door, he can tell Y/N’s tired and in need of a break. And when the song comes to a crawling end, he’s ready to step in and tell the guy to get lost, but he’s already digging in his pocket for his wallet. Harry grits his teeth as he watches Y/N’s shoulders fall. 

“Another one,” the idiot mutters, stuffing three hundred dollars in the waistband of her panties. Y/N jerks away from his touch and the man stills, flashing her a confused expression. “What? I’ve paid you your entire yearly salary tonight and I can’t put some fuckin’ money in your panties?”

Harry’s fists ball up at his sides, already taking heavy strides towards them as Y/N’s mumbling out, “you’re not allowed to touch the girls.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break,” he wails, sending a look of disbelief to Harry, as if he should agree with him. “This girl’s a cocktease!”

Harry snorts and Y/N shuffles off the man’s lap. He stands in front of her, creating a physical barrier between the two. 

“You heard her, you’re not allowed to touch any of the girls. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve paid.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna get lost or are we gonna have a problem?”

The guy rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re always here watching over this one and you’ve never once copped a feel? She’s out with her fuckin’ ass and tits out and you—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish whatever disgusting sentence was coming out of his mouth because Harry’s already pulling him up by the shirt collar. The guy yelps as Harry’s strong grip yanks him off the couch and he scoffs, resisting the urge to spit in his face.

“Disgusting piece of shit.” he mutters, throwing him up against the maroon velvet wall. “You know that? You think you can fucking talk about her like she’s some kind of object?”

“She’s a stripper!” he exclaims, raising his hands up in mock defense. 

“I don’t fucking care,” Harry growls, “She could be an escort for all I care, but you don’t touch anyone without their fucking permission. Especially her. Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yeah, man, whatever! It’s all good, I promise!”

“Oh, it’s all good?” he mocks, keeping him pushed up against the wall with his hand up against his chest. His other arm cocks back and his hand forms a tight fist, his knuckles white as hot adrenaline courses through his veins. He’s ready to beat this guy until he’s unrecognizable — until he hears it. 

A small, quiet whimper of his name. 

Immediately, he turns around. Y/N stands behind him, looking small and helpless with glassy eyes. Again, she repeats his name. “Harry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it, I don’t wanna lose my job. Just let him go.”

And just like that, he does.

He lowers his fist, his hand unfurls around the cheap fabric of his button-up, and he’s free to go, scrambling out of the Red Room before Harry has the chance to tell the other bodyguards to escort him out. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the teary eyed girl with trembling fingers. 

“Baby,” he breathes, fear surging through his chest as he wraps a tender arm around her waist. He sits onto the crushed velvet bench and pulls her into his lap, keeping a soothing hand placed at the small of her waist. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She quickly shakes her head, allowing the tears to flow a bit more freely now. “I-I’m okay. Just scary.”

“I know,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “Was it— did I scare you?”

“No, no. I know you were just… trying to protect me.” she says softly, blinking her eyes at him.

“I was, sweetheart. I promise. I would never do anything to hurt or scare you.”

She nods. “I know.”

“How much longer do you have left of your shift? I can take you home. You shouldn’t be working when you’re upset.”

Y/N glances down at the watch around Harry’s wrist, nibbling on her bottom lip as she thinks. It’s already 2, which means the club closes in less than three hours.

“Just another hour. I can make it,” she replies as she straightens her posture in his grasp. “I’m just… I don’t think I’m ready to go back out there yet.”

“That’s fine. We can stay here as long as you’d like.” And he’d certainly knock out anyone who threatened to give her shit for it.

They sit in silence for a bit and Harry keeps a protective arm looped around her waist the entire time, drawing soft circles into her exposed hip. He feels relief at knowing that she doesn’t express discomfort at being in his arms and frankly, if it were up to him, she’d never leave them.

Harry’s torn from his thoughts when she runs her fingers over the expanse of tattoos that cover his arms. Glancing down, he watches as her manicured nails slowly float from the anchor on his wrist all the way up to the ship on his bicep. He swallows, staying impossibly still as she analyzes the ink. Eventually, she lands on the cursive A on his shoulder.

“Girlfriend?” she asks, peering up at him. He shakes his head.

“Mum,” he murmurs, “Do you have any tattoos?”

Y/N nods. “One.”

Harry’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips as he maintains heavy-lidded eye contact with her. He’s seen nearly every bit of her skin and prickles form in his stomach, thinking about where her hidden tattoo could be. 

“What is it?”

Slowly, she shifts off of his lap to stand in front of him. Using deft fingertips to peel the waistband of her lacey lingerie down, she reveals a simple red rose inked into her skin, just above where her mound begins. Harry swallows harshly at the sight. 

“Do you like it?” 

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Gorgeous.” he mumbles.

“I was thinking about getting another one,” she breathes as she shimmies the fabric just a bit lower. She taps the small patch of skin across from the rose. “An H, maybe.”

“That would be a silly decision, sweetheart,” he says lowly, leaning back against the bench and spreading his legs a little wider. “You don’t want an initial for the guy who beats up idiot losers.”

“I do, though. I love knowing you’re there to protect me.” she replies. Briskly, she climbs back into his lap, this time straddling his waist and placing her knees on either side of him. As if on instinct, he wraps his arms around her to steady her, pressing one palm to the back of her thigh. 

“I’ll always be there to protect you,” he mumbles, chest tightening as she leans closer. Her lips are centimeters away and it makes his breath catch in his throat. His throat bobs as he swallows, angling his head ever so slightly to minimize the small gap between them, and then he whispers: “Stop me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” she’s so close to him that her breath ghosts over his plush lips, “Kiss me. Please.”

That’s all he needs to seal their lips, her shaky hands finding purchase at the back of his neck. It feels so special to have her hands on him as their lips meld; slowly at first, and then she’s straightening her back to push her chest forward, desperate to be closer, closer, closer. 

