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#harry styles one shots
cupidsdolll · 2 days
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word count: 1.1k
summary: harry’s angry at the world, himself included and he makes it everyone’s problem but there might be a light coming in the middle of his storm
notes: this is part two of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of drinking to cope with his grief, violence inflicted onto others and a brief scene of it as well.
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To say that Harry’s been miserable lately would be a huge understatement. He’s been absolutely insufferable in the past two weeks. He spends all day drinking and holed up inside his office, he’s grumpy and snappy with everybody and he’s even more mean whenever he has to take care of someone. It’s his release in a way, the one safe space he can let out his anger at the world, at the Gallegos for taking away his love, at himself for not doing more.
“Goddamn! Fuck!” He screams in the confines of his office. He down a shot of whiskey and quickly pours himself another one, the burn going down his throat is welcoming — encouraged is the better word for it. His chest rises and falls harshly as he stares at the picture of her. One he had taken a couple of months into knowing each other, a bright smile on her lips and her hair and dress flowing in the wind behind her as they walked through a park. She had wanted a picnic and he was a sucker for her smile, so of course he’d do it for her. It was all worth it in the end, to see the smile plastered on her face and the excitement in her eyes
He misses her terribly, the past week has been the hardest week ever and he doesn’t know if it’ll get any better. He allows the tears to fall freely, to stain his cheeks and the mahogany oak of his desk. It seems as if his tears are never ending, just becoming a permanent addition to his appearance. He can’t bring himself to care, too busy wallowing in his guilt and pain. He guesses he deserves it in a way, none of this would’ve happened if he’d been paying more attention, if they would’ve stayed home or better yet if he’d never given her his number.
He huffs sadly as he wipes his tears away the best he can, he can’t do anything about the stains left on his cheeks. He takes another shot of whiskey and heads towards his office door, he figures now is as good of a time as any, and really he just can’t wait to let out some tension. He walks out the room and down the hall, ignoring the eyes of the few employees gathered around the desk before rolling his eyes as they start whispering.
“Don’t you all have a fucking job to do? This isn’t Barbie’s show where we all sit around and look pretty.” He huffs before mumbling under his breath, watching them with crossed arms as they scramble to find something to do.
He continues walking then, taking deep breaths to try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He can’t look weak in front of them. He walks past the framed pictures on the wall, past the rooms where clicking and the occasional scream filters through the closed doors until he gets to the last door in the hall. The dark wooden door detailed with swirls and large black handles is heavy as he pushes it open, but he enjoys the pain. His own form of punishment he guesses.
The room is filled with different tools and weapons, lights scattered all over the ceiling but still keeps the room dark enough. He prefers this environment to feel more like a horror movie than just a simple killing room, and wants it to feel eerie and depressing. He wants the room to inflict absolute sheer terror and feet into anyone who just so happens to end up strapped to the chair. His dress shoes click against the concrete floor, echoing around the room and he watches happily as the man strapped to the chair begins to squirm and try to break free. It’s no use though, he’s mastered the best knot to tie around the body and the chair tightly to keep them from moving but also to inflict pain when they try to escape.
“Well, well, well. Not happy to see me?” He asks in a sickly sweet voice, too sweet to be used in such a setting. The man shakes his head violently as he tries rocking the chair side to side, his screams are muffled behind the tape. Harry simply chuckles, he’s always amused at their useless attempts.
“Now, I just have a couple of questions for you. I just need some information and I believe you should be able to help with this.” He says as he leans down so his face is right in front of the man with tears filling his eyes. The man shakes his head and Harry grabs a handful of his hair, firmly holding him in place.
“So you don’t want to leave? I was gonna let you leave if you answer… but since you don’t think that’s fair.. you’ll be stuck here.” He says and he watches as more tears fall from the man’s eyes and Harry just laughs, everyone wants to be all big and bad until they have to confront their behaviors. They think that no one will be able to catch them, they always underestimate his dedication. He’ll search every corner of the internet and the world just to find someone, and he’s been doing that lately. Searching for hours and hours on the internet to find someone.
He pulls himself back as he smiles, he’s gonna enjoy himself through all this. He starts off small, a few punches and rough tugs of the hair, and he relishes in the muffled cries of the man in front. He rips off the tape and the man screams.
“Who wanted my girl dead and why?” He asks and the man shakes his head.
“I don’t know man!” He says through his tears and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed.
“Such a shame.” He says as he walks to a table full of various weapons and tools of all sizes, he grabs a pair of pliers and walks back to the man, hitting the pliers against his palm.
“Maybe this will ring some answers for you, for every question you don’t answer and I’m not satisfied with the answer I’ll pull one of your teeth out. How does that sound?” The man cries and shakes his head.
“Please man, I’m serious! I don’t know anything!” He cries out and Harry sighs.
“Already onto a bad start, my friend.” He says as he yanks the man’s jaw open as he decides which teeth to pull. As soon as he picks one, the door opens and EJ’s voice rings out.
“Hey boss, sorry to bother you but you have a phone call, it’s important.” Harry shakes his head. He should know better than to interrupt him. He’d hate to have to fire him.
“Uh, I’m busy. Tell them I’ll call back later.” Harry replies back, sarcasm and annoyance dripping from his voiceand the door still stays open.
“It’s the hospital, Y/N. She’s alive.”
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jarofstyles · 27 days
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Caught
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Heyyyy.... This is something I wrote all in one night and it got filthy quick lol. I've been trying to do more one offs and I hope you guys like this one!!
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WC- 9.1k
Warnings- Sex w someone who isn't Y/N (It's quick don't worry), friends to lovers, angst, unprotected sex, spitting, praise kink
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Y/N hadn’t thought twice about going into the living room she shared with her roommate, AirPods in her ear as she had padded across the hall. Maybe if she had been aware of her surroundings, maybe if she hadn’t assumed Harry would figure out she was home by her keys on the rack or her text prior, she would have avoided walking into the scene of filth she found herself stumbling in on. 
Strolling into the living room, she was stopped cold by the scene in front of her. There, on their couch, was Harry. Fully naked, his back red with what would be scratch marks in the morning, thrusting into someone. A woman, by the sound of the whimpers. Manicured nails gripped his biceps as she whimpered, the sound of sex becoming evident as she ripped the AirPod from her ear. 
She was frozen. Standing there shocked, hearing his grunts as his hand steadied him on the back of the couch with his fingers denting the fabric, his powerful thrusts jolting the girl and the furniture. He was into it, fully. As much as she felt she was intruding, she couldn’t stop looking. 
It was hot. Y/N had to admit that, even in her frozen shocked state. The mix of their sounds, her red hair spilling over onto the pillow, her leg being held up by one of his hands to get, what was most likely, the perfect angle. Just by the sound of it, the pair was having an incredible time. 
“Fuckin’ taking it so well..” His raspy voice was deep, a depth she hadn’t heard the fullness of. It sent tingles down her body, hearing her roommate and seeing him in a way she hadn’t before. He had always been sweet and goofy and silly. He joked around about getting lucky, she heard some lighthearted sex stories and had he was a master at dirty jokes- but she had never seen him in the element. Assuming most people didn’t see their friends like that. 
Y/N didn’t harbor any feelings, not that she knew of. She wasn’t hurt by the viewing, no, more so fascinated and embarrassed because she had caught them. But they seemed far too into it to notice her. That itself got her hot between her thighs. 
Harry seemingly hadn’t been lying about his skill in the bedroom. She thought he had been exaggerating, but the way the girl under him was wailing seemed to have her thinking different. 
“Fuck me.” The girl’s voice sounded weak, red nails tangling in his hair and pulling him down. The sound of lips coming together for a kiss echoed in the room, his pace slowing and his hips grinding into her, making the redhead moan and arch her leg up over his hip to pull him closer. The weak whine was wistful, the pop of their mouths disconnecting and saucy chuckle from Harry was low as he gripped her jaw. 
“You’re so close. I can feel it.” He spoke close to her mouth. “Wet little cunt’s making a proper mess. Should make you clean it up with your tongue. Filthy little thing.” He grumbled. 
Y/N had sense to slowly back into the hallway, hiding behind the wall- but she still couldn’t look away. It was wrong. So goddamn wrong, but her cunt was hot and wet from simply watching, she wanted to see it all. Just looking at how wet his covered cock had been, stretching the stranger’s cunt out and hearing her whines had her imagining herself in her place. 
Would he choke her? Would he call her filthy? She could only hope. 
Her eyes watched as the girl clung to him, letting out little noises each time his cock thrusted into her. The pace was picking up from the slower one, her lips parting in a soft ‘o’ as Harry looked down at her. It seemed intense. No words exchanged but the noises of their sex, the wetness of her cunt and his cock fucking into the stranger’s welcoming cunt filling the room. 
The shift happened when he slowly adjusted her leg. Like a bolt had hit her, she squealed and arched up, panting out to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… right there, fuck me right there, don’t stop.” She was desperate, begging him as his prick filled her dripping cunt again and again. 
“M’not stopping until you’re creaming around my cock, sweetheart.” He smirked, keeping the angle perfect as he continued to sheath himself inside of her. The pleasured groans and moans, slapping of skin, it was all hot. Every bit of it. Y/N wasn’t going to be able to forget it. Harry was stretching her out, and watching his cock inside of her was doing something to her. 
It planted a seed of jealousy in her mind. Displaced, of course, because she had no claim over him. He was her friend, her roommate, but watching this made her recall her own experiences. While they hadn’t been bad- some were ever good!- they never made her moan like that. Never made her legs tremble in the way the girl underneath Harry were. No one had spoken to her with that sort of grit, that dirty. Her own had been moans, whispers, but nothing that came close to how her body was reaction to the mere sight of this. 
The noises got louder and she could see that they were getting to the edge but it felt like too much to watch it happen. Instead, she shut her bedroom door and listened. The slap of skin, the whimpers coming from the woman that were slightly muffled and the words of encouragement leaving his mouth. He called her a good girl, told her to cum around him, and a smack followed by a heady moan made her eyebrows raise. Harry was into it. It happened soon after, the repeated mewls into the air that she was cumming and the sound of his hips quickening before he let out a groan that would surely haunt her, then the sounds of frantic lips meeting. 
It was over now, but she surely wouldn’t forget about it anytime soon. 
——
Y/N hid out in her room for 2 hours. She knew the girl was gone, heard Harry tell her goodbye and the closing of the door. Heard him take a shower. But she was hesitant to leave. It was going to be an awkward thing, she knew, especially because she’d slipped her hand into her panties and made herself orgasm in record time. 
She was ashamed to get off to the memory of that. This was Harry, after all! But she couldn’t deny the hunger that rose after seeing the type of sex she’d always thought was reserved for her erotic novels in real time. Her sex had never been like that and the pleasured sounds and words from the woman he’d fucked had sounded so desperate and real, there was no way she was faking it.  The other thing that bothered her, though, was the fact that he had done it on the couch. They had a rule not to do anything in common areas, and if he had just followed them then she wouldn’t be in this mess. Thinking of him in ways she shouldn’t be. 
The guilt bubbled in her stomach, but it was hungry more than anything. She needed to eat something, needed to face the music, and she waited until Harry was in his room to scurry to the kitchen and grab some snacks as fast as she could- some chips, dark chocolate, a protein drink, piling them in her arms to make the great escape back to her room- only to turn around to see Harry standing there with a smile. 
Fuck.
“Hey, lovely. When did you get home? I didn’t hear the door.” He hummed, stepping closer into the kitchen and bumping her hip to get into the fridge. 
There were a few ways she could go about this, but Y/N didn’t like to lie. She despised it, actually, and that’s part of what made Harry like her so much. His words, not her assumption. She was honest to a fault, and it was hard to go back from that. But she wasn’t about to admit she stood there and watched- not on her own terms. 
“I’ve been home all day.” She said simply, avoiding his eye as she adjusted the snacks in her arms. Part of her wanted to book it to her room but if she did that, it would be even worse. He’d follow her. As hard as she’d tried, her voice came off a bit cool, not the normal easy warmth it usually held. He’d know. 
He froze. Harry’s body stiffening as he stood up from the fridge and shut the door. “You-You have?” His voice was hesitant and she could feel his eyes on her as she nodded, pretending to be interested in the ingredients list of her chocolate. “I- um…” it was very rare to have Harry speechless. He always knew what to say, how to say it, but in this instance he didn’t know how to react. “You… Did you-“
“Yep.” Y/N nodded. Despite how much she yearned for a lack of awkward, there was no avoiding it. 
“You said you’d be gone today.” His tone was accusatory, making irritation flare up in her. Her eyes blazed as they looked up at him. “You said you’d be at work.” 
“I texted you and told you that someone switched shifts with me.” That was no lie, but her voice was hard. Defensive. Because she wasn’t going to be blamed for his lack of phone usage. He was usually good with checking texts but some days he slacked, but she texted him and let him know she would be home. It was clear that he saw that when he fished his phone out of his pocket and saw the message on his lock screen, his body deflating and shrinking back as he saw the hard look in her eye. Y/N wasn’t usually irritated with him, but she didn’t appreciate being called a liar. 
“Fuck.” He said quietly, looking from the phone to her face which was showing obvious signs of discomfort. Harry would never want to make her uncomfortable, and he’d done exactly that with his own oversight. “Y/N, Love- I’m so sorry, I-“
“It’s fine.” She said quickly. “Just… clean the couch.” It made her feel gross to think there were traces of someone else, bodily fluids where she liked to take her naps. Even more so because she didn’t know how often this had happened. 
“I-of course. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t see the text, I would have never done anything if I knew you were home-“
“I said it was fine, Harry.” It came out sharper than she intended it to. Obviously it wasn’t fine. “I was waiting for a few hours to get something to eat so I didn’t interrupt. I just wanted to get my damn snacks and eat them in peace. If you’ll excuse me.” Bumping past him, she rushed towards her door and turned the lock, placing the snacks on her desk. That hadn’t gone smoothly. Not at all. 
—-
Harry felt like a piece of shit. 
It wasn’t often that he felt like that, but knowing he had done something that obviously made Y/N uncomfortable. The icky, nasty guilt and shame settled in his stomach as he sat on the couch he’d just steam cleaned, face in his hands. He’d known it had been a dumb idea to bring a girl back from the gym on a whim. He’d felt weird about it at first, but he’d been positive Y/N was at work and he’d have time to clean up and whatever before she came home. 
It was worse considering he chose a common area. He’d been so fucking horny, and the girl had been more than willing to be the one who relieved him. To be honest, he didn’t know her and probably wouldn’t ever see her again, but that didn’t matter now. The impulsive decision, his lack of awareness and selfishness had gotten him into a mess. This wasn’t just his flat. Y/N had been here first, she had bought this couch, and he had been selfish and done something on it that he knew he’d probably be a bit peeved about if she had done the same thing. 
Truthfully, he’d be hurt if he had to listen to Y/N get fucked. Even more so if he saw it but, he didn’t know what she knew. What she saw. It made him panic a little internally because there was no way he could get what he wanted with her now. He’d fucked up massively and he didn’t know how to fix it. 
His crush on Y/N had been an inconvenience he was truly trying to get over. She made no implications that she liked him back and he had been trying to learn how to be okay with that. How was she ever going to believe that he liked her when she was witness to him fucking all his pent up sexual aggression, aggression she unknowingly caused by walking out in her little sleep shorts this morning riding up her bum, onto another woman? There was no way she was going to take him seriously. His head was beginning to hurt as he tried to think of a way to apologize. 
Ordering her favorite pizza, he had it delivered to their flat and thanked the man with a tip before placing it on their dining table. The nerves were overrun as he made his way towards her door, the cold panic in his stomach making its way up his throat as he hesitantly raised his knuckles to knock on the door. 
“Love?” There as a brief silence and he held his breath, hoping he didn’t fuck it up enough to the point where she hated him. 
“Yeah?” The hesitant voice was smaller than the one he was used to, making him deflate a little bit. At least she answered. 
“I um, I got pizza for dinner. Your favorite.” His hands rested against her doorframe as he spoke through the door. “Did you- would you want to come out and eat with me? We can watch a movie or a show.” The attempt was something, at least. 
“I…” she paused. “If it’s alright I’d like to eat in my room. I’ll pay you back for the pizza.” He could almost hear her brain going. “I don’t think I’d like to sit on the couch for a while.”
His stomach dropped. God damn it. He really did make her uncomfortable, enough where she didn’t want to eat with him or sit in their living area. He felt his throat thicken, frustration building in his veins that was unfairly aimed at her. 
“I said I was sorry, Y/N.” He grunted. “Why don’t you want to eat with me? I steamed the couch, it’s safe to sit on now and I just want to fix it. So can you please get over it a little bit and come and eat?” 
Of course he regretted it as soon as it came out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to talk to her like that. The frustration was aimed at himself and not her, but it came out all wrong. He heard her hitch in breath as she shuffled on her bed, opening the door to look at him with a blazing glare that made him shrink back. The man had never been in the receiving end of her anger before. 
“No, I’m not going to just get over it, Harry. Walking into my living room and seeing you pound some woman into the couch I like to take my naps on, a couch I bought before you even lived here may I add, is a bit jarring. We had rules about bringing people over and it’s supposed to stay in our rooms. Obviously it doesn’t fucking matter when you think I’m not home and I’m kind of sick at the thought of what else I may have sat on or slept in because you decided to disrespect me in our home.” She snarled, looking up at him with the severe gaze.  “If you really think all you have to do is buy some pizza and offer to watch a show with me and I’m just going to forget that you’ve gone behind my back, you’d be sorely mistaken. I’ve never lied to you, never once.” The look of betrayal had his stomach turning. “Just… leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk about it.” 
He watched as she slammed the door in his face, his body hot with embarrassment as she locked it. A clear sign she didn’t want to talk to him and it made him feel even worse than before. The words he said had been out of line and he knew it, but he didn’t know how to handle fighting with Y/N. It had never happened until this moment. 
“I’m sorry. Y/N, I-I don’t know why I said that but I just-“
“Harry. I asked you to leave me alone. Can you just respect this one fucking thing?” Her raised voice made him jump, eyes widening at the tone. Being at the receiving end of her anger wasn’t something he ever wanted to happen. “Just… go eat your pizza and leave me be. I’m not hungry.” 
It stumped him. He didn’t know how else to fix it. How could he? She was still very upset and he had fucked up, but what was even worse was knowing that he liked her way more than she liked him and having nothing to prove it by. He had brought home women that looked like her to try and get it out of his system many a time, but it never worked. 
To her, he was her silly, clumsy, charming friend. He was a shoulder to lean on, maybe. But to him? She was incredible. She was honest, brave, intelligent, witty, and so fucking pretty it was hard to look at her without wanting to touch sometimes. 