It feels like their only source of oxygen is coming from one another. Harry’s hands grip her ass firmly, squeezing the plump skin in his palms. He’s content with keeping things here at a steady PG-13 level until her wet mouth breaks away for just a moment, only long enough to murmur, “touch me, I need it.”

A groan oscillates from his throat as his hands travel down to her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and then finally her breasts. His hands find the covered peaks of her nipples and she inhales sharply, shuddering beneath his touch. He smirks as he settles on the right side of her chest, using his thumb to gently brush over her nipple. She straightens her spine and leans into the sensation as he slowly rubs it back and forth. 

"Always gonna keep you safe. You know that?” Harry mumbles into her mouth, licking at the seam of her lips. Her eyes squeeze shut and her thighs threaten to close around his wide, spread legs. “Uh-huh,” she nearly whines. He swallows as he watches her, noticing her quick descent into desperation. He gives her nipple a soft squeeze before quickly pausing to unhook her bra and toss it to the floor. He resumes his teasing just a moment later, leaning forward and attaching his lips to the hard bud. A quiet, shaky mewl falls from her swollen lips. He parts with a pop but only to spit messily onto the peak. She gasps when he takes her nipple into his mouth again, hissing as he bites the skin. It’s not hard or long enough to elicit any real pain, just a sweet sizzle in her stomach that makes her tug at the curled ends of his hair. He chuckles softly at her reaction before licking over the bite and tucking the bud back between his lips. Once he’s gotten his fix, he removes his hand from her breast and moves it up to her mouth. "Open." he commands. As if under a spell, her bottom lip drops open and Harry pushes two of his fingers inside, pressing them down against her tongue. "Dirty little mouth, hm?" He murmurs. She nods submissively and he grins, "Suck." She closes her lips, encasing his long fingers in her mouth as she begins to slowly bob up and down, taking them further. His fingertips make contact with her throat, eliciting a short gag as the muscles contract slightly around them. Quickly, he removes them. "Did I hurt you?" She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away some of the drool that had escaped her mouth. "No. I like it." "Are you lying, baby?" He asks, moving her hair over her shoulder, "This isn't fun for me if you're just doing what you think I want." "I'm not lying, I promise. I like it." Harry's lips curl into a smirk. "Tell me what else you like, then." As she opens her mouth, he shifts his thigh between her legs, the muscles flexing firmly against her core. She gasps, though Harry pretends like he hadn't done anything, instead nodding at her shortly; an encouragement to follow his directions. "I like gagging on your fingers." She whines as he begins to move his thigh back and forth, just slow enough to create some friction between their bodies. "Yeah? What else do you like?" "You," she whimpers, gently rocking her hips against his jean-clad thigh, "When you keep me safe.” "Ah, my pretty baby likes feeling protected?” She nods as she begins to quicken my movements. He stills her hips but before she has a chance to whine about it, he mumbles out a "budge up, baby" so he can slip her panties off her legs. She resists the urge to hiss at the contact, her stomach tightening at the feeling of his thigh muscle against her. For a moment, he inspects the sodden underwear, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You made quite the mess in these, baby. What got you so turned on?” She swallows harshly, her chest shaky. “Y-you. Seeing you threaten that guy for me.” He smirks but decides to leave it at that, feeling the desperate warmth radiating from her core. "Go 'head," he mumbles, leaning back. "Let me see you use me." She feels her hole contract at his words, mentally cringing as he chuckles. He feels how needy she is and he absolutely loves it. Slowly, she starts to grind against his thigh, holding in pathetic whimpers at the solid surface making contact with her clit. Harry tsks when he notices her roll her lips into her mouth. She looks down as he moves his hand towards her lower half, momentarily excited that he’ll pet at her the way she’s craving. The dream is short lived when he parts her pussy lips instead to look at the wet mess between them. "Don't hide your sounds," he scolds, pressing the pad of his fingertip to her clit, rolling it in small circles. "They're too pretty.”

She nods, prepared to continue her movements when she gasps out in surprise. Harry had delivered a swift slap to her clit — not painful enough to ask him to stop, but just enough to deliver a sizzling sensation to her core. "Tell me you'll moan for me." "I will, sir," she whines, rutting helplessly against his hand. He smirks and pinches the skin at her inner thigh before nodding again, a wordless order to continue. Hesitantly, she rocks her hips, building up a slow and intentional pace that hits her clit at the perfect angle. She’s dripping now, embarrassingly so, and making a mess both between their legs and on Harry's, but she’s too turned on to care. There’s something about knowing he’s watching her get off and doing exactly what he asks of her that sends her to another dimension. It’s not long before she feels a familiar tightening in her stomach. They’d built each other up and up and up, teasing one another until they could barely stand it, so she’s not surprised when her muscles started to clench, pathetic gasps falling from her swollen lips. "Is my good girl gonna cum?" Harry teases from beneath her. She nods jerkily, her nails digging into his stomach. "Let me see. Cum all over my leg, baby. Make a mess." Harry's dirty talk is finally what does her in. With a few more rocks of her hips, she’s in heaven, whimpering out calls of his name as she peaks. He holds her hips to keep me on his leg as she bounces helplessly through her orgasm, her eyes slowly blinking open to find a smirk on his face when she finally begins coming down. "You're heaven sent, y'know that?" he mumbles. Y/N laughs breathily as she shakes her head, her blushy gaze falling to his lap. He thumbs at her bottom lip and gently nudges her chin up. “Lemme take you home tonight,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I wanna take care of you.” She nods. “Yeah, okay. You’ll wait for me to finish my shift?” “Of course,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers. “Always.”

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Beauty and the Beast - Nightshade

The moment you’ve been waiting for, the answers are here :) sorry this took a literal year (and then some)

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive content!

wc: 6.3k

warnings: not many warnings in this one, just a reference to character’s death

———————————

This wasn’t his plan.

Harry never wanted her to see this room. At least, not yet. This was… an escape from his past. One he was slowly starting to try and move on from now that he and his love had finally expressed emotions and been able to give each other the proper reactions… but no.