He’d never made a move because she didn’t seem like she was interested. She’d never gazed at his mouth the way he knew he looked at hers, she didn’t elongate the hugs- he was the one that would let go last. She’d been a friend to him when all he could think about was cupping her face and kissing her lips until they were swollen and she was breathless. He’d gone and mucked up any chance he had with her seeing him as anything more. 
Going back into the kitchen, he put the pizza into the fridge and returned back into his room. He wasn’t hungry anymore. All he was going to be able to focus on was the ability to fix this. 
——-
Y/N knew she was probably overreacting a little bit. It wasn’t as if he had killed someone. He’d broken a rule, yes, but she wasn't a tyrant. It shouldn’t matter to her so much, and that’s what she had been trying to figure out. Why did it?
She just didn’t like the answer she came up with. 
The girl was jealous. That was the thing that she could see, even if she didn’t want to. She was jealous because she’d never been fucked like that, never been touched in that way, talked to that way, and it had never been by Harry. He’d made her see him in a different light and now she was thinking about him in a way she shouldn’t be. 
She’d always loved Harry. He was a friend and her roommate, of course she was going to have fondness for him. It had never seemed like there were any feelings there, nothing had been outwardly there, no jealousy when he spoke of other people, but…. Seeing it? It had been arousing, yes, but after she thought about it for a bit it’d felt like a kick in the stomach. Why had he never tried anything with her before? Was he just that much of a flirt? It wasn’t a secret that he liked to fool around but somehow, things in her brain were changing and making her feel irritational. 
The sexual frustration that came from that was, well…. Stupidly frustrating. It made her wonder what his hands felt like, what his lips tasted like. If he would treat her the same way, or if he would be gentler. If he would kiss her neck and tell her she was a good girl, that she was taking it so well, if he would smack her ass too. It made her feel guilty that she even thought about him that way. 
Avoiding him for 3 days was a bit overkill, for sure. But she didn’t know how to look him in the face. How could she after all of that? It didn’t help that no matter where she tried to bring her fantasies when she would touch herself, it came back to him. The last three days had been plagued by the thought of him grabbing her hair and tugging her head back for a sloppy kiss while he was balls deep, praising her for it. 
He’d been sweet about it. Leaving her donuts one morning, flowers another. This morning it had been a hand written note. 
‘Y/N
I can’t express to you how sorry I am that I broke our rule. I know you don’t ask for much of me as a roommate and I promised I’d uphold them, and I fucked up. I had a lapse in judgment and I regret it a lot more than you can imagine. 
I don’t know how to fix this with us. I want to. I miss you and I miss talking to you but I’m trying to give you the space you need even if it hurts. I made the mistake and I’m paying for it. 
I promise I won’t ever do it again. I won’t bring someone home again, if that could help. Please talk to me when you’re ready. I miss you so much more than you could know. I’m not trying to buy you over with the gifts but I don’t know what else to do without making you uncomfortable. It’s killing me to know I hurt you at all. I’ve never done it before, though. I promise. I’ve never had anyone else there. It truly was a mistake. 
I’ll be home at my normal time if you want to talk, I’m bringing home Italian food. I’ll grab your favorite. Text me if you need, I’d love to hear from you.
H xx’
The note sounded genuine. It’s why she placed a blanket over the couch and sat stiffly as he walked into the door, noticing his double take as he hung up his keys. The bag of food hung off his arm and he looked at her wide eyed, though staying quiet as he went into the kitchen to place it down. 
“Hi.” He started, walking over to her slowly. “D-Did you have a good day?” The nerves could be heard in his voice and it made her sad. She didn’t want him to be terribly nervous around her, not when they used to have a really comfortable relationship. 
“It was okay.” She murmured, rubbing her hand over her lounge pants. “Got off of work early.” What else was she supposed to say? It was hard to navigate this when she’d never imagined fighting with Harry at all. 
“Oh? That’s good.” He sat on the coffee table in front of her, wanting to face forward when he spoke to her. “I had to stay a tiny bit late. It’s why I wasn’t home on time. I’m sorry.” His eyes were studying her face, desperate to see forgiveness in her eyes. The last few days without her had felt so empty. 
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “Figured something like that happened.”  Picking at her nails, she moved to look at him. “I’m not sure how to talk to you right now. I’m not angry anymore, but I don’t know how to go about it.” Y/N, as blunt as ever, made him smile sadly.
“M’crawling out of my skin. Don’t like that I made you upset at all. It was stupid. You read my note?” He anxiously awaited all day a text from her but he hadn’t gotten one. 
“I did.” She took a deep breath. “I’m upset about the couch thing but there’s layers to it that have been difficult for me to understand. It isn’t fair of me to sit and say it’s all your fault I stayed away for the last few days because part of it was me.” It was terrifying to admit things like this but she didn’t know how else to be. It would probably make things weird with them, but it had to be discussed or it would ruin their friendship. 
“How do you mean?” Brows furrowed as he shifted forward, hands on his knees as he leaned into her space. He’d always been a touchy person who didn’t know what personal space was, so she was used to it but it still made her react. A bit differently this time. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” It was difficult to look at him without feeling that burn in her stomach. “It made me look at you differently. A way I hadn’t allowed myself to look at you before, and I’ve felt guilty and…” how could she word it? “Slightly perverted for it. You’re my friend and I shouldn’t have let seeing that influence anything other than my upset about the rules, but it made me think of you in a light that friends shouldn’t look at other friends.” 
Well, he hadn’t expected that. 
He was slowly catching on, watching her shy face as she looked back towards her lap and fiddled with her hands. She looked at him in a sexual way. That’s why she was avoiding him. The couch issue was one thing, but she was upset that she was looking at a friend in a way that went past their normal relationship. 
As fucked up as it may be, he felt a sprinkle of hope. Her postures perked up a bit as he tried to get her eyes again, but he didn’t want to assume she wanted anything from him. “That’s okay, love.” His hand cautiously grabbed one of hers, holding it lax enough that she could pull back if she wanted to. “Really. There’s nothing wrong with that at all.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, relief flooding him that the majority of the reason she had been avoiding him was something like this. Something he could remedy. “So you’ve been thinking of me sexually, that’s what you’re saying?”
Y/N groaned, closing her eyes as her head fell back against her shoulders. “God, yes. Okay?! And I’m ashamed of it. I don’t know why it happened and why I can’t just forget about it but it makes me…’it made me annoyed that I haven’t felt anything like that before. I’ve never made noises like that and no one’s ever made me feel like what I assume she was. I’ve always seen you as something else and then, imagine my fucking surprise when I walk in and see you acting like a porn star. Not even one of the bad ones either. It would have been easier if it was!” The floodgates opened and Harry watched with raised brows as she continued, fueling his ego in the process. “I feel guilty pthat I looked at it and wanted to be in that position. I never thought of you like that, not that you aren’t amazing and attractive but you were supposed to just be my platonic friend considering we’d roommates. Don’t you know how bad it would be to be into your roommate? It makes everything insane.” 
“I know how it feels.” He murmured, making her pause. If she was unloading all of this stuff, being honest as honest could be, he figured he may as well. Let it all set out on the table. 
“Wait- what?” She squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes this time. It had been a mistake, she thought, until he shrugged his shoulders. 
“Yeah. I’ve always thought of you like that, but you didn’t seem to reciprocate so I tried to get over it. I was distracting myself so I wouldn’t fuck up our friendship.” It was his turn to look at his lap, watching his freshly painted thumb run over her knuckles and fiddle with her ring. “Always worried about making you feel like… objectified in your own home. I wanted to be respectful. But do you really think I’m not attracted to you?” He found the courage to look up again. “I’ve been attracted to you since we first met. But you��ve always been so nonchalant about everything, I assumed you didn’t care.”
Y/N was stumped. Harry was into her? He wanted to touch her this whole time and she had been none the wiser? It made her pause, trying to recount all their memories. Had he always looked at her like this? With the soft glint in his eyes, or with the hunger? Yearning, perhaps was the word. She’d never even guessed that in the slightest. He’s had a revolving door of partners coming over to fuck around, but she thought that’s just how he was.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to cater to my feelings. I still don’t. If you aren’t into me like that, it’s okay. I want our friendship to remain in tact. But I needed to tell you it’s not one sided. You don’t have to feel guilty over thinking of me like that considering the only reason I took that girl home was because you’d made me sexually frustrated that morning with those little sleep shorts and coming in for a hug and pressed your sleepy, soft body against me. I needed to get that out.” He knew it didn’t make much sense when he said it out loud. 
“Did it work?”
That hadn’t been the response he expected, blinking a few times as he gave her a questioning look. “Did what work?” 
“Fucking her. Did you get me out of your mind?” She looked at him expectantly and he could feel the heat starting to raise in his cheeks. He’d expected… not this sort of train of thought, but he wasn’t about to lie again. 
“Not really.” He admitted. “I mean… in the moment, an orgasm helped. But I wasn’t fucking the person I was thinking about.” 
This time Y/N blinked a few times at him, trying to catch up mentally. “So…’you were thinking about me, when you…”
“Yes.” Unashamed at this point, there was nothing to lose. 
“And all the things you were saying? You were like….” Her eyes fell to his mouth. Pretty and pink, obviously nervously bitten, she had been a little shocked at the revelation. “You were saying them to me? In your head?”
“Basically.” He could see on her face that she was flustered but chose not to tease her about it like he normally would. “I usually bring people back that look like you. Tried to do people who were the opposite but, it made it harder to cum.” The gloves were off now. There was a shift in the air as she adjusted herself on the couch, pressing her thighs together and desperately hoping he didn’t notice. 
He did. 
“You can’t… finish? Unless you think about me?” It made her eyes stay wide, her grip on his hand tightening slightly out of reflex. 
“Well… I can, but it isn’t as good. Usually that’s where my head goes to. I can’t really help it.” Harry came the hardest when he looked at where his cock connected to the other person, imagining it being her cunt he was fucking. Her moans. That the praises that he was saying was heard by her and the clenching and slickness was caused by her reaction to him. It was a bit pathetic and he knew it, but at least it wasn’t a secret anymore. 
“Do you still want to?” 
Harry’s head whipped up so fast he knew he must have pulled a muscle, but there wasn’t a tract of joking on her face. Was she asking what he thought she was. “Do I still want to fuck you?” He clarified, watching her bother head in response. Fuck. The lump in his throat was swallowed as he tried to reply the best way he could. “Of course I do. I’ve been thinking about it for ages but… it’s not just about sex with you.” It was much more than that. “I actually like you. I’d want… I wouldn’t want to have sex once and be done with it. I’d want to properly take you out at some point.” It was a bit unorthodox considering they already lived together but he wouldn’t want to give her any less than she deserved. 
“Okay.” She said softly. “We can do that.” 
His head was spinning. Y/N was so casual about it, not hesitant at all in her agreement to basically be something with him. It felt like he was in a dream, but the frantic beats of his heart made him understand he was very much awake. “Yeah?” He leaned in closer. “You’d want to do it all with me?” The voice was hushed even though there was no one else around. 
Tonight was full of surprises, it seemed, when the girl got up from the couch and made the move to straddle his lap. His hand was quick to wrap around her to make sure she didn’t fall, but his body burned as she ran a hand through his hair and he tilted it up to look at her. They’d never been this close before and he was already growing in his pants, making him shiver as she leaned down to brush her nose against his. “Yeah. I’d like to go on a date with you, too but…” she took a moment to rub it against his own, back and forth. Making his eyes hood a bit as his arm shifted to pull her closer to him, desperate for the contact. “I want you to fuck me, first. Make me cum harder than the other girl did. I want to make those noises, H.” She whispered. 
Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Not when she was sitting right on his lap, presenting herself like the perfect little present. Willing and eager for the taking. Leaning himself up, he caught her lips in a gentle kiss. Trying to pace himself, though he could feel the self control slipping from his grip as she hummed into his mouth. This was he shit he had been dying for, feeling her fingers slip from his hair to the back of his neck as he pulled apart to take a breath. “I’ll do whatever you want, sweetheart. Anything.” 
Back again their lips were attached. It wasn’t as gentle, no, not when she kissed him harder. He was going to give into anything she wanted. Not only because he had fucked up, but because he wanted to make her happy. He was desperate to please her, to make her feel as good as she possibly could and he wanted to be the one responsible for it. 
Their kissing escalated quickly, groaning as she easily opened her mouth for him and even more so when she sucked on his tongue, making arousal zip up his spine. He’d never expect her to kiss like this, not in the slightest. The expectation had been soft and hesitant, but she was giving him the kisses in his wet dreams. His hand found her ass, palming over it before giving a squeeze, making a moan muffle against his mouth. “Take me to your room.” She whispered against his lips. “Please, H. Just take me there. I want these off.” Fingers tugged at his shirt, trying to get it off. 
Who was he to deny her? 
He helped her toss it off before grabbing her and standing up, chuckling when she squeaked his name and scrambled to hold on to him with her arms around his neck. “Said I’d give you whatever you wanted, love.” 
The walk there was short, but it took an even shorter time to get her on his bed with her top off. She wasn’t wearing a bra, much to his surprise and delight. The fabric was tossed to the side of his bed as his pupils dilated, looking down at her topless body. Something he had been dreaming about for ages, and here she was. Sitting pretty in his sheets, hair messy and lips swollen from kissing him. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He drawled, running his hands down her sides. “So beautiful. Y’know that? Drives me fucking mad.” His fingers were greedy, crawling back up to her collarbones and back down to the curves of her breasts. “Been dying to see you.”
Y/N took his wrists, guiding his hands to cup her breasts. She was impatient and that much was obvious, but it made him amused more than anything else. His eager girl. “Touch me. Please.” Her eyes matched the pleading in her voice, making him smile. This sort of begging he’d never expected from her, not with her usual strong will and blunt demeanor but he couldn’t say he hated it. 
“I’m going to, lovely. It’s all I want to do.” He soothed, thumbing across her nipples. She arched into it, letting out a soft sound as he did so. It seemed like once the wall had cracked, it was deteriorating quickly right in front of his eyes. He’d be the one to get to see her like this now after pining for it, and he knew she would be the best. Anyone else had been filler, as cruel as it sounded. He was respectful towards them, honest about only wanting to hook up once, because he knew that no matter how hard he tried to imagine nothing would beat he real thing. 
And he’d been right. 
No one else affected him so quickly, so intensely. Watching her mouth fall open as he moved to pinch both of her nipples lightly and tug, she whimpered into the air and gave him a look he wanted to commit to memory. He wanted to see that face every time he closed his eyes. 
“My lovely girl… don’t need to beg me to touch you, because you know I will… but.” He leaned down to kiss her again. “I do like the sound of your voice while you beg for me.” 
His hands moved from her breasts regretfully, clicking his tongue to hush her whine of protest as he hooked his fingers into her lounge pants. Pulling them down, he was met with a beautiful picture- a filthy one. His eyes shot to hers, narrowing slightly. “No fucking panties either? Y/N.” He hissed between his teeth. “Are you always walkin’ around like this? Nothing on underneath?” She nodded quickly, kicking the pants off of her ankles. 
“Hate them.” The girl huffed. “So constricting. I don’t wear them when I don’t have to.” 
His eyes closed for a moment, groaning at the information. “So every time you’ve been sitting there with me, watching one of those movies… I could have slipped my hand down your shorts and felt how wet you get for me?” He questioned, looking down at her. His fingers tugged at his belt, tossing it haphazardly as his eyes stayed pinned to hers as he continued undressing. “You’re telling me…. You prance around here in those little cotton shorts, and you’re bare under them? Could have just… tugged them down and gotten to see that pretty pussy?”
“Mhm.” She grinned, liking the reaction she was getting. “Everything you said. I don’t usually wear them at home.” Her fingers dragged down her stomach, stopping at the mound right above her cunt. “Makes it easier when I want to touch myself, too. Less layers.” 
Harry took a deep breath, watching her hand as it slipped further down to cover her cunt. It was wet, there no was no hiding it. He could see it clearly, and his cock was aching to bury itself in there and let it squeeze every drop of cum from him. He tried to collect himself as he looked down at her, watching her fingers spread herself open for a moment before swirling over her clit with a whimper. 
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, a dark look on his face. “Not yet. That’s my job tonight.” He warned, falling to his knees in front of her. Clad just in his briefs, he hooked his arms under her thighs and pulled her close to him, so close that he could almost taste her. Instead, he kissed her inner thighs. Soft, sweet. Gentle in the way he had always wanted to be with her before her fucked her and made her hopefully as addicted to him as he knew he was going to be to her. “You okay with this, love? Tell me you want me to have you.” Lips pressed on the soft mound above her cunt. “Tell me I can.” 
“Please, I’m okay. I want you to have me, you can do anything you want. Just… touch me. Please, H.” Her hips tried to move up and catch his mouth, Y/N showing no sign of embarrassment as she did so. He felt a surge of pride, knowing she wanted him that badly. Her body was perfect for him, every dip and curve and scar soon to be memorized. He’d call off of work tomorrow to spend the day in bed with her, pampering and spoiling not only herself, but his innermost desires. 
“Such good manners.” He cooed, shifting her closer as he took his first lick. “Remember what I said about begging, yeah?” 
It was all bets off. Y/N could barely breathe as she felt his mouth on her. Slowly licking up her and tongue finding her clit, flicking over it and repeating the process. His hand held her lower tummy, keeping her still as he continued. Her breathing was already picking up when he felt his tongue dip into her, making her grip fall from her own thighs to his hair. “Oh my god, Harry. That-“ she couldn’t finish her sentence as he did it again, nuzzling into her without a care in the world.
It was true. He wanted his face messy and wet with her, wanted to bury himself in there and feel her stomach jump as his hand held her down. He was tasting her directly from the source. “Taste so good.” He mumbled against her. “My favorite thing to taste now. You know that?” He took another broad sweep of his tongue, looking into her eyes as he pursed his lips and spit on her clit. He smirked at the little gasp she let out, head dipping back down to spread it over her cunt as she began to move her hips to chase his tongue. “No, baby. None of that. Stay still for me.” He coaxed, pressing down harder on her stomach to pin her to the bed. 
Y/N tried, she really did. But it felt so good, so fucking amazing- and then he added his fingers into the mix. Slipping one in slowly, she let out a noise she didn’t recognize. Of course she knew this was going to feel good, but she vastly underestimated how crazy he was going to make her. “Harry please… fuck.” Truthfully? She didn’t even know what she was begging for. Her mouth fell open again and she arched her back as she felt his mouth over her clit, sucking in in messily while his finger fucked into her. It was impossible to stay still. “Harry, more. I want more, please, I’m gonna cum if you….” She lost her train of thought when he added another finger. 
The man was eating this up. Watching her as she tried to keep still for him but feeling her fingers curl in his hair and press him further against her clit, he sucked harded the more she pushed. Finding a good rhythm as his pulsing sucking had her panting, toes curling into the sheet as he continued the pleasure filled torture. He wanted to feel her cum on his tongue. 
“Cum.” He ordered. “Do it for me, precious girl. C’mon.” He finally allowed her to move, rubbing herself on his face as his fingers fucked and curled into her, his mouth latched to her puffy, swollen clit. She felt crazy, she was sure of it, writhing on the mattress as the heat crawled up her body. His eyes were directly on her, hot and dark while she felt herself fall over the edge. 
“Harry- Harry, oh my fucking god.” She couldn’t breathe, repeating his name like it was air as she fell over the edge. White hot pleasure washing over her, orgasm soaking his face as he pulled up and kissed her hard. Her body still shook as he pulled himself out of his briefs and began to push in, feeling her still orgasming pussy quivering around him. “You just- please.” Her eyes opened frantically, fingers finding his back as she pulled him in. Legs wrapped around his waist as he sunk in deeper, filling her up in ways she hadn’t felt before. 
“I know, baby. I know.” He cooed. “You feel… so good around me. Just let me in.” He cupped her face, pressing soft kisses to her mouth. “I’m going to take you all fucking night. You know that?” His voice was a deeper tone than she’d even heard him with the other girl. Feeling it directed at her only amplified the arousal. “Not going to last long, feeling you and taste you… it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Almost came just licking you out.” He told the truth. Y/N was perfect, he thinks. Exactly what he needed. 
“I want it all.” She replied, pulling his face down further to kiss him deeper. “So much. I want you to do anything to me. Just…” her legs tugged him in deeper, making them both groan. “Just fuck me, Harry. It’s me this time.” It boosted her ego to know he had been searching for her this entire time. “It’s not someone you have to pretend with. You’ve wanted me this whole time? Show me.” Her nails dragged down his back, making him shiver. “Fuck me like you own me.”
Something in that triggered something in him, something he’d been hiding all along. Kissing her hard to shut her up, he slid out of her to ram back in. Jolting her, she cried out against his lips as he did it again. Hard thrusts paired with a grind at the end, pulling out slowly only to repeat it. She’d never been fucked like this- so purposefully. “Yes- like that, H.” The girl whimpered. “Please. Use me. Have me.” 
“Yeah? You want to be mine?” He asked, wild eyes looking into her own as he pressed his forehead against hers, not caring about the stickiness of their sweat. “Do you know how long I’ve been dying to be wrapped up by your cunt? Hm?” He spoke against her lips, smiling drunkenly as she whimpered with his intent thrusts. “Since I first saw you. Wanted to drag you to your bed and fill you up. Make you cry for me. And every day since… It's been growing.” The desire for her has grown to something he hadn’t ever thought possible. It was hard to ignore. Thank god he never had to ignore it again. “Every day, I thought about pulling you into my arms and kissing you until you couldn’t breathe. You think anyone else could ever compare to you?” He shook his head to answer his own question. “No. No one. Not anyone I’ve taken home, not the girl from the other day… no one has made me feel as good as this.” 
Harry had always loved sex, but when he met Y/N and developed the attraction and then feelings for her, he’d been chasing a high that couldn’t be provided by anyone else. This, this was exactly what he needed. “Need to stay inside of you, sweet girl. Need to… fuck.” Some hair fell into his face as his thrusts sped up just slightly. It was hard to think when her walls were contracting around him, so slick and hot that it made him dizzy. “Need to cum in you and do it again… and again.” He knew she was on birth control considering he’d gone with her to get the implant. They were safe, but that didn’t stop him for perhaps wishing it wasn’t. “Just want to make you mine, my sweet fucking girl….” His head lulled forward as he looked down to watch them. 
It was a filthy sight. His bare cock pulling out, glistening with her arousal and mess. Her cunt stretching open, her lips puffy and wet just for him. He was doing this. He was filling her up, he was making her cling to him, and he was finally inside the one person he’d never thought he could have. “Look at how good we are together. Look with me, baby.” He pulled her up slightly, holding the back of her neck to let her see the filthy sight. His prick spreading her while the wet, puffy lips of her cunt as he filled her. “Touch yourself. Rub that clit for me.” 
Y/N did as requested, finding it quickly as she watched the now slower thrusts inside of her. It made her smug, really. Knowing that he was this enthralled with her. Also, the knowledge that he was losing his mind far more over her than he had the other girl. He was obsessed with her and she could visibly see it. 
“There we go.Pretty, pretty fucking girl. You’re all I want. This body, that mouth, S’all I dream about. Just want you in my bed, want to get rid of those damn rules so I can take you on every damn surface… please let me, angel. Please.” He pleaded. “No more rules. Only want you.”
“No more rules.” She nodded, finding the pleasure building back up. Her hand rubbing her already sensitive and puffy clit, watching as her arousal began to make a creamier mess on his cock, she was in awe of how perfect they looked together. “H… you’re gonna make me cum.” 
Harry smiled, a real smile that took her breath away. “Thank god. I’m trying to hold on for you, but m’so close.” He let her lay back down, leaning over her and speeding the pace back up as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. It was hard to focus on one thing when he’d been dying for this situation for a year. He had his dream girl wrapped around his cock. 
Fingers found his hair again as she arched into his mouth, mewling as he sucked over her nipple and fucked into her at a steady speed. He was hitting right where he needed to, her fingers rubbing circles on her clit. It was messy and wet and so perfect, it was hard to keep herself together. “Please.” She whined. “Please, can I cum? Let me cum, I need to. I want you in me and I want to feel your cum inside me, mark me, make me yours.” She pleaded, feeling him pull off her other nipple with a pant.
“Don’t have to hold back from me. M’gonna go right after you, just want you to feel good. Let go for me, my good girl. I’m yours, always have been. You’re already mine.” His nose brushed hers, moving her hand to take over rubbing her clit. He did it faster, a bit more pressure and that little difference with his permission was all it took for her to let go.
Harry felt it as she did. The pulsing of her cunt, the slickness growing and the way her mouth went lax, not able to kiss but only breath him in as she tumbled into the pleasure. Her legs tightened around him, nails digging into the back of his neck as her eyes fell closed, the prettiest moan vibrated against his lips. 
It pushed him right off the edge with her. Thrusts growing sloppy, he didn’t lighten up with his hand as he felt her contracting around him, sopping wet and tight for him as he felt his balls tighten and unload into her. His deep groan was loud, louder than he’d anticipated as he kissed her to try and muffle it. He could feel himself throbbing as her cunt sucked him in, greedy for it as the pulsating of her walls drew each ribbon of cum into her. She was coated, and he underestimated just how much he had as it began to spill out of her as he filled her to the brim. 
“Oh my god.” He whispered. “Fuck me, baby. You’re perfect.” It was a bit of disbelief that coated his tone. Lips fell all over her face, pressing soft pecks over her cheeks, her chin, nose, eyelids, forehead, everywhere he could get it as he tried to get his breathing back to normal. It was the hardest he’d ever came, and he still felt shaky from it as he stayed buried in her. Where he belonged. Y/N melted under the kisses, smiling wide as her eyes peeled open to look at him. Dark eyes and flushed face, messy hair she continued to drag her fingertips into. One fell from the softness, cupping his chin and pulling it back to her mouth for a proper kiss. It seemed to make him melt as well, sagging slightly on top of her despite being mindful of his weight on her body. 
Harry knew this was the start of something much bigger than either of them could have anticipated- and it all started because of his silly mistake. He’d finally gotten the one he wanted. No more pretending with anyone else. He had the real thing at home. 
Y/N nudged his nose with hers, feeling so many things her head felt overwhelmed. But the most important question had to be asked. “So. When can we do it again?”
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velvetballaspark · 2 months
Text
Elevator Meet-Cute
non-AU!Harry x Assistant at Columbia Records!Y/N
Summary: Y/N works at Columbia Records for one of the top executives. The one and only Harry Styles makes a "surprise" drop-by visit to their office. After making an awful joke in the elevator with him, she finds out she's about to accompany her boss in the meeting he's there for.
WC: 4.7k
CW: mentions of blushing, silly goofy
A/N: um... hi. this is my first post ever. possibly my only. please be nice, i'm a nervous nellie 🥺 special shoutout to @cherryjuiceblues for being my editor and my biggest supporter by reading all my silly goofy writings, listening to my non-sensical and perpetual worrying, helping to build my confidence, and finally, encouraging me to post.
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Working for the music industry has been a whirlwind to put it mildly. But working directly for Jenifer at Columbia Records was totally unexpected. And even though she’s just working as her assistant, watching someone as powerful as Jenifer maintain a high level executive position—whilst managing the distribution of new music from some of the greatest musicians of their time—has been life changing for Y/N.
Most days start the same. She picks up Jenifer’s favorite coffee on her way into the office—a building purposefully kept off the grid so large talents could visit and nobody would suspect the business going on inside. It helped keep new releases a surprise. A two floor, sandstone-colored building that even looked a little run down from the outside. Inside, however, it’s remodeled and decorated to the nines. Koi ponds, a skylight, a barista joint (enter: Jenifer’s favorite coffee), plush couches and expensive art. The works.
While standing in line for her daily coffee pickup, she notices a bit of commotion from the corner of her eye, causing her to look up at the flurry of people walking through the main lobby. In the middle of this tiny crowd of people, she spots a man. He’s dressed in joggers that are tucked into his socks, a pair of trainers, and a hoodie on top. Peeking out through the hoodie, milk chocolate curly hair was tufted into a little claw clip. Even with sunglasses on his face, it was hard to miss who it was. 
But no one had told Y/N that Harry Styles was visiting that day. Normally everyone is in a tizzy the day, or sometimes even for the whole week, before someone high profile is expected to swing by the office, so this had to have been a surprise, drop-by kind of visit, right?
Y/N quickly tips the barista and hurries into the elevator with a coffee in hand for her boss, just knowing Jenifer was likely already pulling her hair out if she’d only gotten word this morning that Harry Styles was in the building—or worse, still didn’t know. She jabs the button to the second floor and just as the doors are closing, the man himself slides through and joins her in the tiny traveling metal box.
An intense wave of nerves washes over her in his presence. It feels like every hair on her body is standing up in his presence. Just the air he carried with him was intimidating, but not in an inherently bad way. The scent of his cologne and fresh laundry fill the elevator. His sunglasses are now pushed up into his hair, resting in front of the endearing claw clip he’d chosen to tame his handsomely tousled curls. She wants to spend more time looking at him—she wants to see the minute details of his face, but she knows it’s rude to stare. She’s trying to keep calm, trying to avoid indicating she knew who he was, but her body language is subconscious of course. She stiffens, holding her breath. 
But it’s a different kind of nervousness than what she normally experiences with a VIP client visit. That kind of nervousness usually comes with thoughts of wanting to make sure they’re pleased, making sure everything is ready and prepared for them, making sure they have the client’s favorite brand of water in stock and refrigerated, making sure she doesn’t spill something on them, or step on their feet, or accidentally steal their pen. Normal nerves. Wanting to make sure the client is happy. 
None of the clients she’d met before had ever made her feel like there was electricity floating through the air. Like she needed to squeeze her thighs and arms tightly against her body, turning herself into the shape of an uncooked spaghetti noodle, being careful not to brush against him in what seems like a much smaller space than it did yesterday—for fear of a chemical reaction; like if they touched it would be the equivalent of striking a match. The back of her knees and her hands are already clammy, trembling in a feeling of self-consciousness—of her movements, of what she’s wearing, of what he thinks of her (which is nothing at this point, she obviously knows this, but still). 
She knew he was attractive but fuck, this is something else entirely. These are not normal nerves. These nerves are the kind she gets on a first date, not riding on an elevator with a client.
And true to character, Y/N usually says stupid shit when she’s overly nervous. In this instance, she pawns out a terrible joke.
“What floor?” She gestures to the panel, hoping her trembling hand goes unnoticed.
There’s only two floors. They are both on the first, and she’s already pushed the button to the second floor. There’s literally no other option. 
So… Yeah. It was a terrible joke! But Y/N had always thought it’d be funny to do that to someone. Confuse them for a minute. Her dumbass just happened to choose Harry Styles to try it out on.
The man beside her opens his mouth as if to speak, then cocks his head in momentary confusion, then promptly closes his mouth, his lips twitching in amusement as he realized she was fucking with him.
With a soft jilt, the elevator starts to move upwards. Y/N’s gaze falls to the floor but she can still feel his eyes linger on her profile for a few more seconds. She rolls her lips into her mouth in a pitiful attempt to curb her smile, her face burning from the flush in her cheeks at her own ridiculousness. 
Fortunately—and she guesses, unfortunately as well—there’s only two floors, as previously discussed, and therefore it’s only seconds later when the elevator bings as the doors slide open to reveal the second floor. In her peripheral vision, she sees the man’s arm lift upwards, gesturing towards her in a “ladies first” sort of motion.
Considering her first fumble, she figures she might as well lean into it.
“This is my floor,” she peeks up at the man through her lashes to briefly meet the man’s gaze, jutting a thumb out towards the opening of the elevator doors. The man has a small smirk on his face already, but at her words, the corner of his mouth buckles, a dimple beginning to dip into his left cheek.
Again, she knew it was dumb, but something about this man seemed to make her do stupid things already. She waves a small goodbye and scurries out, as if the man in the elevator wouldn’t be exiting off onto the same floor right after her. As if the man could somehow possibly be going to a floor higher up.
She scampers down the hallway towards Jenifer’s office, not looking back to see if Harry had gone in the same direction as her, knocking twice quietly, and then enters.
She closes the door behind her with a gust, pressing her back up against it, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a large sigh exhale from her body. The electric charge in the air she’d felt had finally ceased now that she was out of his presence.
“Y/N?” Jenifer asks, startling Y/N in her spot. Her eyes fly open to find Jenifer staring at her assistant warily. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she chirps out nervously, the tone of her voice very much indicative of the anxiety she feels. “Did, um, did anyone tell you about who’s here today?” 
She winces as she asks the question, keeping one eye open to watch her boss’s facial expression. She really hopes she isn’t going to be the one delivering the news to her.
“Yes…”
“So, you know that Harry Styles is here then, yes?” 
Y/N holds her breath while she waits for an answer.
“Yes…” Her boss echoes in the same apprehensive tone, continuing to stare at Y/N, perplexed at her assistant’s flustered state.
“Wait, then why didn’t anyone tell me?” Y/N asks, eyebrows furrowing accompanied by a miniscule shake of her head, suddenly feeling annoyed nobody had given her a heads up.
“Only executives were told. Information spreads fast and with someone who has that high of a publicity profile, it was very hush hush even on an executive level. There’s a few people who we really have to protect their privacy if fans and paparazzi follow their every move, anywhere they go. He’s one of them.”
Y/N grumbles. She guesses that makes sense, but still, a little warning would’ve been nice? Maybe a text? An email? A raven? An owl? Literally anything? Attire is always business professional but she would’ve done… something—she’s not sure what—to at least make herself look slightly more… dressed up. She smoothes down her shirt.
“Y/N, why do you look so flustered? Did something happen?”
Y/N’s eyes squeeze shut again, a tiny groan escaping her mouth, then she opens her eyes once more, mustering everything she has to present a calm, cool, and collected facade.
“No. Everything’s fine. I was just a little… surprised, I guess.” A half-truth.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me? We’re meeting with him in 10 minutes so spit it out quickly if so.”
We?
Y/N nearly chokes on her spit—the irony of her boss’s words spit it out entirely lost on her—but tries to cover it up by clearing her throat. She knows Jenifer isn’t buying it. “S-sorry, sorry—did you say ‘w-we’?”
“Yes, I need you taking notes during the meeting as I want to give Mr. Styles my full attention. He called for this meeting but wouldn’t say what it was about, so we have to assume it’s important,” Jenifer says calmly as she walks over to take her coffee from Y/N’s hands, who’s still pressed against the door of her office. “So, are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me before we go in there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She considered it. She really did consider just telling her boss up front about her terrible joke and the awkward encounter. But instead all she says is—
“Nope. All good. I’ll be ready in 9 minutes. West conference room?”
“Yes, thank you, Y/N,” Jenifer responds, eyeing her assistant warily once more with one eyebrow raised, wondering what could possibly have her assistant in such a tizzy.
Harry and his team are already seated in the conference room when Jenifer and Y/N enter through the doors. Y/N tip-toes behind Jenifer, knowing it’s inevitable that he’ll recognize her, but maybe Jenifer wouldn’t introduce her and they’ll all pretend like she wasn’t even in there!
It was fun to wish, anyway.
“Mr. Styles, we’re so happy to have you here. I trust your trip here was pleasant?” Jenifer kicks everything off with, extending a hand to shake. Harry stands up to return her handshake, and his team follows his lead.
“It was, thank you. And thank you f’seein’ me last minute,'' he responds. His voice is so deep—it makes Y/N shiver. She hadn’t expected it to be that deep.
She watches him from behind Jenifer’s shoulder, that is, until Jenifer steps to the side and reveals Y/N’s frame, much to her dismay. “It’s no problem at all. That’s what we’re here for after all. This is my assistant, Y/N Y/L/N. She’ll be taking notes during the meeting. Are you comfortable discussing business with her in the room? She’s signed an NDA so I can assure you that anything shared in this room will not be shared.”
Harry’s eyes lock with Y/N’s. She hadn’t looked directly into them in the elevator and she thinks she should’ve, so she could’ve better prepared herself. The color is that of a glowing mossy green pond, and the intensity of his gaze forces her to take in a sharp breath and hold it. His lips are curled into a knowing smile, and there’s a playful sparkling glint in his eyes. She can feel the heat rising in her neck.
“Sure,” he responds, his tone dripping with humor. He definitely recognizes her. He definitely remembers. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he follows with, keeping up with formal etiquette, but his tone indicates there’s some kind of inside joke. Y/N nods her head in acknowledgement as he puts his hands back in the front pocket of his hoodie. 
“Likewise,” she murmurs quietly, much more shyly than she would’ve liked to. She can feel Jenifer’s gaze on her before her boss lets out an uncomfortable, nervous sounding chuckle. The tension could be cut with a knife.
As they all sit back down, Y/N’s gaze never leaves his, and vice versa. But right before they break eye contact, he shoots her a wink and he watches as Y/N’s cheeks flush a dark, flustered pink.
Harry maintains an air of professionalism and focus throughout the meeting. Y/N is able to spend the majority of the meeting with her eyes on paper as she scribbles notes, for both Jenifer and Harry’s team. But there’s a few moments that Harry does manage to catch the eyes of Y/N, when she’s admiring him, thinking he’s too preoccupied with the current conversation, but his eyes flick to hers the moment she is, as if he could’ve felt her eyes on him even if he had been faced the other way. He gives her an intimidating but teasing look of You’re not slick. I. See. You.
It’s a game of tag and the conference room is their playground. First, he’ll catch her eyes on him. Then, she’ll catch his on her. Though, she thinks she mostly catches him not because she felt his eyes on her, but because she was trying to catch a glimpse of him and his eyes had already been on her. Each time their gazes lock, Y/N’s hand stutters on her page. It’s hard to focus.