He had never forbidden her from it, so he couldn’t really be angry. It did flare up in him, mainly because he was scared. Terrified of these memories and his past making her want to leave and forget him because he had held on to it for so long, but nothing was making sense lately. Not a single thing.

The only thing that made sense was how good it felt to hold her. Kiss her. Fuck her. She was what he wanted, and his head had never felt more clear in terms of what he wanted.

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[gucciforasushirestaurant]

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

In The Stars.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here x

in which, harry is remembering you, his beloved wife, mother of his child, that passed away, this is him grieving, remembering the lives that the two of you shared together and will always share together, no matter the circumstances.

word count - 2.8k

warnings: mentioned of death, mentions of breast cancer.

April, 2010.

❛ Sunday mornings were your favorite

I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road

You did your hair up like you were famous

Even though it's only church where we were goin’ ❜

As Harry strolled down Woods Creek Road on a Sunday morning in the summer of 2010, the sun cast a warm glow over the quaint street.

His heart raced with anticipation as he made his way to meet his girlfriend, who awaited him at their usual meeting spot on the corner.

The two of you were meeting up just like the two of you did every Sunday morning before heading to church and meeting up with your families. It was a little ritual that would forever be engraved in your hearts.

You stood there, radiant in a pretty light pink summer dress, your hair elegantly styled up in a bun, giving you an air of effortless grace. Even though you were just headed to church, you always carried yourself as if you were destined for the spotlight.

As Harry approached, he couldn't help but admire how stunning you looked, a sense of pride swelling within him for being the one lucky enough to call you his own. Your eyes met, and a smile lit up your face, sending a rush of warmth through Harry's veins.

"Hey pretty girl," Harry greeted you, his voice filled with affection as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"Hey, H," you replied, your voice soft and filled with love. "You look handsome today."

Harry chuckled, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks at your compliment. "Thanks, pretty. You always look beautiful."

Together, hand in hand, you made your way to church, the sound of birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze accompanying your steps.

As the duo walked hand in hand towards the church, he couldn't help but admire her beauty once again.

"You know it's only church that we're going," Harry teased with a playful grin, nudging her gently.

She laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the quiet street.

"I wore this dress to look good for you," she replied, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Harry's heart swelled with love for her.

"And you always do," he said earnestly, pulling her closer. "Y’could be wearing a paper bag and you'd still look pretty."

She blushed at his words, leaning into him. "You're too sweet, H."

They continued their stroll, their conversation peppered with laughter and affectionate glances,

February, 2024.

❛ Now, Sunday mornings, I just sleep in

It's like I buried my faith with you

I'm screamin' at a God I don't know if I believe in

'Cause I don't know what else I can do ❜

In the dimly lit room, Harry lay tangled in the sheets of what used to be their shared bed. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out the world beyond, as if he hadn't felt the warmth of the sun in ages.

His once vibrant eyes were hollow, filled with a pain that seemed to consume him.

Sunday mornings had lost their luster, their meaning stripped away along with the love he had lost. He no longer had the will to rise from bed, to face a world that felt empty and devoid of purpose without her by his side.

Staring at the photo of a toddler on his bedside table, being held by his darling wife was a painful reminder of what once was, whilst the toddler slept in there room next door, you were no where to be found.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. He had buried his faith along with her, his heart screaming out to a God he no longer knew if he believed in.

Tears welled up in his eyes, his chest constricting with the weight of his sorrow. He longed for her presence, for the warmth of her touch, but she was gone, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill.

In the silence of the room, Harry found himself grappling with a pain so profound, he didn't know what else to do but scream into the void, hoping for some semblance of solace in a world that had turned its back on him.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. With trembling hands, he reached out and grabbed the photo of his wife, holding it close to his chest as tears streamed down his face.

"Why did y’take her?" he screamed into the empty room, his voice cracking with pain. "It should ‘ave been me!"

His cries echoed off the walls, a raw expression of the agony that consumed him. He clutched the photo tightly, as if holding onto it could somehow bring her back to him, could somehow ease the unbearable pain of her absence.

But she was gone, and Harry was left alone in a world that seemed intent on tearing him apart.

January, 2024.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever ❜

"H," you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper, "I want to see her grow up. I want to see her graduate, get married, have children of her own."

You were referring to your and harrys freshly turned two year old daughter Grace Anne Styles, she was everything to the two of you, with her fathers curly hair and signature green eyes, her personality was all you, kind, caring and nurturing.

The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the faint whir of machines monitoring your vital signs, creating an atmosphere heavy with uncertainty.

Six months ago, when you were diagnosed with breast cancer, Harry had clung to hope like a lifeline, determined to fight alongside you every step of the way. But as each day passed, that hope dwindled, replaced by a gnawing fear of what the future held.

You lay in the bed, your once vibrant spirit now dimmed by the relentless assault of the disease. Cancer had robbed you of your strength, leaving you fragile and frail. Your hair, once a cascade of curls that framed your face with warmth, had been replaced by a bald scalp, a stark reminder of the battle you fought with every breath.

Even your wedding rings, symbols of the love you and Harry shared, no longer fit your slender fingers, so he wore them on a chain around his neck, keeping them close to his heart.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"You will, pretty girl," he said softly, his voice filled with determination. "Y’going to get better, I know it."

But deep down, Harry couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his chest, the fear that he might lose you before you had the chance to see your dreams fulfilled.

So, as you drifted off to sleep, he sat by your bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of impending loss.

"I don't want to say goodbye," he whispered into the darkness, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because this one means forever."

He brushed a tear from his cheek as he watched over you, vowing to cherish every precious moment they had left together, unwilling to let go of the love that had defined their lives.

April, 2024.

❛ And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers❜

As Harry sat in the garden with Grace nestled in his lap, the night enveloped them in its quiet embrace. The stars twinkled overhead, their distant light casting a soft glow over the garden, while the faint crackle of embers from the nearby fire pit added to the ambiance. But despite the beauty of the night, Harry couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of loneliness that washed over him.

All day little Grace had asked about seeing mummy so who was harry to deny her of that?

"Look, Daddy! Look at all the stars!" Grace exclaimed, her small finger pointing up at the shimmering sky.

Harry forced a smile, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"They're beautiful, aren't they, sweet girl?" he replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Yeah, but I still can't see Mommy," Grace said, her voice filled with longing. "When is she coming?"

“I’m not sure sweet girl,” Harry's heart shattered at her words, the pain of your loss echoing in his chest.

"I know you miss her, sweet girl," he said softly, pulling her closer. "I miss her too, but she’s always going to be up there isn’t she? up in the stars watching over me and you.”

"I want to see her," Grace insisted, her bottom lip trembling.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears as he looked down at his daughter, her innocent face filled with confusion and sorrow.

"I know, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish I could bring her back for you."

"Why can't you, Daddy?" Grace asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Harry's heart clenched at her words, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a lead weight.

"Because she's in the stars now, sweetheart," he explained gently, his voice trembling.

Grace's eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in Harry's chest, her small body shaking with sobs.

"I want Mommy," she cried, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Harry held her tightly, his own tears mingling with hers as he struggled to find the words to comfort her.

"I know, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I want mommy too."

February, 2024.

❛ Oh, it hurts so hard

For a million different reasons

You took the best of my heart

And left the rest in pieces ❜

As Harry sat in front of the photo of the two of you on your wedding day, the memories came flooding back like a tidal wave crashing over him.

The room felt empty, the silence deafening, as he clutched the half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. With Grace sleeping at his mom's house for the night, he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, it hurts so hard," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room.

He traced the outline of your face in the photo, his fingertips lingering on the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes. The love they shared had been pure and unconditional, a bond that seemed unbreakable. But now, with you gone, Harry felt like a ship lost at sea, adrift in a vast ocean of loneliness and despair.

"You took the best of my heart," he murmured, his voice thick with tears,

And he didn’t want to admit that the rest was left in puzzle pieces.

Tears streamed down his face as he poured himself another glass of wine, the bitter taste doing little to dull the ache in his heart. He felt like he was suffocating, drowning in a sea of memories that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Why did y’have to go?" Harry whispered, his voice filled with anguish as he stared at the photo, as if willing it to provide him with answers. "We were supposed to grow old together, to watch Grace grow up, to share a lifetime of memories."

But the photo remained silent, a frozen moment in time that offered no solace, no comfort in the face of his pain. And as Harry sat alone in the darkness, he realized that no amount of wine could dull the ache of your absence, no words could bring you back to him.

"I miss you, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "More than words can say."

June, 2024.

❛ Diggin' through your old birthday letters

A crumpled 20 still in the box

I don't think that I could ever find a way to spend it

Even if it's the last 20 that I've got, oh ❜

the weight of your absence felt heavier than ever. Today was Grace's third birthday, a day meant to be filled with joy and celebration, but instead, it served as a painful reminder of the life you should have been there to share.

With trembling hands, Harry sifted through the stack of cards, each one a precious memento of the love you poured into every aspect of your daughter's life. He ran his fingers over the familiar handwriting, his heart breaking with each heartfelt message penned by your hand.

But then, something caught his eye at the bottom of the box—a crumpled £20 note. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he unfolded the worn bill, his fingers trembling as he realized its significance. It was the last £20 that you had given him, tucked away as a surprise in one of Grace's birthday cards.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he stared at the crumpled note, his heart aching with the weight of your absence. He had never been able to bring himself to spend it, holding onto it like a lifeline to the memories of the life they had shared together.

"Mommy got y’something special," Harry said softly, his voice thick with emotion, as he called Grace into the room. "This card is from her."

Grace's eyes widened with excitement as she took the card from Harry's outstretched hand, her fingers tracing the familiar handwriting.

"From Mommy?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder as Harry also handed her the crumpled £20.

"What are you going to spend the money on, sweet girl?" Harry asked gently, his voice tinged with sadness as he looked into his daughter's innocent eyes.

Grace's brows furrowed slightly as she considered her father's question. After a moment of thoughtful silence, she looked up at Harry with a determined expression.

"M’going to buy some happiness," she replied softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "So that you can be happy, Daddy."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at his daughter, her words piercing through the veil of his grief like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out to pull Grace into a tight embrace.

"Oh, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Y’already make me happier than I ever thought possible."

February, 2025.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers ❜

The anniversary of your death was a cruel reminder of the void that now existed in his life, a void that could never be filled. He set down the bouquet of flowers he had brought, their vibrant colors stark against the somber backdrop of the cemetery.

"M’still holding on to everything that's dead and gone," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the silence of the graveyard.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he sat down beside your grave, the cold earth beneath him a painful reminder of the finality of death. He traced the letters of your name etched into the headstone, his fingers trembling with grief.

"And now you're in the stars, and six-feet's never felt so far," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Y’should be here, by m’side and we should be living life like we were supposed to be doing, I shouldn’t be visiting your gave, s’too unfair."

"I brought you y’favorite flowers," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I hope you like them."

He paused, as if waiting for a response that would never come. The silence of the cemetery enveloped him like a shroud, amplifying the ache in his heart.

"I wish you were here," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish we could have just one more day together."

Tears streamed down Harry's face as he poured out his heart to you, his words a mix of sorrow and longing.

"Grace is growing up so fast," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's so much like you, y’know? Sometimes it feels like you're still here, watching over us."

He reached out to touch the cold marble of your headstone, his fingers tracing the letters of your name.

"I miss you every day," he confessed, his voice breaking with grief. "I don't know how to live without you."

As Harry spoke, memories flooded his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had shared.

"Do y’remember our first date?" he asked softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was so nervous, but you made me feel like everything was going to be okay."

He wiped away his tears, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"I wish I could turn back time," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I wish I could tell y’how much I love you one more time."