Even though he’d been professional and focused, clearly driven and knowing of what he wants, his vision for his next record, he’d also been profoundly easygoing—so mellow and relaxed—and there was something comforting, soothing even, about being in his presence despite how intimidated she felt around him. He was also funny, and cheeky, and multiple times found playful ways to tease his entire team resulting in everyone letting out a few chuckles. There was an obvious fondness, a protectiveness, for the people he worked with. They weren’t just people who worked for him; they were friends—maybe even family to him.
So, the rumors were true. People gravitated towards him, physically and emotionally, when he spoke. His slow, deep British drawl was enough to soothe and entrance anyone who let their guard down for a moment's notice. He was charming. Charming is an understatement. He was enigmatic. Beguiling.
At the meeting’s end, everyone stands up and Jenifer reaches out to shake Harry’s hand once more. 
Y/N can’t deny that she’s a little disappointed when Harry finally departs the conference room, leaving her and Jenifer standing on one side of the table. Jenifer’s face has a picture perfect smile pasted on it until the second the door closes behind them, to which Jenifer whips her head to face Y/N with an accusing glare.
“Please tell me you’ve not hooked up with him,” she deadpans.
“What?!” Y/N’s voice reaches a new octave in response. She tries not to shriek, but Jenifer’s assumption is just so ludicrous. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear you two know each other. And there’s a strict no fraternizing with clients clause in your contract. I don’t care how cute or good in bed he is,” she says, giving Y/N another pointed stare. Y/N’s eye bulge, the heat creeping back into her cheeks at the mention of him being good in bed.
“Jenifer, I can assure you. I just met him today. I’d never spoken to him before in my life until today." 
“Promise me. Swear on your life. Because if it’s a lie, I will find out. I love having you as my assistant, but you know I wouldn’t be able to keep you. But if you tell me now, there's still hope yet—because if it’s something that happened before you started working here then we can disclose it to HR and get it all squared away,” Jenifer says, her features finally relaxing like she’d been dreading having to give her little spiel. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever seen that side of Jenifer before. It was actually kind of scary, to be quite honest.
“I promise. Swear on my life.”
“Then what was that all about then?” Jenifer asks, seeming to relax back into her normal demeanor, a hint of amusement tinting her expression now. Actually, it’s even friendlier than usual. Y/N thinks she’d have normally dropped the topic after that. The rapid change of mood is a bit of a whiplash for her.
Trying to think of an answer for Jenifer, Y/N’s face flushes at the memory of—
“There! That’s what I am talking about,” Jenifer exclaims with a snap of her fingers and a point of her finger at Y/N, and Y/N’s eyes widen, startled and confused. “You’ve been a nearly tickled-pink color the entire time. Are you just attracted to him or a big fan or what?”
“Jenifer, that’s a little personal…” Y/N responds, trying to sound chiding and shocked at her boss’s forwardness, but it only comes out sounding shy and pouty—bashful. “But um, no, none of those things—I mean, wait—okay, I can’t say—I guess I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little attracted… I mean, you saw him, right? But that—that’s beside the point. That’s not what I… What I… Shit. Um, what was the question?” Y/N asks, blinking rapidly in succession, dizzied by her own words.
But Jenifer only giggles in response. Giggles. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever heard her boss giggle. Much less at her.
“What in god’s name has you so flustered, Y/N? Did he… Hit on you… Maybe?” Jenifer asks, treading lightly with the question and peering at her with curiosity.
“Hit on me? Oh, god, no—no. Me? Ha! That’s, um… that’s funny. No, uh, I… He just makes me nervous, I guess, and um, so,” she sighs before continuing, finally caving to her boss’s curiosity. “We rode on the elevator together this morning, and I made a really, dumb embarrassing joke,” Y/N finally admits with a sheepish look on her face, recalling the incident internally. “And then I… Well, I made another bad joke. Just to… Just to really solidify that hole I’d dug myself into, you know?” Y/N’s tone drips in a defeated-sounding satire before she continues.
 “Gotta… Gotta make a good impression! Well, maybe not—maybe not good impression… But not bad either! If It was bad I would’ve told you beforehand, of course. Just… indifferent. More just, um, embarrassing, a little. But it was only in front of him! Not his team or anything... Not that that makes it any better, necessarily, since he’s the client… It’s just…” Y/N sighs again, seemingly swept away in a cyclone of erratic thoughts. Jenifer watches in stunned amusement. “Anyway, it wasn't inappropriate by any means though—the jokes. I just—I, well—it was just like, a dumb joke. You know? Like a bad joke. So he was probably just—maybe feeling bad for me, or maybe he was amused at the attempt. Anyway. Um. I’ll get these notes typed up for you and send them over,” Y/N finally finishes her clusterfuck ramble of an explanation, making way to exit the conference room. 
“I’ve never seen you so tongue-tied, Y/N,” Jenifer responds following behind, soft amusement lacing the tone of her words. Y/N opens the door and continues to talk as she walks.
“Yeah, well, nervous, like I said—oh!” Y/N startles, cutoff mid-sentence after nearly slamming into a body.
The body of the person they were talking about.
“Mr. Styles! I didn’t know you were still here. Did you forget something?” Jenifer asks, switching back into her professional demeanor automatically.
Y/N can feel the burn intensify on her face, her frame frozen just inches in front of Harry with Jenifer right behind her, sandwiched between the both of them. It’s a little close for comfort on either end.
“Oh, I was actually hopin’ t’speak with Y/N about somethin’ in the notes from the meeting,” Harry responded with an ease that conflictingly encouraged her to feel calm even though she was feeling anything but calm. She’d barely recovered, now flustered by the interaction she just shared with her boss. 
Her heart hammered in her chest, feeling like a fly caught in a spider’s web, but the way her name sounded on his lips was divine. She’d never loved the sound of her name before. Not until it was wrapped around his cushiony lips. 
He holds eye contact with Jenifer for a majority of the statement, but glances down to look at Y/N for the briefest second when he says her name, only to find Y/N already watching him from beneath her lashes—eyes wide and curious with blown out pupils, her mouth slightly agape and leaving just enough space to slip a key through it—at the man standing before her. That same little smirk is curled at the corner of the left side of his mouth, the ghost of a dimple playing at his cheek as amusement dances in his staggeringly green eyes. 
Y/N feels herself curl up her shoulders shyly in her Jenifer-Harry sandwich, wondering if he really does have something to say about the notes or if he actually has something to say about her dumbass remarks from earlier. On the bright side, at least he wasn’t asking to speak to Jenifer in private instead. Surely he’d be making a complaint about her if that was the case.
“Oh,” Jenifer says, and Y/N can hear the way her voice is surprised-but-not-surprised simultaneously, with a lingering curiosity—a questioning in her tone heard perhaps by Y/N only. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. Y/N, please swing by my office after you’re done.”
Jenifer breezes past Y/N and Harry, the sound of her heels thunking on the carpet of the long hallway. Y/N’s finally able to take a step back so she’s not breathing in his face when she brings her head up to look at him.
When she does, she sees the dazzlingly pretty man up close in person for the very first time—a vision she will not soon forget; stubble on his face and the planes of it bordered with lines so sharp they rival the crisp cut of a piece of cardstock. The color of his eyes is a whimsical, woodland kind of green, flecks of gold sprinkled throughout, and his fluffy chestnut curls are still held back in that frustratingly adorable claw clip, little wisps escaping on the sides of his head to caress and hug the shells of his ears.
Truth be told, she’d actually been a fan of One Direction back in the day. She’d always found him the most attractive out of the other boys in the group. She also loved his voice the most, easily identifiable on their tracks. But life goes on, and Y/N’s music tastes expanded and spanned across many genres and artists, and then One Direction broke up. It wasn’t until working at Capitol Records that she’d gotten herself up to date with all their biggest clients, including Harry Styles as a solo artist. 
She’d been impressed with his last three records, and enjoyed his new solo music thoroughly in her research. But life had just been so hectic, that she really hadn’t spent much time following social media or keeping up with trends or what was happening—celebrity news was different from music industry news. She’d had no time to care about who was dating who, if so-and-so broke up with so-and-so. But she knew she’d recognize him if she saw him, however she hadn’t spent much time paying attention to the details of his face and how he looked these days. 
But now that she’s standing in front of him, allowing herself to look at him for longer than a second unlike she’d done in the meeting or in the elevator, she’s at a loss for words. He’s just so… Handsome. She can’t find a physical flaw. Too gorgeous for his own good, honestly. 
He’d aged and matured like a fine wine. A delicacy for luxurious tongues.
Opening her notebook, she stutters through her words. “Um, s-so, what did yo-you need to add t-to the notes?” She clicks her pen, readying to make an adjustment on the pages, then peeks up at him through her nervously fluttering lashes.
When she sees him, she sees that he’s already smiling at her, dimples dipping into both sides of his cheeks. It’s a sweet, sincere kind of smile—the kind of smile you give when you’re standing in front of a shy child you’re trying to say hello to for the first time.
There’s a moment where he doesn’t say anything, and Y/N thinks she might burst. Luckily, she’s out of awful jokes right now, mind blank in exhaust from the day already.
“Knock knock,” is all Harry says in response, ignoring her question altogether.
Y/N blinks owlishly at the man. She knows what she’s supposed to say, in theory, but also… what the fuck is going on?
“Er…” He looks like he’s stifling laughter as he waits for her answer. “Who’s… there?”
“Hula,” Harry says, waiting for her again.
Okay, this was definitely going down in her book as one of the weirdest conversations she’d ever had with a famous musician.
“Hula… Who?”
Harry pops a p sound, and it takes a moment for it to click before Y/N absolutely cannot not stop the giggle that bubbles up out of her.
And then she’s giggling like a madwoman. It’s a delirious sounding giggle and she just can’t contain herself. She reaches her hand up, covering her mouth as more giggles spew out of her.
It’s the result of all the tension she’d felt since that silly little moment in the elevator. It’s the result of the anxiety she felt when she worried that her boss wasn’t aware that Harry Styles was in the building today. It’s the result of the nerves she felt when she realized she was about to go into an important meeting with him right after making a terrible joke and then running away from him. It’s the result of her squeezing her thighs tightly throughout the hour and a half meeting she sat in with him, as she admired and listened to the way he captivated and charmed everyone in his presence. It’s the result of the tension she felt when Jenifer assumed they’d hooked up, which was an outlandish accusation in itself, before telling her that she could possibly lose her job over it. It’s the result of nearly slamming into Harry on her way out of the conference room whilst talking about how nervous he made her. It’s the result of Harry asking to speak to Y/N privately after she’d nearly slammed into him. It’s the result of Harry making a knock knock joke at the end of all of that.
“What is even happening?” She coos out giddily through her giggling, holding her stomach with her other hand because the muscles were aching from the spontaneous workout induced by her giggle fit, and then she hears Harry sputter out a laugh in response.
“I thought we were jus’ exchanging terrible jokes,” he says, looking exceedingly proud of himself, like he’d maybe spent the whole meeting coming up with that joke and that having made her laugh with it was the best thing he’d ever done. 
She gasps, feigning offense through her continued giggles.
“See you next time?” Harry asks, his smiley face watching the girl in front of him become unraveled, her entire face pinking again for what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d met her.
“Next time,” Y/N parrots, as she tapers down her giggles and pulls herself together, giving him one last look before walking past him towards Jenifer’s office.
Harry listens while she quietly giggles to herself as she gets farther down the hall, already thinking of reasons he could come back to visit her.
1K notes · View notes
1800titz · 2 months
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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.
CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse
WC: 7.5K (whoops)
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There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 
In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 
There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 
There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 
There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 
There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 
This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 
Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 
There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 
They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 
That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 
They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 
She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 
Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 
By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.
She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 
Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 
A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 
The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 
“Easy.” 
She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.
Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 
He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 
When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 
“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 
And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 
“Hey, you.” 
Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 
When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 
“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 
His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 
“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 
Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 
Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 
That’s dangerous. 
She’s glad he isn’t. 
The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…
“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 
Her breath stutters. 
“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”
Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”
Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 
Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 
“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 
He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 
Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 
“Would you like that?” 
And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 
“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.
She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 
But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 
“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 
“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 
“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 
Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 
The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 
The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 
Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  
Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 
Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 
“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 
And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 
“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”
The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 
His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 
Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 
“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.
Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 
It’s not. 
It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.  
It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 
“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 
Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 
He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 
Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.
“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 
It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 
Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 
“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 
Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.
“Good girl.” 
The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.
“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 
And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.
“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 
The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 
“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 
It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  
And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 
Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 
“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“
And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.
And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 
“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 
Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 
“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”
Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 
Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 
The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 
“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 
He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 
“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.
A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 
A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 
Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 
The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 
There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 
“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 
The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 
Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.
Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 
And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 
“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  
Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  
Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 
In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 
“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 
It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.
“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 
Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 
There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 
He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 
Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 
“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 
Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 
Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 
“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.
“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 
She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 
“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 
Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 
“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 
“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”
He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 
The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 
“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”
Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 
“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”
Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.
“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 
He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.
He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 
But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.
Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 
Just friends that fuck.
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wrongplacerighttime · 15 days
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fratboy!harry x you
hi hi! its been awhile. finally finished this after 3834273 weeks it feels like. its also my first reader fic so....hope you like it HAHAHA.... :)
the one where your friends introduce you to Harry, you go on a trip and things get interesting. featuring a lake house, hiking, and a cherry sucker.
wc: 5.8k
tw: smut 18+, spanking, choking, light dom!harry dynamic, brief clit slapping, brief face slapping, lil bit of cum play, size kink, breeding kink if you squint. idk if i missed anything but as always let me know if i did :)
cherry sucker
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Finding solace in the chirping birds and chattering on the street that could be heard from your open window, you stood in front of your closet, clad in a little white tank and baby blue undies, preparing your bag for a camping trip you and your friends had planned. Spring semester has concluded and this trip will commemorate the start of summer vacation. You daydream about the sun glistening off the ripples of the lake water, the smell of the grass wafting in the wind as the sun warms the earth while you pack your bag. 
While you were excited for summer, you wanted to get a head start on your reading for fall semester. You had a textbook or two in the bottom of your bag—poli sci books, because you had heard the professor was relentless with his lesson plan and you wanted to go in with no surprises. You hear the faintest footsteps down stairs, growing louder the closer they drew up the stairs. Your door swings open and Faye strides through, red hair flowing behind her at the pace she was walking. She comes up behind you, smacking your ass making you yelp. 
“Faye!” You squeal, clutching the cheek that was now turning red with your best friend's hand print. 
“I’m so envious of your ass, I just had to.” She falls backwards on your bed, arms sprawling beside her. “It’s just so tempting.” She giggles and you turn back to your closet.
“I’m so glad we actually have time to see each other now that classes are over. School’s been so busy I feel like all I’ve done is sleep and go to class.” 
“Is that why you have a fucking textbook in your bag?” Faye raises her eyebrow at your duffle and picks one up. “Russian socioeconomic structure? What even is this?” 
“It’s for Professor Sykes. I’ve heard he's brutal and I want to be prepared.” 
“You are not bringing this. You have a whole summer ahead of you to study.” Faye scoffs, pausing for a moment. “If you bring this book on this trip I’ll throw it in the lake myself.” 
“Then you’ll owe me $200. Besides, what if I get bored?” You cross your arms over your chest and Faye looks at you like you’ve grown another head. 
“There’s a lake! A lake!” She throws her hands up in the air, laughing at your determination. You bend down, opening your drawer and pulling out a skimpy yellow bikini to throw in your bag. “By the way, Josh is bringing a friend. His name’s Harry…Styles I think. Do you know him?” You shake your head. 
“Know of him, don’t know him though.” 
“Oh. Well he’s single…and kind of hot.” Faye giggles and you shake her head again.
“No thanks. I’m not really into the dating scene right now.” 
“No one said anything about dating. Just maybe for a little…fun.” This time, it’s your turn to look at Faye like she’s the one who’s grown another head. “Fine. If you don’t want to…maybe he’ll be our third.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you widen your eyes in horror at her suggestion of asking Harry to join her and her boyfriend in their sexual endeavors. 
Before you can get another thought in, heavy footsteps clamber up the stairs and it’s Josh, Harry in tow with a backpack slung over his shoulder and suddenly your room feels very small. Josh flicks his eyes to you, smiling and sitting next to Faye on your bed. 
“Pauly and Alex are on their way. We’re putting all the shit in their car and you guys are gonna ride with us.” He says, gesturing his finger between the two of you and you nod. The window open brings a warm breeze into the room, blowing your sketchbook pages until it lands on one with a drawing of a man. 
Not just any man…it was your ex. Your eyes flick to everyone and you rush over to shut it before anyone can catch it. It was an old drawing, and a hobby you hadn’t picked back up since things ended and you really didn’t feel like rehashing the breakup with Faye. Faye wasn’t the biggest fan of him, and for good reason after he cheated on you with the TA in one of his classes last semester. 
Harry stands in the doorway, chewing gum between his molars, his jaw flexing and glances around your room—the bedroom of a girl whom he’d never met, and it felt very personal…like he was getting a peak into who you were as a person. An overflowing bookshelf, handmade drawings stuck to a corkboard on the wall over the desk. Faye and Josh were talking in hushed whispers and he tilted his head to the side as he had the perfect view of your ass as you were turned around and facing your desk. He smirks at the red hand mark left there, and he could feel his cock twitching in his pants at the thoughts running through his head. He drops his gaze as you turn back around to walk towards your closet again. His eyes meet yours and you smile, a greeting showing you were just being nice, and he wonders if you always walk around half dressed in front of strangers. He clears his throat.
“Sykes next semester?” He asks, voice with a hint of an accent you weren’t expecting and you nod. 
“How’d you know?” He gestures his elbow towards your bag, the textbook on top of your clothes and your mouth forms and “O” and you nod.
“He teaches that entire fucking book every year. It’s such a snooze fest.” He pauses. “Do you like Russian literature?” You nod again, gesturing to your bookshelf filled with classics and fantasy and romance. You had a few authors on the shelf, but not as many as you would like. He brings his backpack around to his side, unzipping and reaching in. He pulls out a tattered book, crinkles in the cover and the corners turning up, all characteristics of a well loved piece and hands it to you. “Read this instead. A lot more interesting.” He smirks and your gaze drops to the words on the cover. A collection of poems by Anna Akhmatova. In the short conversation you were having you didn’t realize that you had been left alone with him. He smiles, a sly grin spreading on his lips almost like he knew he was about to be a menace. 
“By the way, blue looks good on you.” He flicks his gaze down before meeting your eyes again. You feel your cheeks burning instantly as he walks out the door laughing to himself as he stumbles his way down the stairs, leaving you to finish packing alone.