And then, with a heavy heart, Harry pressed a kiss to your grave, his lips lingering on the cold stone as if seeking solace in its unforgiving surface.

"Goodbye, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind.

“Until we meet again.”

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Driving

Summary: Harry takes you to the driving range and it’s basically foreplay

Word count: 2.6k

Content: smut, golf

MASTERLIST

(I can’t believe I’m posting WRITING again what a joy. Anyway I hope you like <3 I know there’s been a million golfrry fics recently for OBVIOUS REASONS but I wanted to add to it lol)

“Spread.”

“What?”

“Spread your legs.”

Heat flushed up your neck and into your cheeks as you shuffled your feet apart, keeping your eyes down at the golf ball. Harry’s voice behind you sounded satisfied. “Better. Position is everything.”

He touched the back of your hands with his, gently, but with assertion, rearranging your grip on the club. “Use the grip support to help you. You’ll feel it when you’ve slotted them in the correct place. And relax your shoulders. You're so tense you could snap the club.”

“I’m trying. There’s so much to remember,” you huffed, forcing your muscles to ease up and adjusting your grip under his guidance. His breath was hot on your neck when he laughed at your attitude. With one last squeeze to the back of your neck, he retreated to let you take the shot.

You shuffled your feet again, tried to ignore the heaviness of his gaze while you eyed the ball and took the swing. You knew it was bad before you even connected the club with the ball, the disappointing thump and the short flight of the ball across the green confirmed your expectations.

“Fuck,” you hissed, followed by Harry’s chuckle.

“No worries, doll. Practice swing. Here, let me help.”

You knew what he was doing, the way his palms slid from your shoulders, down your arms and cupped your wrists possessively. He guided your arms upwards in a swing and spoke low into your ear. “You need more control. Like this. Take your time at first. Get your position and grip perfect before you really go for it.”

You swallowed hard and nodded weakly in response. His hips were pushing close to your body. You could feel his chest expanding against your back. He let go of your wrists and one hand tangled into your hair, softly pushing your head down. “And keep your eye on the ball. Don’t look up until you’ve followed through.”

When you connected with the ball next, the click was satisfying and the ball soared further than before, delighting you to the point of bouncing in spot and twisting to look at Harry, eager for his approval.

“Nothing wrong with that, doll.” He was smiling that sweet smile he was so good at, dimples winking in admiration, though you’d only hit the ball a fraction of the distance he managed on the worst of his shots. He was in a short black tee and his muscles flexed while he clapped gently for your (minor) achievement.

Harry let you take several more shots, insisting you kept going even when you tried to pass back over to him. You didn’t miss his eyes on the curve of your body, your ass where the leggings hugged or your neck when you got hot and tied your hair up out of the way.

“Harry,” you whined, after several dud swings in a row. “I need help.”

“You know,” he hummed deeply into your ear, sliding his hands down your arms again. “If you want to get really good we can get you some lessons. My coach is -”

“I don’t want another teacher,” you interrupted sharply, causing Harry to crackle with laughter and plant a wet kiss on your cheek. “Bend a little for me, sweet thing.”

The gentle angle of your knees pushed your hips back subtly, and the position had so many delicious connotations your stomach swooped, but you shoved them aside to follow Harry’s lead as he took you through a few more practice swings before stepping away again.

Your back was cold without him pressed along it.

You channelled the sexual frustration into your hardest swing yet and you knew it was good one as soon as the satisfying click rang out.

Harry whooped dramatically, clapping his hands together loudly and grinning wide while he chewed on a piece of gum. You glared at him, embarrassed by the attention he was drawing to you both. With a huff you walked over to him, holding the club aloft for him to take over. Harry scooped you in his arms and blew a wet raspberry onto your neck, eliciting a squeak from you and even more embarrassment as you wiggled and pushed him away.

The real fun began when you all but forced Harry to get his practice in. You practically salivated watching him do anything he was good at, which, frustratingly, was almost everything he tried.

There should maybe be something inherently uncool and unsexy about golf, but Harry made it both those things. He was dedicated and focused. Everything about him turned you on from the strong angles of his back to the furrowed crease of concentration between his brows disappearing behind dark sunglasses. You sat on the bench watching him and shifted, feeling the swell of arousal in your belly and blood while he hit shots that cracked through the driving range with astonishing power. The feel of his hand pushing your head downwards still tingled on your scalp.

After he’d smashed his way through the two hundred balls he’d started with, he turned and gave you an inquiring look, head tilted with the club held up.

“Actually,” you started. “I think I’m ready to go.”

“Yeah?” His smirk was knowing, cocky. “All golfed out, baby doll?”

“Grab your clubs. I’ll wait in the car.” You snatched his keys from the bench and left, taking your time so he could watch you go. The truth was, he’d driven you cuckoo. The tactical touching, the showing off, the tight shirt and fitted golf trousers. You thought at least a moment of reprieve in the car would do you good.

In the safety of Harry’s Audi, you put the AC on and the radio to low.

The thing is, once Harry's wound you up (intentionally or otherwise) it’s hard to unwind again, and your mind was roaming rampant on thoughts of clenched hands and tensed muscles and strong swings. You closed your eyes and it only emphasised the feelings pulsing through you. By the time Harry popped the boot to toss his golf bag in the back, you could feel the results of your arousal gathering between your legs and knew it would be swirling in your irises too. A neon sign to Harry of exactly the spell he put you under. Great.

Harry slipped into the driver's seat and though he still wore his sunglasses you could tell he was tracking his eyes over you. “Hmm. Time to go home, I think,” he said, shifting into drive and reversing out of the spot.

But the drive home was too long, and he’d wound you up something terrible. Harry had a nasty, evil habit of holding your thigh when he drove, thanks to his dumb automatic fancy car. You clutched at his wrist, like he had yours earlier on, and dragged his palm further and further up, until you could angle him to cup your centre and cause a sigh of breathy relief out of you.

He barely reacted, just a tug of his lips to acknowledge your neediness, and the subtle press of his palm against you. You nudged your hips forward to meet his touch. Desperate.

“What’s got you all pent up, sweetheart?”

You squirmed and he pressed his hand firmer against your cunt in response. “Fucking-” you made a noise of frustration. “You. You’ve got me all pent up. Fucking, touching me and being good at golf and all that nonsense.”

The laugh that escaped Harry was one of genuine mirth and surprise, sweet and innocent in juxtaposition to his fingers rubbing against the humid space between your legs. “Really? Me playing golf gets you horny?”

“Harry,” you admonished. “Not just that.” You melted into the moment, as his fingers fell into a delicious rhythm where you wanted it most.

“What else, baby doll?” His voice was a deep and gravelly country road, and you rode it blissfully. Harry never turned away from the windscreen for a second.

“It was…” you drew in a shaky breath. “You helping me. You touching me.”

“That’s all?” Harry hummed thoughtfully, cupping his hand over your mound before withdrawing it back to his own lap. Your whine was entirely involuntary. “I like helping you too, baby. You know that, right?” You nodded and he flicked his head towards you before turning back to the road. “Good. I’ll help you soon. Promise. Let me just get us home.”

Harry had kept every promise he’d ever made to you, but that didn’t stop you being impatient and petulant. Unabashedly, you replaced the position of his hand between your thighs with your own, petting over the dampening fabric and the apex of your thighs where your clit throbbed. Your knee knocked against the car door when you squirmed and, per his earlier instruction, spread your legs.

“You can’t wait till we get home, dolly?” Harry hummed, lips ticking up in amusement.

“No. Harry.”

“Who now?”

You swallowed and your eyelids fluttered, overcome by the rumble of the car beneath you and your fingertips circling your sensitivity. “Daddy.”

“That’s a good little doll. You can touch, if you like, but you’re going to wait for me to make you come, is that right?”

“Yes,” you breathed your answer, but really, Harry was better than you at making you come anyway. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice to wait. Though the drive home seemed to drag tortmentuously, the friction you could give yourself doing little to curb the neediness throbbing through your bloodstream. Harry seemed frustratingly calm, but a delighted quirk to his eyebrow gave his true feelings away.

The agonising journey ground to a halt in Harry’s expansive driveway, him shifting into park with the engine still running and immediately twisting to face you, a hand tangling into your hair. Your body went lax, the ministrations of your fingers pausing to a halt and your thighs squeezing around your hand. You lolled your head back against the headrest, into his grip, and gazed at him.

“Oh, pretty, pretty thing. What’s got you so wound up? Hm? Speak to daddy?” He still wore his sunglasses, and you could see the faint reflection of yourself in them, could see yourself how he saw you, a flustered, keening mess in his passenger seat, twisting at the graze of his palm on your legging-covered thigh.

“I need you to make me come so bad, daddy.”

“Alright. Well, you better keep touching yourself then.”

You felt the disappointment sag your body further down into the seat, your bottom lip popping out in a pout. “But you said-”

“Yeah. I know what I said.” He tugged at your hair, enough to pull you up a little straighter but not to hurt hurt. “I said I’d make you come. Didn’t say how I’d do it.”

“It doesn’t feel as good without you,” you whined, entwining your fingers with his on your thigh, tempting him closer to your heat.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He teased, not unkindly, letting you drag his hand between your legs but not doing anything with it. “Thought I was a good teacher, hm, doll? Don’t you think I’m a good teacher?”

“You’re the best,” you admitted, so eager to please him you didn’t realise what you were agreeing to.

“That’s right. I’m the best.” He said it like a universal truth. “And I’m going to tell you exactly what to do and make you feel good.”

He was already making you feel sinfully good, cocooned in his car in the late afternoon, both soothed and wired by his voice.

“Rub your clit nice and slow for me. That’s it, doll. Just like that. Feel it zipping through you? All that pleasure? That’s how I felt when your bum pushed into my dick earlier on. Have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

He scratched his nails over your scalp and you moaned, the satisfaction of his hand in your hair oozing down your spine and the arousal buzzing throughout your lower body and spreading further out.

“Feel how wet you are now, baby. Yeah. Like that. How wet are you for me? Just from playing a bit of golf with your boyfriend? Let me see.” You moved your hand as Harry released your hair, pushing your thighs apart further. He tucked his sunglasses up and let his unobstructed gaze fall on the damp patch of material.

“Oh,” you gasped, when he leaned down and pressed his nose against you, breathing in and licking once, twice over your pussy, and even through your leggings you felt the hot humidity of his tongue.

Devastatingly, he sat back, smirking, “Sweetest little doll.” He grabbed your hand to push it back against your mound, using his own to help grind against your clit with more pressure than before. You gripped his shoulder with your spare hand, using the leverage to ride your hips against yours and his hands, teeth digging into your bottom lip and Harry’s eyes boring into yours.

“Come on, come for me. Be good for me. Show me how well I teach you to come. No one does it better, right doll? Tell me no one’s better.”

“No one’s better. You’re the best, Harry. Daddy. The best to me.”

He made a noise, the first one to indicate any loss of control, a groan of satisfaction, before diving towards your neck and sucking at the skin. He was all but making out with your neck, hand over yours taking the lead and ushering you closer and closer to the edge.

When you came you went impossibly hot, Harry’s breath on your jaw, the throb of ecstasy burning you from the inside out, your thighs clamped around two joined hands.

“That’s my girl,” Harry was saying to you, though it was tinny through blood pulsing in your ears, your hips still undulating under the pressure he applied to your clit. When you sagged down to the seat again, he released your hand and cupped your face, placing sweet kisses over your lips and cheekbones. You were puffing breaths hotly over his face, which only made him giggle. “You wanna go driving again tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this about golf, but you need a more unsexy hobby.”

“Sure thing, Dolly. What would you rather me do? Pottery?”