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The car ride to the cabin had everyone buzzing with anticipation. Faye had called shotgun, and you and Harry shared a look when she did. He smirked and you looked away and quickly climbed into the backseat. The entire ride you were consumed with a nervous energy that you couldn’t quite place. Harry had his hand splayed out on the seat beside you and when he leaned forward to talk to Josh, the tip of his pinky barely brushed your skin and you tried not to think about it too hard for the rest of the ride over.
It took no time for you to clamber out of the car and claim your room inside for the weekend. Tossing your bag onto the floor by the door, you flopped down on the fluffy mattress holding the book Harry lent you to your chest. You were fiddling with the cover when Faye waltzed in and leaned against the foot of the bed. 
“Get up. We’re going on a hike.” She said giddy with excitement and you cocked your eyebrow at her. 
“Think I’ll pass.” 
“Not an option. Everyone else is going.” She crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe. 
“I didn’t bring shoes for a hike.” You half laugh at her with a shake of your head and she narrows her eyes. 
“You can wear a pair of mine. Let’s go.” Faye gestures and you groan, tossing the book back onto the bed with a soft thud against the duvet. You pad down the hallway after her, slumped over feigning protest like a toddler and she hands you a pair of her sneakers once you reach her room. Slipping them on, you plait your hair behind your head quickly and messily as you find your way to the foyer where everyone is gathered and waiting to leave. None of them look thrilled either as they follow Faye out the door to the path behind the house.
The June sun was high in the sky and the only reprieve you were able to get from the heat was the occasional shade of the trees along the path. You and Harry had fallen behind, the rest of the group up ahead and through heavy breaths you would sneak glances from the corner of your eye as the sun glistened off the light sheen of sweat coating his shoulders and his chest. He had popped a cherry sucker in his mouth not long ago and you watched as he moved it from one cheek to the other with his tongue and caught your mind wandering to what his tongue might feel like running along the expanse of your skin. You walk in silence, hands brushing slightly from the uneven terrain and you want to apologize for repeatedly bumping him but you don’t. 
“Does she always make you do shit like this?” He huffs from behind you, stepping over a fallen limb.
“Unfortunately.” You grumble back, trying not to roll your ankle stepping over rocks bigger than the palm of your hand. 
Even though this hike was the last thing Harry wanted to be doing, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed your company, though little conversation had been exchanged since the moment in your room. His eyes trailed over your body, noticing the bead of sweat rolling down your chest and his tongue darts out over his lips, wanting nothing more than to trail his tongue down the same path. He watched the way your thighs flexed as you stepped over limbs and branches and he thought about them wrapped around his waist, driving into you over and over while your fingers leave marks over his torso. He pulls his shirt over his head, unable to take the heat of the afternoon any longer and he tucks it into the waistband of his shorts. He’s noticed you watching him too, stealing glances out of the corner of your eye and biting your teeth into the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip. He’s convinced that he could do anything and you’d melt into the palm of his hand, so desperate to please him and be good for him. He smirks to himself as you divert your eyes ahead, away from his now bare torso and towards the ground. 
He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick ahead, and you don’t know that he’s judging how long it would take for your friends to notice if he pulled you out of sight for a moment.  He decides it’s worth the risk, lightly grabbing your arm and pulling you behind a nearby tree. You feel the bark against your back as he cages your head between his arms and you look up at him with wide eyes. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart against your ribcage at his close proximity. 
So close you can smell the cherry on his breath, hear the faint sound as the confection clatters against his teeth. Your eyes focus on the white stick poking from between his lips and he watches you. His hands dig into the roughness of the oak and his chest pressed against yours. Suddenly the heat of the afternoon feels suffocating. He brings his own hand to his mouth, plucking the stick from between his teeth and the sticky residue touches your lips. Upon instinct, your tongue darts out to collect, catching the sweetness and savoring it for a moment. 
“Open.” His voice is low and gravelly, and for some reason you find yourself obeying his command before you can even think too hard about it. Your lips part and you stick out your tongue in anticipation, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you and he hums. “Can y’hold this for me, puppy?” 
A heat swirls in your core, and without noticing your thighs clench together and a whine escapes your throat as you nod. Harry places the sweet candy on your tongue and your lips wrap around the stick slick from his own salivation. “Good girl.” He mutters, stepping away and creating space between the two of you. You snap out of the trance you seemingly had fallen into and scurry away, catching up to your friends and leaving him laughing behind you. 
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Nightfall comes before you have a chance to think about it. You had taken a quick nap after you returned from the hike and it was much needed, considering your mind was going haywire and you just needed a break from your thoughts drifting to Harry. It was quiet out here, you and Harry the only ones left sitting next to the fire Josh and Pauly had started a couple of hours ago. You were huddled up under a blanket, the air blowing off the lake making it feel colder than it actually was. Frogs were humming by the water and the crickets were chirping in the grass, the sounds of nature around you made you feel calm. You had the book Harry had loaned you resting against your thigh as you read the prose on the weathered pages. Harry had his head leaned back, fingers weaved together on his chest with his eyes closed. Occasionally you would peek over at him and he seemed tranquil. You weren’t sure why he was still here with you, but maybe he was just enjoying the fire like you were. You had purposely avoided him after the incident on the hike, the memory still causing an arousal to pool beneath the denim of your shorts and you tried like hell to push it from your mind.
“Let’s swim.” He states, pulling you from your thoughts. You raised your brow at him, a quizzical look. 
“I’ll pass.” You blow out a laugh and he turns his head towards you then. 
“Why? Faye and Josh are off somewhere, probably fucking, and Pauly and Alex are doing bong rips inside. Not really a fan of that…they're incessantly annoying when they’re high. So let’s go swim.” He says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as if it was the most sound choice of activity for this time of night.
“It’s cold, and I’m actually enjoying this book of poems you lent me.” You tell him, and because you’re not looking at him at that second you don’t see the way the corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile. 
“Anna Akhmatova is interesting. But you have all weekend to read it.” He turns to face you then, you catch the movement out of your peripheral.
“I also have all weekend to swim.” You tease him. He’s silent for a moment and you turn the page to read the next poem. He shifts in his seat. 
“Alright. I didn’t want it to have to come to this…” He says, sighing. He stands, making his way over to you. Before you can process what he’s doing, he snatches the book and throws it onto a neighboring chair. In one swift movement, he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks towards the dock. You thrash and kick but it’s no use, not when he’s stronger than you’ll ever be. 
“Harry! Put me down!” You exclaim, laughing in the process and you feel his chest against your thighs. He doesn’t respond. “Okay! I surrender. I’ll swim with you. Please just don’t throw me in.” You try to reason with him and he stops, pausing his movements and taking in your words. He plants your feet on the weathered wood, and you look up at him with narrowed eyes as he smiles down at you, a crooked grin that had your knees feeling weak. “That wasn’t funny. I don’t have a swim suit on either.” 
“I guess that gives us a perfect excuse to go skinny dipping then.” He states as if there’s nothing wrong with that scenario. 
“Respectfully, no. I’ll swim in my clothes.” You counter back.
“Sweet girl, it’s nothing you or I haven’t seen before. Be mature.” He teases and you want to laugh, but you cross your arms over your chest, instinctively making yourself smaller. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts before looking back at you, noticing your hesitation and he stops. “We really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He puts his hands on your arms, and you shake your head, looking out at the ripples on the surface lit by the moon. 
“No it’s—I’m not—it’s fine. I want to. I just haven’t really taken my clothes off in front of a guy in—since…” You pause, collecting your thoughts before looking up at him. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I’m being this way. I think I’m just nervous.” 
“You don’t have to feel that way around me. Promise.” He smiles and turns back around, pushing his shorts down so you have a view of his bare ass. Your cheeks redden as you avert your gaze elsewhere, and he jumps into the water with a splash. You can’t see him, not until he pokes his head back up and shakes the water from his hair. “It feels great.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to. Not until you’re in the water.” He says and you nod, and then realizing he can’t see you clear your throat. 
“Okay.” Your voice feels small. Hesitantly you unbutton your shorts, sliding them down along with your underwear and pulling the sweatshirt over your head leaving you bare and exposed, and you hoped and prayed that Alex and Pauly weren’t watching out the window. You drop it to the dock, your clothes and his making separate piles, taking a step towards the edge and looking down into the water. Here goes nothing, you say to yourself and leap in. And he was right, it really did feel great. It envelopes around you as you swim upwards and breach the surface, wiping your eyes and opening them. He’s there in front of you, a smile plastered on his face. 
“See, s’not so bad, right?” He asks and you shake your head again as you tread the water. And you both stay like that for a while, swimming and floating. He floats on his back and you try a little too hard to not let your gaze travel south, focusing on his face and how content he looks with his eyes closed. You’re too busy staring at the tattoos littering his torso when he says something you don’t quite catch.  
“Hm?” Your gaze flits back to his face and he’s smiling. 
“I said,"Do you like what you see?” He laughs and you can feel your cheeks redden because he caught you staring at him. 
“I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly and he swims over to you, closing the distance and you bite back a grin at the close proximity. 
“Don’t need to apologize, sweet girl.” He says, his voice low and he brings his hand up to thumb over your lips, parting them before his thumb runs over your cheek. “Be lying if I said I haven’t been staring at you all night.” He confesses and you think if you were nervous before, then you’re not sure what you’re feeling right now. It feels like a stampede of elephants is running through your belly as he runs the backs of his fingers across your cheek. You decide to just rip the bandaid off and go for it. Your hands find his face and you crash your lips to his, and he’s taken off guard but the next second his hands dip under the water and he pulls you into him, the warmth of your bodies melding together underneath the surface. Upon instinct, your legs wrap around his waist as you push your chest into him, causing him to tighten his grip on your waist, dimpling the skin beneath his fingertips. 
It was almost like neither of you needed to speak, once the kiss had broken you both swam fervently towards the dock. He hoists you up by your waist, quickly dressing just to go inside and get undressed again. He pulls you by your hand towards the cabin, and you say a silent prayer that your friends who were in here made their way outside. 
By the grace of some higher power, the house was empty and the air inside was cold and smelled of the aftershocks of bong rips and a half smoked joint. Harry pulled you down the hall, into his room, and shut the door behind him with a click of the lock. 
He smirks and he pushes you down into the bed, hair wet and sticking to the skin of your neck. He crawls over you after pulling your shorts off and throwing them somewhere across the room, slotting a knee between your thighs and instinctively you grind against him, gripping onto his biceps. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your thighs in one swift move, and you kick them the rest of the way off in anticipation.
“Been thinking about taking those off since I saw you prancing around your room in them this morning.” His voice drops an octave as he ghosts the tip of his nose along your cheek , tracing the outline of your jaw as you desperately move your hips seeking for any friction it would give you.  He pulls back, looking over your features and you can see his pupils blown from his own pleasure. 
“Look at you.” He coos, clicking his tongue behind his teeth. “Taking before I can even give anything to you, so selfish.” He purrs, and somehow the tone of it makes you stop, halting the movement of your hips. 
“No. Go ahead, angel. Wanna watch you get yourself off just from riding my thigh. Need it so bad, can’t even help yourself.” He coos, but his tone is condescending and you almost question him. He raises a brow, running a thumb over your cheek delicately. The harsh tone of his voice and the softness of his touch playing mind games with you. “Do it. Be a good girl.” He encourages you, and you feel like it’s a trap. 
“N-no. Want whatever you wanna give me. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” You pout your lower lip out and he thumbs over it, pulling it down before it bounces back into place. You like that he takes initiative, being dominant over you like it comes so easily for him. He can see the wheels in your mind turning and he cocks his head to the side. 
“What?” 
“Nothing. Just never done this before. Never had someone be…” You trail off, but he nods like he already knew what you were going to say. 
“I see. Sweet girl’s never had someone take control over her?” You shake your head. He rolls his lip between his teeth, eyes flittering around your face. “But you crave it, don’t you? Just wanna be a cock-drunk little slut? Wanna have someone filling you, telling you what to do?” His words penetrate your brain and your eyes flutter closed. “Answer me. Is that what you want?” He demands and you nod, faster than you ever have and he flashes his pretty smile at you. 
“Yes. Please.” Finding your voice, begging him. He shifts, pressing his thigh into your center and a whimper falls from your lips, the heat growing between your thighs. 
“Go.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your pulse point and trailing kisses down your collar bone. Slowly, your hips begin to move and you’re almost embarrassed at your arousal coating his skin, glistening in the soft glow of the lamp. You push the thoughts away, focusing on your pleasure as you feel his hardening length against your thigh, pressing into you. You reach down, palming him through the material before he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head. “Didn’t tell you you could touch.” He mumbles against your skin and you whine in protest. Your hips move faster now, and you’re so close. Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away and your lungs deflate, a breath being taken away from you. He stands over you, pushing his shorts down and your eyes widen at the sight of him. You want to reach out and grab him, pump his cock with your hand but you refrain. He leans over you again, planting kisses down your chest and dipping in the valley between your tits, his nose ghosting over your skin. 
“Want you to tell me red if you wanna stop, okay? Green if you wanna keep going. Got it?” He asks and you nod. He peeks up at you through his lashes and cocks his brow. “Words, puppy. Can’t hear a nod or a shake.”
“Yes. I’m—yes. Got it” You’re breathless with your answer. He peppers small kisses over your navel, gripping your hips between his fingers as his head dips lower, kissing the insides of both thighs, trailing his tongue over your skin and purposely skipping over your weeping hole just to make you squirm under his grip. He parts you open then, collecting your arousal on his tongue and the wicked sensation makes your back arch from the bed, pushing your core closer to him and he forces you back down. 
“Uh-uh. Stay still or I’ll stop.” He mumbles, and a whine bubbles in your throat. He laps lazily st your core, circling and flattening his tongue over your clit as you try your hardest to keep your hips still. His fingers dimple your skin, digging into the muscle underneath. He knew he was gripping hard enough to leave small bruises in the shape of his fingertips, and he wanted to. Wanted you to remember his head between your thighs as you shattered just from the flick of his tongue against your sensitive bud. You’re a mess of moans and panting his name over and over. He pulls your clit between his teeth and your hips jolt upwards and he pushes you back down to the mattress. He pulls away, and your chest heaves at the loss of contact but a cry escapes your throat when he lands a light smack to your center, and the pain morphes into pleasure as tears well up in your eyes at the sting.
“Told you to stay still. Can’t follow simple directions, angel?” 
“M’s—sorry.” You gasp and he glances up at you, noticing your wet lashes and he props himself up on his elbows. 
“What's your color, sweet girl?” His tone is gentle, planting a soft kiss to the top of your thigh and peeking up at you from under his lashes.
“Green.” You answer eagerly and he smiles against your skin, crawling back up to level with your eyes. His lips find yours and you open, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth against your own, the room around you melting away. It’s slow, sensual and full of desire. He doesn’t pull away as he lines himself up with you, the tip of his cock teasing your aching hole and you move your hips trying like hell to get him further inside. 
“So needy.” He mumbles against your lips and pulls your bottom one between his teeth, nipping gently. He pushes into you slowly, your mouth dropping open as he lays his forehead against your collarbone. “So tight, sweet girl. I don’t think m’gonna fit.” He pushes into you further, teeth marking your skin as he groans against your skin and you whine at the sting of him stretching you. 
“Fuck, Harry.” You whimper, he cages your head between his hands, holding himself up as his biceps flex and extend, the sinewy tissue underneath his skin prominent. He looks down between your bodies, where he's halfway sheathed inside your pussy and he chuckles, a breathy laugh that morphs into a sigh. 
“Pretty little pussy looks so pitiful like this. Can’t do it, puppy.” He pants, and you know somewhere in the back of your mind that he’s just playing a part, but it doesn’t stop the cry that escape from your throat as you beg him to fuck you. 
“Please, Harry. Need you. Want you so much. Can take it, promise. Please.” You look up at him with wide eyes and he admires you for a moment, taking in the pout playing on your pretty mouth that he just wants to kiss away, the tears welling in your eyes that he’ll wipe away if they fall. The need in your voice letting him know you’d do anything he asks of you in this moment. 
“Alright, I’ll give it to you. Gonna go slow til you’re all stretched out f’me.” He palms your thighs, hiking them around his waist and continues to fill you, your head lulling to the side as your eyes flutter closed and your jaw falls slack when he reaches to the hilt, balls resting against your ass as his head falls back. “So fucking good, angel. Look at me, wanna see those pretty eyes.” 
So you listen, do the best you can to force your eyes open as he starts to rock his hips into you, pulling out to the tip before filling you up again and again. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, kissing down your calf as he sets his rhythm, going deeper from this angle. His eyes never leave yours as he groans and nibbles on your skin, peppering small bites and then soothing with his tongue. He hits the right spot every time, and when your eyes finally betray you and fall closed, you feel a smack land on your cheek. Not hard, but just enough to sting and you whimper. 
“Thought you were a good girl.” He says through gritted teeth and he drives into you harder. 
“I-I am. Want to be good for you.” He grunts at your response, he pulls out and flips you over before pulling your ass up in the air so you sit on your knees with your face down in the mattress. He palms your ass, landing a smack to your cheek. He rubs over the spot gently, soothing as you push closer into his touch and he's climbing behind you, lining up and pushing back in and it feels even better from this angle. Hitting every spot just right and you swear you see stars. He reaches around you, pushing on your tummy just under your navel and wraps his other hand around your throat lightly, pulling you up. 
Your back is flush with his chest, skin sticking together from the light sheen of sweat coating both your bodies. One hand squeezing the sides of your neck and the other pressing still on your belly and he nips at your ear.
“Can feel me all the way in your tummy, can’t you? This is what you like right? Nobody’s ever had you like this have they?” He whispers and you shake your head. His hand finds yours and he brings it back to the spot just below your belly button. “Feel that? Feel me so deep in this pretty pussy. Gonna get you all full of me, fill you with my babies.” He grits and squeezes your neck a little harder, the corners of your vision darkening before he lets go and you take in a full breath, feeling high on him…and he’s all you know. His words, his hands roaming your body and his cock stretching you. 
“Harry, I’m so close.” You breathe out and he grunts, lips ghosting over your shoulder blade. 
“I know…can feel you squeezing my cock so tight angel. C’mon. Cum for me.” He encourages you and you shatter around him, pussy pulsing around him bringing him to his own release as he paints inside you. He wastes no time pulling out and you topple over from your legs feeling weak and he dips down behind you. You feel him dripping out of your hole, and his fingers spread you open. Pushing one inside with no warning, he fucks his cum back inside of you with his fingers and you hum, unable to make any other noise and he chuckles behind you.
“Like being filled like this? Look so pretty full of me, dripping out of you. Never gonna forget it.” He mutters, planting a kiss on the small of your back before standing. Finding the energy to roll over, he offers his fingers to you and you take them between your lips and taste the mix of both of you on his fingers. He curses under his breath at the sight of you, feeling his cock twitching back to life and he pulls them away to stop himself thinking about fucking you again and again.
You slept in his bed that night.