You pulled a face. “You just named arguably the hottest hobby there is. Maybe try bowls or something.”

Harry smiled and patted your thigh, encouraging you out of the car and into the shower (together). It was much later when you were both lazing together on the sofa, that Harry pursed his lips in interest at his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?”

He smirked. “I’m just looking into bowling clubs.”

“And?”

“Nothing. I just think it could be fun.” He turned back to his phone, and you waited patiently, seeing the comment bubbling from him before he continued. “The whole thing is to roll your ball closest to the smaller ball, which is known as the kitty. So, you know, reckon I’d be quite good at it. I always get pretty close to your kitty.”

You let him giggle his way to the end of the sentence before sighing and asking him to please stick to golf.

“You gonna come with me again sometime?”

“Maybe,” you agreed. “But you’ve got to teach me again. Properly.”

“My pleasure.”

You didn’t doubt it was.

-

Let me know your thoughts. We want Harry to teach her some more??? Maybe work on her grip? Haha. I hope you enjoyed lovelies!

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

tumblr adding some enrichment to our enclosure (giving us the option to boop each other)

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

✨Gucciforasushirestaurant’s  Queue✨

Here’s what I’ve got cooking at the moment. Requests are always open and encouraged! mwah 💋

- Youthpastor!Harry x Preachersdaughter!Reader

- Paypig!Harry x Switch!Reader

- Knight!Harry x Princess!Reader

Masterlist

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

let you love me 1.2.1 (a deleted scene)

wc: 1.8 k

summary: in which Harry gives Y/N everything she deserves after bringing her home from their second date at the record store. can be read as stand alone! part one, two, three

a/n: okay.. I know I said it'd be a while before I did something like this, but I just took the plunge and did it.. I sat down and did it. I'm honestly terrified and plan on panic posting and hiding until tomorrow. A huge thank you to the lovely @cherryjuiceblues for being my beta/proof reader. All of your comments (and reactions) had me kicking my feet like a school girl. You're the sweetest, Sophie! I hope all of you enjoy another first of mine!

cw: smut. so much smut. all other context is in the previous parts above. p in v sex, creampie, oral (f receiving) semi-rough sex, prone bone sex, dirty talk, choking, teeny bit of cum play, (if I missed anything pls let me know!)

“I seem to remember a promise you made about taking me upstairs and giving me everything I deserve. I’m waiting for that promise to be kept, Mr. Styles.”

“Well then, allow me to demonstrate,” he says, flipping you both over so you were under him, eliciting a shriek of laughter from you.

Harry’s hands begin their trek down the expanse of your body; memorizing every curve and dip under his fingers. “How do you want me, baby?” He asks, placing kisses along the curve of your throat.

“Want whatever you’re willing to give me,” you rush out before pulling his lips back to yours.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for, sweetheart,” he grumbles into your ear, sliding one of his hands up to grasp your chin.

“Mm, promise I can take it,” you whimper, a wicked grin spreading across your spit-swollen lips.

“Yeah? Wanna be my good girl, huh?” He asks, repositioning his hand to grip the front of your throat. He notices the spark in your eyes alongside your grin when he squeezes lightly. “oh, god.” He thinks “I’m in trouble.”

“Uhuh uhuh. Please, Harry. Need it," you whine.

“You asked for this, baby.” With that he flips you over onto your front and places a firm smack on your ass making you mewl beneath him. He’s pulling up on your hips to give you a good arch, “Should we check how our girl is feeling back here, baby? Hm?” He teases you from his spot behind you. You whimper in response, but he firmly brings his hand down on your ass again. “Words, baby,” he says, rubbing his hand over your ass cheek.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out, turning your head so your cheek is resting on the pillow. He hooks his pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly peels them down your legs. Your breath hitches at the feeling of the cool air against your bare cunt. 

“Ooh, look how pretty she is, baby. Can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me.” He says, gliding his fingers up and down your slit making you shudder.

“You’re the one w–ho wanted to w–ait,” you remind him, making him smirk.

“Mm, suppose my girl is right,” he says, dipping a finger inside; making you gasp. “Should I give you a reward for being right?”

“Mhm! Please!” Harry smiles at your eagerness.

He adds a second finger before his thumb finds your clit, spelling his name over and over with his ministrations against the bundle. “Ooh, she likes that, love,” he says, placing a kiss on your asscheek. “Can feel you clenching around my fingers already,” He chuckles lowly behind you.

“M-more,” you plead, reaching behind you to grip his wrist.

“Already begging for more?” He teases. “I’ll give you more, don’t worry.” He’s adding a third finger now, speeding up his motions. Your grip on his wrist tightens making him hiss. “Gimme your hands, baby,” he says, stopping his motions, making you whimper at the loss of contact. He grabs both of your hands in a firm grip before pressing them to your lower back. Grabbing your discarded panties, he ties them around your wrists forcing your arms to stay folded against your back; leaving you completely at his mercy. “There we go. Now, where were we?” He smooths his hands over the expanse of your ass, “Oh, that’s right. We were just about here,” He says, placing his fingers back in their respective spots, earning a moan from deep in your throat.

“Harry, please, d-don’t stop,” you say, pushing your hips back to meet the thrusts of his fingers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” he says, “gonna let me have a taste? Can feel you getting close.”

“Mhm mhm, whatever you want. S’close, Harry.” He then dips his head down and swipes his tongue over your bundle of nerves, making you shudder.

“So sweet, baby. Could do this for hours,” the tips of his fingers keep grazing that spongy spot, making your brain go to complete mush. He can feel just how close you are, so he speeds his fingers up even more, “Cum for me, sweet girl. Give it all to me,” he mumbles against your core.

“Oh f–uck, Harry! M’cumming!” You cry out, your entire body tensing. A white hot flash spreads across your vision as you’re taken over with pleasure. Harry continues his movements, working you through every ounce of your orgasm.