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The weekend ended all too quickly, and you were half asleep in the back seat of Josh’s car with your head resting on the window, holding Harry’s book on your thighs and fiddling wither cover, something you had become accustomed to as you read the prose on the pages or when you closed in while engaging in conversation. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you’d see him in that capacity again after this weekend and didn’t know if you wanted to go back to being strangers that passed each other in the economics building on campus. 
Josh pulled up to the house you and Faye shared, and Harry follows you out of the car. He retrieves your bag from Pauly’s car for you, carrying it up to your room and putting it down on your bed. You almost felt like you were having deja vu, the scene similar to one from Thursday afternoon, except this time you weren’t half naked in front of him and he wasn’t just a stranger in your room anymore. You look around, then to the floor before meeting his eyes and he smirks as he leans against your doorframe. 
“Here.” You hand him the book but he puts his hands up, shaking his head.
“Keep it.” He says, and you almost refuse but accept it anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets. He steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear as you look up at him. “Don’t be a stranger, angel.” 
“I won’t be.”
He leaves you there, standing in the middle of the room with his book clutched to your chest with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.
And you knew it wouldn't be the last time you saw Harry Styles.
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cherryjuiceblues · 10 months
Text
𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐊 𝐀𝐓
➯ HARRY’S GROWN IN SOME PLACES AND Y/N IS MORE THAN OBSESSED. ✰ sexual content. size kink. daddy kink. degradation. creampie. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5k
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Harry was changing.
And he had been for a while. Slowly but surely—bit by bit—and all Y/N could do was sit back and watch.
Y/N thinks (and she knows she’s biased because, well, she loves him more than life itself, but still thinks) that Harry will always be the most beautiful man in any room. No matter his age, or the clothes he wears, or the facial expressions his features are presenting, he will be pretty personified to her.
And she never thought he could look better. Because he always looked like he’d been handcrafted, slaved away at for hours to achieve the sharp line of his jaw or the divine slope of his nose.
But now he was changing.
And Y/N was wrong.
Another thing she believes (or had believed) is that being with Harry removed any and all of her preferences when it comes to attraction. No matter the way he looked, Y/N loved it—would never change a thing—would never think that maybe that shirt would look better if his chest hair was thicker or that those trousers would be sexier if his thighs were bigger, or that that suit would be more impressive if he was taller. 
Because Harry was visually stunning, always. And even if in the past, Y/N might have been more attracted to a rugged beard, or a different hairstyle, or a specific type of dress sense, then all of that went out of the window when she met Harry.
But now, Y/N was being proven wrong.
She supposes it was a small change at first, so subtle that she didn’t even notice—because Harry had always been strong, even if it didn’t necessarily show and he’d never hesitated to throw Y/N about whichever way he pleased (which could tend to be an insecurity of hers at times).
When she did start to notice though… Nothing else could catch her attention. Whenever he walked into the room her eyes would drift, and whenever she was looking at him whilst he spoke, she’d be itching to lower her gaze and feel her pupils dilate.
Harry didn’t understand at first. He had picked up on her recent lack of concentration, and of course he had, he was attentive—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was distracting her so much.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
It’s when the weather starts to warm up enough to get his arms out that it clicks.
And that’s what he’s smiling about now, as he hauls patio furniture about and potters around—in a black tank and highlighter yellow short shorts—doing all the garden jobs that had been ignored during the winter and spring. Admittedly with much more flexing than is necessary—after his minx of a girlfriend reacts far too excitedly at the delivery of a new pod chair, and squeezes her thighs together in anticipation, before proceeding to lounge around in her shortest of sundresses with the horniest of gazes as she watches him work.
Harry’s trying to be subtle about his amusement, wanting to play with her for as long as he can now that he knows why she’s been drooling for him more than usual. But his tummy is fluttering with excitement as he schemes the best way to rile her up.
He thinks she’s probably already wet, if the clenching of her thighs is anything to go by as she sits in the pod chair she watched him assemble; her naked legs swinging gently. And he’s worked up quite the sweat, out in the sun for a while already—droplets starting to trickle down his back.
So he thinks it only natural to remove his shirt, biceps straining as he reaches behind him to tug the material over his head. 
Y/N’s breath hitches. No matter how many times she sees Harry’s body, it makes her go all silly without fail. And the same happens now as his glistening, tanned, ink-covered torso is revealed and her eyes start to fight over which part of him to gawk at first.
He’s big. Bigger than he’s ever been—and Y/N must send his PT some flowers or something because she’s sure she’s never been so turned on in her life and that deserves a thank you, doesn’t it? 
Harry’s chest rises and falls gently, pecs dusted in sweat-soaked hair that Y/N has never wanted to lick more. She knows she can stare; is well past the point in their relationship to care about being caught—wants to get caught even, to aid his teasing that does so much to her insides. A drop of sweat trickles in between his abs and Y/N always swore she didn’t care for the definition of those muscles, but on Harry… he looks like the posterboy for all pornstars. Everyone’s wet dream, everyone’s type, everyone’s secret fantasy.
Yet, it’s still his arms that stun her the most. She’s not sure why—if it’s solely because of some undiscovered size kink or how obviously he could overpower her—there might not be any deeper meaning other than looking sexy and strong. Maybe it’s because they’re so big that they bulge with every movement, muscles contracting and golden, tattooed skin stretching. Maybe it’s the fine hair that covers his forearms—that have also become considerably thick and meaty. Y/N has lost count of the amount of times she’s wished to sink her teeth into them. Especially when a particular vein or tendon makes itself prominent. Paired with the fact that she has always been undeniably turned on by his hands and Y/N doesn’t stand a chance.
It’s like the man she’s known, who was already completely and utterly everything she could ever want, has been multiplied by ten. And now Y/N is left to try and function as a normal human being with this Greek god of a man who has arms bigger than her head.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
“—I don’t think I love you anymore.”
Y/N flinches, eyes shooting up to Harry’s and away from his body.
“Oh, so now you listen to me,” he rolls his eyes, smirk obvious.
“That’s not funny, Harry.” Y/N frowns, heart going a million beats a second. “Why would you say that, you dick.” She hoists herself out of the chair and storms towards the patio doors. With no way she’d ever make it very far, as Harry drops the tools he was using to assemble a coffee table and hastily swoops in behind Y/N—wrapping her up in the things that got her into this position in the first place.
Her back meets his chest. His bare chest. And his face meets her neck, stubble tickling her skin. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He’s smiling. Y/N feels his arms tighten around her waist. “You weren’t listening t’me, were you?”
She huffs and says, “No,” in a tone that Harry never appreciates.
“You know I don’t like it when you ignore me. I’m far too needy, aren’t I?”
Y/N hums something incomprehensible, ashamed by her pathetic reaction to such a basic body part.
“C’mon, come back. Y’givin’ me something pretty to look at whilst I work.” Harry pinches her waist and she can’t help but shriek a laugh, body betraying her when his fingers dig in.
“You weren’t even looking at me,” Y/N scoffs, reluctantly making her way back to her chair as Harry finishes up on the floor.
“How would you know?” His arms bulge as he screws the table together. “Weren’t exactly staring at m’face, were you, love?”
Y/N rolls her eyes, fluffing up her dress around her thighs.
“I’ve noticed something recently,” Harry starts, admiring his handiwork before getting to his feet and making his way over to Y/N. He picks up a previously ignored bottle of sun tan lotion on his way. “Or, you’ve noticed something, I suppose.”
He kneels before her, hands steadying the gentle swaying of the chair before he smooths them down her legs and props her foot up on his thigh. Y/N pretends to not have a clue. It makes her belly tingle with juvenile excitement.
“What do you mean?”
Harry pops the bottle open and generously squeezes the lotion into his palm. It’s cold as it meets Y/N’s calf, and she twitches a little. But Harry’s hands are warm; he already knows that thirty seconds of this will have her melting into him. 
“You think I don’t see the way you’ve been looking at me lately?” He massages the muscle in his palms and Y/N sighs blissfully.
“I always look at you the same, my love,” she exhales.
“Hm? And how’s that?”
“Like you’re the only man in the world.”
Harry pinches her thigh and Y/N yelps. “Don’t get all soppy on me now. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” and like the sadist that he is, Harry subtly flexes his arms—covertly enough that it looks like a completely involuntary twitch of the muscles. But Y/N’s eyes snap there regardless, and Harry smiles, vast palms moving up higher on her leg as he applies more lotion and starts on her thigh.
“I don’t know, Harry. Why would I look at you different? What’s different about you?” Her voice holds the tiniest of inflections that only Harry would notice means she’s being playful. And it riles him up some.
“Okay, baby. If that’s how you wanna play.” Harry switches legs. He’s much less slow and tender, digging his fingers into her calf and holding firmly when she tries to pull away. The strength he exhibits only has Y/N’s eyes even more trained to his body. When he gets to her thigh he pushes her dress up until her underwear peeks out and delivers a harsh, unexpected slap to the inside—purposely where it hurts a little. Y/N gasps and her hips push up. Harry pays her no mind, applying more lotion before rubbing it in—far too high under her dress where no sun is reaching—and Y/N can see where this is going. Which Harry is coming out.
It all happens so quickly; Harry’s hand pushing against her collarbones to angle her awkwardly against the deep back of the chair, slumping her body surely unattractively, before flipping her dress up higher and tugging her to the edge. His breath fans against her warmth, cruel eyes looking up at Y/N in her stunned state. He leans down and his arms curl under her thighs, hands resting atop and squeezing them tauntingly. God, she can feel his biceps tensing against her.
He’s right there. Lips ghosting across where she needs him. Close enough to barely peek his tongue out and have it meet. Right there. And then he’s gone. Shrugging her legs off his arms and standing up, making some comment about how they need to buy some more sun tan lotion as he goes to walk inside.
Y/N is scrambling off the chair. “Fuck you!” Her hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s wrist. Immediately he spins and flinches away from her, replacing her grip with his own and twisting her arm behind her back. Her chest pushes into him as he leans down.
“You think I haven’t noticed how much of a brat you’ve become?” His voice slicks down her thighs. Oh. “Never fucking listen to me anymore,” she tries to reach for his waist but he twists that arm behind her as well until he’s holding both of her wrists in one of his hands. He leans down further so it’s even harder for her to balance as she bends back. “Just drool over me like a needy slut, don’t you?” Y/N whimpers, the only thing she can do is look up at him. “You’ve been treating me like a piece of meat—staring until your pretty cunt is dripping, right? I can treat you like a piece of meat too, sweetheart.”
“Shut up,” she pouts, before whining, “want—you,” neck aching from the angle she’s bent at. Harry laughs, pulling her hair a little for being a brat, before ghosting his mouth across hers.
“I know. Made that pretty fucking obvious, you silly girl.” He plucks at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You don’t need my cock to be fucked dumb, do you, baby? That little head of yours is always empty.” He squeezes her cheeks together with his fingers. Harry smiles down at his girl’s wide doe eyes staring up at him, completely at his disposal. “Speak.”
“I’m empty,” Y/N nods, giving up her attitude, “need you.” And that’s not what Harry meant but it’s close enough.
“I don’t think you deserve it,” he whispers into her mouth—and then he’s standing behind her, wrists still firmly in his grasp as he shuffles them closer to the windows. The sun glares down, casting a clear reflection of the both of them. Of Harry wrapping his forearm around Y/N’s collarbones, forcing her back to arch. “You haven’t been honest with me,” the entirety of his body is pressed against the back of her. It has her mind scrambling. “You’re not good.”
It’s a low blow. One assured to have Y/N begging and pleading in no time; desperate to make him happy, and desperate to be pleasured.
“I’m…sorry,” she frowns, eyes fixated on the reflection of their bodies. “Wanna be good f’you.” Harry squeezes her wrists as a warning to keep them behind her back before letting go to wrap his other arm around her waist—excited himself by the way he engulfs her. He bends down, causing Y/N to go with him, and the weight in his shorts is growing heavier by the second as they just look at themselves.
Y/N stops herself from wiggling back; doesn’t want to misbehave for a second—not anymore. “Please. All I think about is you, Harry. A-all the time,” her breathing is laboured and her underwear is suffocating. 
And this is how he gets her. “What do you think about?” He turns his face into her shoulder, nudging her sleeve off with his nose before dotting distracting kisses along her skin.
Y/N hesitates. This is what the game was all about. Pretending there was no reason for her gawking. She’s stubborn. But so is Harry. The arm around her collarbones shifts until his large hand is cupping her throat. Y/N’s knees nearly buckle right then and there. Her head tips back a little against him but he squeezes the sides of her neck, right where the blood is fighting to flow, and forces her to look back at the reflection.
“Tell me.” His voice is so deep, so low; the vibrations spread through her like treacle. “Look at me,” he squeezes again, “and tell me.”
He doesn’t ease up around her throat so her words are tight. His arm moves down to her hips. “You’ve got…so…big,” she whimpers. “Everywhere.” Harry’s hips twitch, dying to rut against her ass. But instead, with teasing fingers he lifts the hem of her dress. Up and up until he can stuff it between his hand and her throat, obsessed with the way her bare stomach rises and falls at a rapid pace.
Y/N’s flimsy panties don’t stand a chance—the once pale pink now a much darker hue in the place she needs him most. But Harry wouldn’t be so kind. He makes her think he’s going to rub on her like she wants, middle finger trailing over her clit with a feather-light touch. Barely there but still enough to make her twitch. He does it again—a small circle—before dipping lower, pushing in her underwear and feeling it slick against her.
And then he rears his hand back, too quickly for Y/N to realise, and brings it back down to her clit in a harsh, tight slap. She buckles and writhes, held up solely by the hand around her throat as Harry trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh. His smirk tickles against her shoulder.
“Har—Harry!” she gasps, unable to stop her body from moving against him now, not whilst she’s thrumming.
“I’m big, yeah? Too big for you, surely. Look at the way I swallow you up.” Oh, and she is. With half-lidded eyes and shallow breaths.
“Yes, I love it, Harry. I love it,” her hips search for his hand and he pushes her against him, spanning across her mound.
“That’s not everything though, is it?” Another squeeze around her throat. “Be good.”
She tries—so hard—as Harry starts to suck and bite marks into her skin. “Arms, it’s your arms,” she breathes, head foggier and foggier by the second. He eases up a little when she starts to slump, tracing his thumb across her lips.
“What about them?” Fingers slip inside her underwear; a reward for using her words. Even as he starts rubbing small circles, he knows she’ll cum quickly.
“So hot, Harry. And big.”
He laughs, “Y’already said that. Just so hot and big, aren’t I?” The narcissist in him goes wild, cock twitching in his shorts. And he allows himself one rut against her, just to take the edge off. But Y/N wants more—of course she does—and she’s starting to make all sorts of pretty noises as he rubs her clit. So Harry keeps moving, sure that the feel of him against her is propelling her towards her orgasm whilst he’s barely teasing himself.
“You’ve got a slutty pussy, Y/N,” he tightens his hand around her throat once more, lips brushing her ear. “Drenched because your boyfriend can manhandle you, yeah? I could do anything to you ‘n’ you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because you’re so desperate for it.”
“Uh-huh,” Y/N nods shakily. She’s trying to keep her eyes on their reflection, to see Harry’s muscles work as his fingers hide in her underwear, and the way his hips push into her ass. 
“Tell me.”
“Want you to—manhandle me…use me—need t’cum.” She’s building up, can feel as Harry smears her arousal around in a mess before rubbing harder on her clit. And faster.
“You g’na cum?” Faster.
“Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He lets her throw her head back, lets her reach the edge, whimpering and whining just as she starts to let go.
And then he’s gone. Harry rips his hand from her pussy and shoves his glistening fingers in her mouth before she can talk. Y/N cries around them, shaking her head in a desperate plea.
“Mmph—no!—Please,” she tries, but how could Harry ever understand what she wants?
He takes hold of her wrists again and bends her forward by her waist, kicking her legs open wider. She’s completely held up by him; if he were to let go, she would topple straight over, no doubt about it.
With a heavy hand, Harry pushes her dress up and over her ass and delivers a well-connecting smack to the rounded flesh. Y/N mewls, legs shaking in surprise. It’s harder to maintain her eye contact with the window at this angle, especially when all she wants is to lull her head like she’s weightless. Harry wastes no time in tugging her underwear halfway down her thighs. Finds it satisfying to keep her somewhat immobilised.
And Y/N couldn’t care less, as soon as she feels Harry pulling himself out and sinking into her—she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if their house was burning.
He barely lets her adjust, and no matter how wet she is Harry’s always a stretch. A deep inhale, body stilling kind of stretch. And once she’s full and his pelvis pushes against her bum and they both allow for a second of joint ecstasy at being as close as possible once again, Harry is quick to treat her the way she so desperately wants.
His other hand comes up to her hair, pulling it sharply so Y/N’s neck bends back. “Look. Watch as I fuck you.” Incomprehensible noises are forced from her throat, jaw hanging looser with each inch that Harry invades. She’s never been more grateful to have a secluded garden. 
The sight before her rivals one from a porn film—fitting for her sex god of a boyfriend; she could only hope to look pretty enough next to him. Her body bent forward, neck stretched and inviting, back arching with the force of her arms behind her back. Thighs open just enough to fit Harry’s cock into her weepy hole, flesh threatening to rip the underwear that controls their freedom. 
Occasionally the sun will reflect just right and Y/N will notice the glistening of her wetness spread across her mound. Though her eyes soon fall shut with the strength of Harry’s thrusts, unrelenting and point-proving.
“Fuck. Can feel you squeezin’ already.” His words shoot straight to her clit, tingling and buzzing. “So easy, aren’t you, pet?” Y/N nods fruitlessly. “I shouldn’t let you finish,” he threatens against her ear. “Should fill you up with my cum, have you serve your purpose and then thank me for it.”
She pulsates at the thought, at the warmth of feeling him drip down her thighs. Sometimes dripping around the sides of his prick if Harry’s particularly wound up and has a few rounds in him.
“Please,” Y/N cries, sweat beading at her hairline.
Harry groans into her jaw, hips meeting her ass bruisingly. “Yeah? Filthy girl, jus’ my hole, aren’t you?”
“Mhm! Please cum in me, please,” Y/N tries to turn her head, nose bumping into his cheek. She wants a kiss but her brain cannot possibly communicate that to her mouth as it hangs open.
The sounds of skin meeting skin ring in her ears and her throat threatens to cry perfectly timed noises with each thrust. And she’s not sure when it happened but her tits are out of her dress and Harry’s letting go of her hair to palm one roughly as he starts to breathe heavier and heavier.
Body leaden, Y/N’s head falls back to his shoulder and her eyes peel open slightly, watching Harry’s face contort beautifully from above her. She wants it so bad—knows that he’ll always make her finish regardless—needs to walk around in her summer dress and cum-soaked panties. “Please, Daddy. Cum in me.”