“There we go, baby. So good.” Harry praises you as you’re coming down, his tongue cleaning every bit up. “Tastes so good. Such a sweet girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs so you’re laying flat. “You doing alright?” he asks, rubbing his hands up your legs, before stopping at your ass cheeks to rub slow circles..

“Mhm,” you whine, feeling Harry’s fingers spread your cheeks apart.

“You ready for more?” He inquires, not wanting to push you too far.

“Yes please,” you mumble into the pillow.

“So polite, baby. Where’d my little spit fire go? She go hide because I got you all flustered? Hm?”

“Harry, please,” you plead, making him smirk. He stands to pull his boxers off before joining you on the bed again.

“I got you, baby, don’t worry,” He says before crawling up the expanse of your body. He slides one arm under your shoulders, grasping your throat in his hand before pressing his body weight onto you. “Gonna make you feel so good, my girl,” he promises before craning your neck to place a kiss on your parted lips. He reaches down with his other hand, guiding his cock to your entrance, gathering some of your arousal on his tip before slowly pressing inside; making both of you moan in unison at the sensation. “Oh–hah, f-fuck. So tight, baby,” he growls in your ear, inching his way inside. He’s turning your brain to mush once again without even trying.

“J-jesus, Harry. S-so big.” You whine. “C-can’t take it.”

“Oh, I know you can, pretty girl,” He coos in your ear. “And you will,” he says, pushing in to the hilt. The sound he pulls from your throat makes him feel a sense of pride. “See? There we go,” he says, pressing a firm squeeze against your throat. “Knew you could do it.”

You whimper in response. “H-harry.” 

“Yes, sweet girl?” He internally groans at the feeling of you clenching down on him..

“M-move, please.” 

“Anything for you, love,” he’s sliding his hips back far enough to leave his tip inside, to then slam back into you repeatedly, turning you into a moaning mess beneath him. “Yeah, baby? That feel good?” He asks. He’s doing everything in his power to not finish too early; the feeling of your thighs alongside the feeling of your plush, warm walls has his head spinning far earlier than anticipated. But he can tell you’re not far behind. Seems his girl likes it a little rougher. He’d be sure to remember to have a more in depth conversation with you regarding harder limits later.

“M’close, Harry. S’close!” You rush out. You’re in complete heaven. The constant rush of the tip of his cock grazing your g spot, and the ridges of every vein against your walls have your head rushing and your arousal pooling in your gut.

“M’too, pretty. So close,” Harry says as he reaches down with his other hand and lifts your hip enough to connect his fingers to your clit one more time, rubbing in tight circles. His other hand still having a firm grip on your throat. “Cum.” He commands, feeling the band snap within you.

“OH, F–UCK,” you start to unravel. Harry squeezes the sides of your throat just a little tighter to really tip you over the edge. His speed doesn’t falter, however. He’s determined to milk every ounce of your orgasm out of you.

“Yeah, baby, there we go. Such a good girl,” He praises, releasing his grip on your neck to push himself up. He takes hold of your bound hands, pulling them towards him and giving your back that perfect arch. “G’na cum, baby,” he warns, “Where d’ya want me?”

“I-inside, please, Harry. Cum for me, please!” You beg, making him groan.

“Oh, f–fuck,” his hips stutter at your plea. Of course he obliges. White hot ropes are filling you to the brim. “Just like that, baby– shit,” he groans, continuing to roll his hips into you. “Gonna milk me dry.”

“'So good, Harry,” you mumble into the pillow. 

His hips slowly come to a halt against your ass, and he reaches up to undo the knot keeping your wrists together. Your arms fall to your sides as he lays his weight on top of you again, pressing kisses along the curve of your shoulder. “Did so well for me, baby,” He whispers against your skin. You turn your head to capture a glimpse of his face and he’s smiling.

“You’re so pretty.” You say, reaching your hand up to cradle the side of his face.

“Am I?” He asks, placing a kiss to your nose.

“Mhm. Promise.” You smile at him. “Kiss?” 

“Like you have to ask.” He says leaning down to you, capturing your lips with his. He takes hold of your wrist, noticing the red marks from your underwear. “Sorry, love.’ He coos, before pressing his lips softly to the marks.

“S’okay. Felt good.” You affirm. “You’re still hard.” You say wiggling your hips against him, making yourself whimper at the feeling of his cock grinding inside you at your movements.

“Mm, noticed that, did you?” He teases.

“Kind of hard to miss.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Hey now, where’d my good girl go, hm?” He inquires, swatting his hand against your ass making you squeal. “Who’s this brat?” He quickly pulls himself out of you, making you hiss at the sudden empty feeling. Taking hold of your hips, he flips you over once more beneath him. “Hi, baby,” he says once you’re face to face.

“Hi, stranger,” you whisper, smiling up at him and sliding your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“Where’d that attitude go?” He teases, rubbing his cock up and down your slit, catching all of your mixed arousal on his tip, and making your breath hitch when his tip would catch in your entrance.

“D-don’t worry, she’s s-still here,” you whimper against his lips, making him smile.

“Good,” he starts, placing a heated kiss to your lips. “Guess I gotta keep going then,” he says, pushing his cock back inside, fucking his cum from before right back into you and making you gasp. “Good thing though–” He continues, gripping behind your knees to bring your legs against your chest, making his cock push into that spot over and over “--Because I want to watch your pretty face the next time you fall apart on my cock.”

I'll be hiding for the next week now 🫣

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed! <3

taglist: @stylesfever @olipoli21 @hermionelove @st-ev-ie @mrs-anna-styles211994 @hannah9921 @velvetballaspark

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pouty baby

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Golden - Behind the Scenes

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I have a lot to say in this topic and how I see it play out in this community.

I’m going to save it for when I have the time and energy to put into a more thoughtful post, but for now here is some info to think about.

The characters we are writing about (with the exception of Pena) are fictional. The people reading it and writing it are very real.

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🌹 a flower for everyone not feeling their best today

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When we gonna call so I can moan & talk nasty in your ear until you cum for me