The name has Harry groaning, hips stuttering and stilling against her as he paints long, thick stripes inside Y/N. “Thank you!” She cries, his release stimulating her like nothing else. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Despite Harry being the one with orgasm heavy bones, Y/N crumbles, knees buckling as she takes them both to the floor. He braces her fall, arm strong around her waist. His cock stays twitching inside of her, still hard, and he angles her ass into the air as he stands on his knees astride her legs.
“You good, baby?” Harry smooths a hand up her back, pushing her dress out of the way.
Y/N’s arms stretch above her, content to be lying on the hard floor. “Yeah, really good. Thank you, Daddy.”
Harry smiles softly to himself, she’s under. “You wanna cum?”
“Am I allowed? I said some bad things to you.”
“That’s okay. I want you to squeeze on my cock ‘n’ let me fuck my cum into you. Can you do that for me?”
“Uh-huh,” she nods nastily, head turned to the side on the concrete. He’d take care of her later.
“Good girl, nice ‘n’ tight, f’me.”
The noise of their arousal mixing together, probed by Harry’s cock is one he’ll replay in desperate moments alone. Squelching and slicking as he starts up his rough pace once again. Y/N contracts around him in quick, spasming motions—hips attempting to push back from her awkward position. Her tummy is hot and her clit is painfully untouched; she’s sure she’d grind it on the floor if she could reach but Harry’s hands are firm on her hips, angling her just the way he likes as he pounds into her tight hole.
Harry wishes he had his phone to hand—would take enough pictures of the sight before him to last forever. His cum is starting to leak out the sides, dripping down to Y/N’s clit and slicking up his cock. The mess of it all has his eyes rolling back.
“God, y’just perfect. Wanna keep you like this forever. Make you sticky with my cum, then maybe take you out and watch you try to ignore the feeling of it dripping out of you.” Harry slaps her ass and moans as she spasms around him, hands pulling her cheeks apart to reveal her other hole. “Wanna mark you everywhere. Especially here.” He thumbs over the puckered skin. “Fill you up and push in every drop, then give you a pretty plug so it stays inside all day.” Y/N’s shaking, eyes clenched shut and pussy quivering. All Harry has to do is reach around and start rubbing tight circles into her clit and she’s gone.
“Harry! I’m cumming, I’m cumming—D-daddy, thank you.” Harry leans over her back, kissing the side of her face and not slowing down for a second.
“Gimme another,” he whispers, speeding up his thrusts and slapping her clit one, two, three times, vibrations elongating her orgasm and sending her straight into her second one. Harry pulls back, regretfully pulling out for a moment to flip Y/N over and tug her flush against him. He wraps her thighs around his waist and guides her arms around his neck, endeared by her fucked out expression. “Doing so good, honey.” She smiles, eyes closing and nuzzling her face into his neck. Harry thinks if he wasn’t already hard, that smile alone would’ve given him a love boner.
“Jus’ sit all pretty, Daddy’s got you.”
He holds her hips securely, palms encompassing miles of skin, and lifts her just enough to start fucking up into her cunt. Their cum will surely make a mess in their laps but he minds none—goes faster at the very thought, even. Thinks about scooping it up with his fingers and feeding it to Y/N, and then leaning in to get a taste of them together, moaning into her mouth and suckling at her lips like a starved man.
As if she can read his mind, Y/N starts nibbling at his skin, laving her tongue over the drops of sweat that trickle down his neck. Then she pulls back just enough to wilt against his mouth, lips barely responsive but Harry kisses her with all he’s got. And she’s close again, when her heavy hand trails down to start rubbing at her swollen, cum-drenched clit much daintier than Harry had.
“F-feels so good,” she whines against his mouth, happy to let Harry lick against her tongue, “love you.”
Harry whimpers, “G-god, I love you too. So much, you’re so good, I love you.” Y/N rubs harder, pussy tightening—and Harry fucks harder as they both rest their foreheads on eachother’s shoulders. With her other hand, Y/N holds his bicep, squeezing and scratching as much as she pleases. She barely covers the muscle and Harry can’t help but smile as his orgasm rushes closer.
It’s when she whispers, words garbled and strained, that Harry tips over the edge. “F-fuck me so good, s-so good. G’na make me pregnant—‘n’ full of you.” And it’s his warm spurts that have Y/N cumming as well, pulsating around Harry as she milks him dry. He cums a lot, and the more he does, the longer Y/N’s orgasm lasts—they melt against one another in a mess of moans and gentle rutting, sweaty skin sticking them together. 
Y/N peels her hand from Harry’s arm, seeing the crescent moons she’s left behind and looking up at him guiltily. He smiles, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning down to kiss her nose.
“Felt good,” he promises. “Now I know how much you like them, you can do whatever you want.”
Y/N whines, biting his shoulder playfully. “Shower now, please. We’re gross.”
Harry hums, staying tucked inside and holding her tight to him as he stands on nearly wobbly legs. “Just so you know, if we shower together, I will be naked. Will you be able to contain yourself at the sight of my big, sexy arms?”
She sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of his head and tugs. “Shut up. They’re not even that big.”
“Okay, my love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
2K notes · View notes
strawnarrries · 6 months
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We Fight, We Make Up
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Summary: Harry gets turned on when you yell at him.
Requested: Nope
POV: 2nd
Word count: 3.4k
Warning(s): Unprotected sex, slight degradation, slight spanking
The argument happened before the night even started. You didn't even wanna go. You wanted to stay in the hotel with your husband. Alone. Without having to share him with anyone else. Recently, you have been missing him. Yes, you see him every day and fall asleep with him every night; but you felt like you had to share him with the entire world. When he wasn't on stage in front of his thousands of fans, he was either at the gym or working with his team, writing new songs, and talking about new plans.
Tonight was one of his rare nights off and of course, he and his team wanted to go out. He wanted you to go with him and you did, but you were grumpy from the moment he brought it up to the moment you're at with him now.
You were arguing while you got ready. Harry didn't understand where you were coming from. You were on tour with him. You were with him every day, went everywhere that he went, and got to sleep next to him every night. He thought you were being a bit needy and selfish. He didn't say that to you of course, but he definitely voiced that he thought you were being irrational.
Once you had met everyone in the hotel lobby, you both put on your brave faces, not wanting to draw any attention to your problems. You tried to forget about your current struggles and have fun while you could. Neither of you drank that much. You just were not in the mood and Harry had a show the next day. It was only occasional that he would drink while on tour, but never when he had a show the next day.
Once the night was over, the argument continued.
"Y/N, baby, I dunno what you want me to do. We're on tour, this is my work. I can't spend every second with you."
"Oh my god, Harry. You know I'm not asking you to spend every second with me. I just want some alone time with you. I told you I feel like I have to share you with everyone and never get any time just you and me."
"But we do get alone time. We got a whole room to ourselves. I give you a cuddle while we fall asleep every night. Why is that not enough?"
"It's not about being enough. It's about me feeling like you're not prioritizing me or wanting to spend any time with me."
"This is the first tour that you've been able to come with me for every show. This is what it's like. I don't get alone time. This is my job. I can't just drop it all to spend time with you."
You were starting to get angry, "You don't work every hour of the day! Tonight - I told you beforehand that I didn't wanna go and I wanted to stay here with you but you wanted to go out instead."
"Well, yeah because I've got a night off and wanted to have fun with everyone."
"Exactly! Everyone. You didn't wanna spend time with me. You spend time with them every fucking day and the one day you have off you choose to be with them."
"Y/N, you-" he started before you cut him off, your voice raising in frustration, "Harry, you're my fucking husband! I shouldn't have to beg you to spend time with just me!"
All of a sudden, a cheeky, slightly evil smirk arose on his lips and his eyes scanned your body up and down. It was very rare that you got angry when you argue with him, you usually just get really sad. Your disagreements are usually quiet and filled with tears. It was your least favorite thing to do. You hated having serious conversations with Harry and couldn't help but cry when they happened. Harry was a sympathetic cryer so when you cried, he cried. In the 10 years that you and Harry have been together, you only yelled at him in an argument probably 4 times. So, he found this moment quite amusing.
"Why the fuck are you laughing?"
"I'm not," he chuckled looking up at your angry eyes.
He kept that smirk on his lips as he stared at you deeply, your blood beginning to boil as a breathy giggle left his lips.
"Oh my god, I'm so sick of this," you snapped, turning around and getting ready to storm into the bathroom.
"Y/N, stop."
He was quick to grab your arm, pulling him into you and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you from running from him. Placing both hands on his hips, you glared up at him, "What?"
He didn't reply, his eyes bore into yours while he was pushing your hips against his, jutting his out to show you exactly what he was feeling. You could feel his tight bulge straining in his slacks against your pelvis and you could not believe what was happening.
"You're hard?" you replied as your lips mindlessly curved up in amusement, "Why?"
"Dunno, you rarely yell at me when we argue. It's kinda sexy," he replied, his voice slow and deep.
"What?" You were the one laughing now, "You're not supposed to get turned on. You're supposed to get pissed at me."
"I am pissed at you. But you're fuckin' cute when you get angry." He looked you up and down once more before adding, "Might be this outfit too."
"Oh my gosh, I wanna be mad at you so bad because of this but I'm really amused."
"Are we about to have angry sex?"
You didn't even answer him. You immediately pulled him down by the back of his neck and attacked his lips with yours. He kissed you back, moving in sync with you. His tongue caressed your lips, tasting you as you backed him up against the edge of the bed. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he immediately sat down, pulling you with him. Pulling your dress up past your hips so you could spread your legs, you straddled his lap. His hands immediately went to your ass, cupping and squeezing it.
You continued to kiss him, making out like you were teenagers. Your kisses were fast and sloppy, your panties dampening as you ground your hips against his center. You ran your fingers through his dark hair, tugging at the soft strands gently. You felt your clit throbbing in anticipation and you knew you couldn't wait too long before he filled you up.
Your hands frantically slid down his body, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You had been so upset with him, you had overlooked how good he looked tonight. He wore a white button-up, only having the bottom two buttons tied together to show off his tanned, tattooed chest. He paired it with a pair of black slack pants and white loafers that he had slipped off the moment you got back to your room. He had his famous cross and phallic banana necklaces on and had rings lined on almost every one of his fingers.
You slid his top off of his shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. His glistening skin and dark tattoos were now on full display for you. You ran your fingernails across his body, feeling every inch of his torso that you could reach. You continued to grind your center against his, circling your hips so his bulge rubbed perfectly against your clothed clit.
"I want you so bad," he breathed out and you hummed against his lips in agreement.
His fingertips grabbed onto the hem of your silky dress and pulled it up over your head, tossing it with his shirt. Your lips only parted to pull the dress off, immediately attaching again once you were exposed to him. His hands reached behind your back and unclasped your strapless bra with ease, letting it fall onto your lap. After grabbing it and tossing it, his hands cupped both breasts and kneaded them harshly.
His kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck, kissing, nipping, and sucking at all your sweet spots. You let your head fall to the side to give him more access and hummed in satisfaction. His lips trailed even further down until they latched onto your right breast. He sucked at your nipple, hand still kneading your left one. Flicking his tongue back and forth against your bud, your back arched into him. Nibbling on it, you whimpered and he pulled away, giving your other breast the same amount of attention.
Returning back to your lips, he tugged on the band of your panties, acknowledging that he wanted them off. You stood up in between his legs and pulled your panties down your legs, letting them pool at your feet. While you did that, he unbuttoned the button on his pants, lifted his hips, pushed them down his thighs, and pulled them off his legs.
Both of you were now completely naked and exposed to each other. You straddled his lap again and he reached down between your bodies, sliding his fingers between your folds to feel your wetness. He groaned softly as his middle finger and ring finger slipped past your opening with ease. You mimicked his moan when his fingers began to move in and out of you, the coldness of his peace ring and his pearl ring sending chills up your spine.
"Jesus, Y/N, I'm so fuckin' horny right now," he groaned desperately.
"I need you inside me," you whimpered into his ear, equally as desperate, "right now, Harry, please."
"C'mere," he hummed.
Pulling his fingers out of you, he wrapped his arms around you and stood up. Turning around, he laid you down on the sheets with your hips at the edge of the bed while standing in between your spread legs. He grasped onto both of your ankles and hooked them around his shoulders. Wrapping his right palm around his member, he wasted no time and immediately positioned his swollen tip at your entrance, sliding in while he hovered over you. You both let out moans at the euphoric feeling of him filling you up. He stilled inside of you, allowing you a minute to adjust to his size. His forehead rested against yours and he grunted softly when he felt you clench around him.
Leaning back up, he grabbed onto each of your thighs to ground you. Not holding anything back, he began thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. He knew your body like the back of his hand. Knew every single one of your sweet spots and every single movement that made you putty in his hands.
His thighs slapped against yours and your breasts bobbed with each hard thrust of his hips. Your orgasm was quickly starting to grow closer and you found yourself clenching around him each time his tip brushed up against your good spot. Your face contorted with pleasure and you tightly gripped the sheets below you.
"Oh fuck," you whimpered softly, "Harry, yes!"
"Is this what you wanted?" he grunted in between stagged breaths, "Just wanted me to fuck you like this?"
His fingertips dug into the skin of your thighs, most likely leaving marks for you to complain about the next morning. The bed squeaked under you and you knew the backs of your thighs were quickly turning bright red with the repetitive slapping. It was purely a pornographic scene and you were in complete and utter bliss.
"Answer me."
"Yes, yes," you chanted, "I needed this so bad. Needed you, Harry."
Lifting your head slightly, you looked down and watched as he disappeared in and out of you. He was slick with you, sparkling against the light in the room. You could physically hear how wet you are for him. His movements intensify that sound with each thrust. You let your head fall back down to the bed and look up at him. He's looking down between your bodies, watching what you were just watching. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his jaw hung slack as he breathed irregularly.
You watched as his muscles clenched with each thrust, a sheen layer of sweat beginning to form on his skin, glittering his tattoos. You let your eyes squeeze shut as the pleasure grew. You felt his left hand leave your thigh and immediately grasp onto your breast, squeezing it and allowing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch at your nipples.
Without warning, he wrapped his hands around your sides and flipped you over so you were on your belly. He tapped your hip gently, acknowledging you to sit up. Resting your elbows on the sheets to support your body, you stuck your ass up in the air for him, leaning back and pressing into him. He positioned at your entrance again and started back up where he had left off.
The sound of his skin slapping and your wetness continued to echo loudly throughout the room and if he wasn't making you feel so damn good right now, you would be worried about people outside the room hearing.
"Talk to me. This is exactly what you fuckin' wanted so tell me how good I'm making you feel."
"No," you whimpered, trying to get a rise out of him, "you don't love me anymore."
"Say that one more time and I'll spank you 'till you cry," he grunted.
You grinned at his words. You knew he wouldn't actually spank you until you cried, but you wanted to challenge him, "I'm not wrong."
His hand swatted at the fullest part of your ass and you squealed at the slight sting, his rings he never took off intensifying that sting. He never spanked you super hard, just enough to get you to straighten up when you were being sassy with him.
"Wanna try me again?"
"You never give me attention anymore."
Another spank landed across your ass and you moaned, his hand massaging the area to soothe the sting, "You're such a brat. You're asking for it now, aren't you?"
After one more smack against your skin, he grunted and his thrusts came to an abrupt stop. You were about to protest but then felt his big hands collecting your hair. He switched all of it to one hand, holding it up into a ponytail. He tugged on it, pulling your head back so that he could easily lean down to nip at your ear lobe and you couldn't help the moan that left your lips. Using his free hand, he grabbed onto your hip again and began thrusting.
"Want me all to yourself all the fuckin' time, huh?" he growled into your ear, sending shivers up your spine.
"You're mine," you moaned, "Don't like sharing you."
"Fuckin' selfish is what you are," he grunted in your ear, "Can't get enough of me, huh?"
You moaned in response, breath hitching in your throat before he continued, "Got people wanting my attention left and right and you only want me for yourself. I can see why though, with how good I make you feel. Not once have I ever failed to have you fuckin' trembling under me, babe."
"You're such a fucking narcissist," you grunted, words coming out strangled.
He chuckled deeply, biting on the shell of your ear, "It's the sole reason why you married me, innit? 'cause of how easy I can get you to scream my name?"
"Fuck off," you groaned and he chuckled again, loving how he got to you.
"Got the sexiest girl in the world to be my wife. How can I not be narcissistic?"
"Mmm," you whimpered, ignoring him, "Want more."
"More? Am I not giving you enough right now?"
"No, gimme more."
"Greedy, greedy girl. You're my greedy girl though, that right?"
You hummed in agreement as he let go of your hair, your head immediately hanging low. With both hands now on your hips, fingertips gripping your skin tightly, he changed his rhythm. Fast and hard. Exactly what you wanted right now.
"I'll give you whatever you want. Got me wrapped around your little finger."
"Obviously not, or else we wouldn't be in this situation right now," you grunted in sync with the smack of his hips against yours.
"Still mad at me, huh?"
"Just shut up and make me cum," you groaned.
You heard him chuckle behind you as he kept his rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm by the second. His thighs smacked against yours and the sound echoed throughout your hotel room. Your breath was hitched in your throat, your face contorted with pleasure and your jaw slack as moans occasionally escaped when your hitched breath allowed.
He got so deep inside you, hitting your special spot just underneath where your clit was located with each thrust of his powerful hips. His fingers were gripping your hips tightly, nails carving crescent moon shapes within your skin. Your clenched around him and you could feel every inch of him moving against your walls.
"Oh, Harry," you whimpered into the sheets and Harry's heart swelled as he noticed how much you needed this. How much you needed him.
With the length of his thrusts shortening and pace only slowing down slightly, he leaned down and pressed his back against yours, cupping your waist to pull him into you.
"Haven't been giving you the attention you deserve, have I, baby?" he grunted into your ear, words in sync with his thrusts.
"Mm mm," you whimpered, his lips against the shell of your ear making you shiver.
"Been neglecting my favorite person in the world. My beautiful wife, fuck, I love you so much."
You couldn't even reply. Your voice wouldn't let you, the only thing you could get out was moans of pure pleasure by not only him inside of you, but also him finally giving you exactly what he wanted. His hands slid up your torso and gripped your breasts, squeezing them as his thumbs flicked over your nipples. You could tell he was close by the way his member twitched inside of you, his strangled moans, and the feeling of his face contorting against your back.
"Need you to cum, baby." he breathed out, "I can't cum if you don't cum first."
"I need-" you began and it was like he read your mind, fingers heading straight for your throbbing clit and rubbing it side to side vigorously, causing you to breathe out, "Yeah."
It didn't take much longer before your body became numb with pleasure. You were trembling, screaming into the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white with how hard you were gripping the covers. Harry continued his movements to carry you through your orgasm, causing it to pulse through you in waves, euphoria completely clouding your mind.
You came down from your high with heavy breaths, the continued stimulation from his thrusts sending a new wave of pleasure over you. When it became too much, you whimpered and he pulled out, groaning painfully, "Where do you want me?"
"My back," you breathed out.
You laid down on your stomach and moved all your hair to your front, while he continued to pump himself to keep his orgasm from falling. Once you were in position, he pressed one knee to the bed to angle himself above you. It was only seconds before you felt the warm feeling of him painting your back with his creamy release, your jaw falling slack. Moans of pleasure fell from his lips as he worked himself through his orgasm, pleasure consuming his body just as it did you only seconds earlier.
Once he had milked the last of his orgasm, he immediately got up to grab a few tissues to clean you off.
"You okay, babe?" he asked while wiping the tissue across your skin.
"Mhm," you hummed in response, ready to just fall asleep in his arms.
Throwing away the soiled tissue, he stated, "All done."
You turned over onto your side and he laid down next to you, pulling you into him, breathing out, "Didn't lie when I said I always get you trembling under me, huh?"
You rolled your eyes teasingly at him, "You're so annoying."
"I love you. You know that, right?"
"I know. We still need to talk though. The problem didn't just go away 'cause you're good in bed."
He chuckled deeply, "Can we talk tomorrow? Just wanna hold you right now."
"Yeah, lemme go to the bathroom then we can go to bed," you replied as you got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom.
"Love you, sexy," he teased, landing a soft smack across the curve of your ass as you got up.
You giggled, "I love you too."
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smuttyaf · 3 months
Text
The Business
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𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
wc: 4.9k
i made harry v manipulative, ik i need help, i’ll see my therapist this week
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“Don’t worry it ain’t mine.”
He makes his way across the room dumping the pile of red and green bills into the sink, his forehead glistens with sweat sweeping over his face, curls sticking along his temples as blood stains cover the white button up.
“Oh my god,” You gasp, fingers dropping the Vogue magazine nearly tripping over your feet rushing towards him. You lean over the island with mouth agape looking at him switch on the facet and begin washing his hands, droplets of blood running down the sink.
“Harry, what happened?” He’s tugging off his ruined blazer, hands going to roll up his sleeves while looking at the money.
“It was fucking unbelievable baby, lemme tell you,” He fumes, pushing away from the sink to cross the room towards the bar.
Harry is ranting about what he’s covered in, hands grabbing the bottle of dark whiskey to pour a glass. The clashing of the cups have your gaze turning away and towards him. The navy tie you wrapped around his neck this morning is drench as he swallows the liquor, his hands shaking with adrenaline, pupils dilated, and breath drawing out heavy; the only thing you can do is rub his shoulders looking up at him with concern eyes.
“Look at this shirt! Look at it, it’s fuckin— ruined!” He takes a swing of his drink. “It happened so fast… Shelly took us to the money… and I’ll tell you something, Mickey he knows his shit, he does!” You back away from his raging tone, fingers wrapping together in front of you listening intently.
“So Shelly takes us to the money, right, it’s in this safe and we have him on his knees when he opens it,” He pauses drinking the rest of his whisky in one go before pouring himself another glass. “I’m looking at this guy thinking to myself holy fuck! How the fuck was he able to do this, steal two million right from under our nose when bang.” He slams the bottle of whisky down hard on the counter beginning to faintly laugh at what happens.
“Johnny caps him, he caps Shelly!” He’s shouting, body turning and stepping towards you with free hand making drastic gestures. “Blood goes flying everywhere! All over me! All over the money! I have no idea if this is even all of it.” Harry swallows back the alcohol while your watching him with heavy eyes crossing your arms over your chest, you can’t help but think to yourself how when even upset with neck going red and thundering voice, Harry still looks so handsome.
“And right then, I go through the roof and punch the dumb son’ of a bitch! I punch him Y/N, right in his dumb fucking face, I didn’t give a shit whose son he was! I just wanted to hit him again, smack some sense into the idiot,” Your eyes immediately look at his bruise knuckles covered in dried blood.
“I mean look at the shit that I gotta fucking deal with now!” He continues, walking off with drink in one hand and other pointing angrily at the money in the sink.
“What are you going to do with it?” You ask turning around, your heels click against the floor boards as Harry begins going through the cabinets.
“I told them to run it through the cycle ya’ know but no! Mickey calls up the old man and he has no other plans so he wants to pick up the money tomorrow night!” Your heart picks up with eyes going wide, Lorenzo coming over tomorrow! You follow over to Harry crouched under the sink. “Where’s the laundry detergent?”
“It’s in the linen cabinet.” You say, eyes floating back to the pile. The sound of him walking off to retrieve it sounds in your ears while you never take your gaze off what sits in front of you.
Two million, all in hundreds, just there. It was alarming that this is where you found yourself six months into your relationship with Harry. You knew from your friends at the gentlemen’s club that he was part of a certain ‘business’ but, once you saw him actually taking the relationship serious and begun confiding, you found out that he had serious connections, and it was clear then what your options were; stay at Jaspers or be a good little doll and spend the rest of your time by his side.
You’ve experienced crazy shit in the last six months together, but nothing like this. The rest of your night was spent cleaning money; soaking it in laundry detergent, hanging them as if they were on a clothing line, Harry would then press them out with an iron before running it through the money counter. That’s all you heard that afternoon, the sound of money. Eventually, six months turns into four years and what you experienced that night didn’t even shake what you’ve seen for the remainder of your relationship. It use to be easy; being able to block out the blood, the screaming, the fighting; you remember not even flinching when waiting in Harry’s Rolls at the shed of light from the assassination outside the car. It weighs on your mind heavy that you’ve grown accustomed to the violence that you’ve begun questioning when you lost your humanity?
You remember feeling scared to shoot a gun when he took you to the range, and now you didn’t even budge. So many things became so normalized to you that in the last four months you were having a realization about the life you once lived and how you became so desensitized. You remember when all you would do is relax: go to the spa, get facials, go shopping, weekly manicures and pedicures appointments until now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to have a night out with your girlfriends since you’re always by Harry’s side.
“Please! I’m sorry! Please!”
Lenny is screaming as the sound of his face smashing against the toilet thunders from inside the bathroom. Your heart is hammering in your chest, teeth biting down on the cherry stain flesh as you feel tears begin to swell your eyes.
“You want to fuck with him right, so now ya’ have to deal with us!” Johnny shouts over him with the sound of gargling being heard next. You immediately press the blend option on the margarita machine to drown out the screaming being heard through the door.
Moments like this make you wish you kept your little condo, how you would have used it for instances like this where Harry would bring someone over to interrogate. You loved the large windows and open living room, it was the perfect size for you. Remember having sleepovers with your friends or lounging in on a Sunday afternoon just in your oversized t-shirt and underwear. You missed your old life, the one that wasn’t filled with bloodshed.
The smell of Baccarat Rouge fills your nose with the feel of warm hands gathering your hair onto one shoulder before they’re trailing down your hips, lips pressing against the skin of your neck when he wraps himself around you. Sucking in a shaky breath, your fingers release the button causing the crushed ice to halt its movements.
“Harry, I’m leaving.” You state, eyes looking at the light green mixture as your fingers fall to the marble counter. You turn around in his hold with tears brimming your eyes, Harry looks at you with a frown on his face, the hands on your waist pull you deeper into him.
“What… why?” He questions, a smile soon shines. “I didn’t use the good towel.”
You roll your eyes pushing him away as you lace your arms together looking up at him upset. “I’m serious Harry. I can’t take this anymore,” You rush, brushing past him with beating heart as you begin making your way towards the stairs. The last couple of months you would tell him that this was becoming too much to bare; screaming men, blood stain clothes and white powder being the only thing you’ve seen for the last four years, you’re tired of it.
That makes him rush to grasp your hands in both of his, pulling you back into him with the sound of muffle crying ringing throughout the space causing you to break. Lonesome tears trail down your cheeks when he tugs you back into his chest, your swallowing quick breaths looking at the white door and the activities going on behind it.
“Why? Ah’ you see,” His hand tearing away from yours and going to wipe your tears. Just like always, the simple gesture has you remembering why you fell in love with him in the first place, not what’s partaking in the background. “Baby that’s what I love about you, you’re so sensitive.” Harry spreads his fingers along your heated cheeks to reach and cup your jaw in his hand. He’s holding you there just like when he rocks into your throat beautifully, he knows what he’s doing, knows that the thoughts that are flowing in his mind is also flowing in yours.
“But I like you here…” He says, stepping in with his lips brushing against yours. “I want you to stay.” His lips sink to touch, your eyes slipping shut as the delicious taste of him seeps in your mouth. The hands once tangled with his run against the material of his chest. Honey bourbon gracing itself on your tongue as he twists himself around you, only making you hum pleasantly before pulling away from him.
“You know… this is hard on me too,” He mutters stepping forward to rock you back and fourth, running kisses down the curve your neck as his hands leave their place and grip your backside. Harry knew what to do just to have you right where he wants, have you drunk off just the small taste of him.
“I’ll tell Johnny to shut him up okay? Is that okay baby?” He whispers in your ear. You swallow hesitantly while nodding your head. Harry reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet he takes out his credit card and waves it in front of your face, small smile on his lips while you have a straight one. “Even better get out of the house and go shopping.” He doesn’t even wait for you to react, he shoves it in your palm before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek.
Pulling away from you his body turns to open the drawers few rows down, he’s grabbing a pair of clippers that make you look away from the metal and back to the melting ice. His footsteps echo against the wooden flooring as he opens the door to the bathroom, the cries are much louder with the shuffle of moving feet.
“Shut this guy up would ya’ Johnny.”
This was the routine lately, say you’re leaving and him winning you back with sweet words and his touch. Telling you to go shopping or on vacation if it was weighing down on your mind that much, this was how it always was now. Chauffeur, champagne, and spending your time in Saint Laurent just thinking about how you got here. If this dream life of being apart of the mafia was what you expected or what your friends gushed about.
You spent your whole evening stepping into each store and buying whatever looks good on you without checking the tag. It’s funny that was what you did now, you use to penny pinch and save your last by the time it was payday till you reached Jaspers. Now, you only shop at name brand stores and dine at restaurants you never thought you would be seated in. The reality of your dreams came true but to what expense? You didn’t have anyone to do it with but Harry. Friends beginning to feel scared around you, security becoming suspicious among normal civilians which leads you to the point where you’re here right now, drinking champagne by yourself in Vivienne Westwood.
By the time you made it home Harry was sitting on the couch, slouched over on his knees with the highlights of the baseball game this afternoon playing. His head snaps towards the elevator, smile on his face as you step through, the chauffeur politely placing your bags on the table next to the entrance before smiling to leave.
“Did you buy the whole store?” He chirps, lips widening as you make your way towards the sofa and place the rest of your shopping on the coffee table. You fit yourself next to him, your arm lying against the cushion while your elbow props up your head.
Harry turns towards you his eyes roaming amongst your face till they fall on the long sleeve black dress you ventured out in, his stare drinking you in as he looks at your lips longingly. You let him admire you through, remembering when he first saw you at Jaspers and he would look at you like this, trying to control himself from pining you down and having his way. As he cherishes your beauty you can’t help but do the same. His hair dishevelled with gel as loose curls fall across his forehead, there are buttons undone exposing his chest tattoos with his flesh red and cheeks glowing from the alcohol in his system, even in this state he looks so dazzling. Licking your bottom lip it breaks his trance, he reaches over and lights a cigarette as he leans back into the couch.
“I wish you would stop smoking those,” You say, hand going to the curls by his neck.
“I wish you would stop telling me you’re leaving.” Turning to look at you with liquor on his breath and eyes glossy, he draws in his cigarette. Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you break the gaze and let them lead to the white and orange bags in front of you, fingers dropping from his neck you card them through your hair and shake your head.
“I don’t know when I became so use to it H. I —I feel like I’m not me anymore?” You confide, tone small while he nods his head, still looking at you when he’s inhaling as his free hand begins running up your thigh.
“I understand baby, you know I understand.” He coos, the smell of whiskey fills your nose as he moves in deeper. His addicting aura swaying you with the way his presence is so magnetic; he wasn’t even touching you intimately, yet already you were under his control.
“It’s hard sometimes but that’s why I do this job, right… and that’s why you,” He’s tearing the hand away from his lips and letting his thumb run against your cheek, your eyes move away from the bags and lock with his green ones. “You sit and look pretty, yeah?” He says nodding his head. You push your lips together, gaze dropping to the cross hanging on his chest.
“Is that all I am to you now?” You question. “Just a pretty face?”
His thumb doesn’t stop its movements and his gaze doesn’t wavier when he shakes his head either. He was so intimidating with his tactile actions and slow movements. It didn’t help that he was handsome too, because even when you’re questioning your place in Harry’s life your panties are dripping with the way he’s looking at you.
“You already know that but, you also know that I love you for reasons more than your beauty.” Voice deep and dripping in honey as he searches your eyes; like when he had you to himself for the first time, staring at you as if he could see right through, as if he knew every thought brewing. He’s taking the cigarette back between his lips to suck on the batch before throwing it into the ashtray.
“I know I haven’t been around here lately, know I’ve been out dealing with everything but I need you here, keep my bed nice and warm, right?” Nodding your head, you lean off your arm and take Harry’s hands into yours. Feeling over every prominent vein and bone, running the pads of your fingertips over his knuckles as his lips press into the side of your neck, cologne and smoke immediately overwhelming you.
“You love me?” You ask, his fingers intertwining with yours as he begins trailing his kisses to your cheeks.
“I love you like the moon loves the stars.” He breathes against your skin, his words sloppy and low that it has you moaning softly.
His lips slip onto yours, tongue delving into your mouth and wasting no time to lick into every part. Salvia dripping from his tongue and into every crevice as his hand spreads over your thighs, shoving your body deeper into the couch as he drinks you in. Muscles moving against each other, breathless whimpers escaping the space, your fingers trail to his broad shoulders as he presses against you.
You know he’s drunk, that’s all you taste on his tongue aside from the cigarette. He was rocking his hips into your heat steadily as your almond nails run up the hairs of his neck, your lips tearing away when you look at him. Olive pupils with bruise lips, the smell of him was everywhere, you couldn’t leave him even if you tried he was so addicting like the nicotine in the air.
“Hm, you’re gonna stay here with me,” Harry says, leaning back on his knees to unbutton the rest of his long sleeve as you open your legs up in front of him. “Keep the fire nice and warm.” He hush, his fingers sliding to your thighs and slipping under the material to feel against your skin.
You suck in a breath, watching him slowly as he hovers over you between your legs, one hand rubbing you over the lace of your panties and the other rubbing the skin of your neck. You love when he submits his dominance over you, how he’s staring at you daringly and never breaking eye contact as he touches the most pleasurable part.
“Harry,” You breathe, eyes fluttering when he slips his finger under the lace and begins to run the the pads of his fingers in heavy circles.
He hums at the expression crossing your face, watching the way your chest heaves up and down and hips twitch for sped up movements. Tongue escaping his mouth and running over his bottom lip, your eyes catch on the thickness bulging against his zipper. Your hand immediately going out and feeling over him. He was hard like when you danced for him the first time, your hips swivelling against his in slow movements as you rode him through his clothes. You felt how desperate he was begging to be freed and find himself buried in your walls, however that night he didn’t get access to what he has now. Only making the groan in his throat more drawn out as the pressure on your neck increases.
“Be my good girl, yeah?” He breathes, hips rocking in your moving palm as he slips his finger into you. Moans trail out as your gaze turns away from the black trousers and to pearly white teeth tucking his bottom lip away.
Nodding your head lightly you let your hands begin to undo the buckle of his belt, pulling down the metal zipper and retrieving the thickness that you want buried between your legs. Mouth watering at the sight, your tongue slithers out of your mouth to run against the skin of his head. Lapping around the girth till your running down the length, tastebuds coating him in spit as he stands angry and red before you.
You’re so caught up in the beauty of Harry, that the pleasure he sends your way is one of shock, his finger leaving your folds to skim against your clit to delve back in you again. Motions starting slow to soon pick up in pace as the palm of his hand rubs against your bundle of nerves, his middle finger sending arousal down your thighs. Moans of pleasure leave your lips when you look at him, one hand jerking off his cock while the other plays with the globes between his legs, you let your lips envelope him; plump and glossy expanding over every vein along his shaft.
He continues to let his finger slip in you so teasingly as you moan around him, gaze caught between his happy trail and into his green eyes, how they are focus on your lips wrapped around him that leave lipstick streaks in their wake. You’re tipsy off just the feel of him, his hand holding your neck as he rocks into your mouth happily, groans leaving him as he fits himself nicely in your throat.
Another digit joins his movements, walls dripping in your juices as they welcome the extra fit. A long muffle cry escapes you as he spreads your walls blissfully, your mouth stretching with each thrust of Harry sinking down while he has you completely spread open in the living room. His fingers curling deeply in your pussy as your chest heaves with every breath before he’s sliding back down your throat.
Skin begins to glisten with sweat, hands going sticky with spit as you stoke him, eyes fighting to look up at him and the tattoos peaking from his button up. You let your hips swivel against his palm, rubbing your clit deeper into his touch as he slides in, it causes your mouth to slip Harry’s cock out with a pleasurable moan with the way he’s driving his fingers into your heat.
He’s been watching you wither underneath him since he had you in this position, looking at you come undone with only two fingers. He loves the expression on your face; brows pinch together as your small hands glide up his shaft, pink roaming amongst your cheeks to your breast begging to be freed from their confines. Harry lets you get off in his hands, he likes the way you rub yourself in his palm, he likes the way your arousal is coating him, he likes how you’re so needy for him.
Mouth electing another moan at the feeling of him sinking deeper he catches your gaze, Harry gliding his thumb over your bottom lip, their smudge red from you running them all over his member as your fingers lazily stroke him, he’s following your motions with your hips only causing your head to lean back with pleasure.
“Fuck Harry,” You cry, hips runting deeper into him when he leans down letting his lips connect with yours. The delicious taste of him spreading over you as he licks his way into your mouth feels like heaven. Adrenaline courses through your body as you twirl your tongues against each other completely lost in the way he’s making you feel and running through your veins. He smells so good, taste so exquisite, why did you ever think you could just leave. The way he makes you feel is why you stay through all the fucked up things so, why even put up a fuss when you knew where you would be once the sunsets.
“Come here love,” Harry says, pulling his embrace away from you and making you stand up. You pull your dress over your head, letting your fingers teasingly remove your undergarments as you know Harry is watching as he tugs at himself.
He lets you lie with your back against his chest, head on his arm as he takes himself into his hands and begins to run his dick over your folds. Pleasant sigh leaving when you’re lifting your thigh up to angle with Harry’s hips just in the right moment to were he slips into your pussy. The thickness of him stretching you out has you moaning loudly with your head falling deeper into his touch.
Harry sinking into you for the first time will always surprise you, the way he fills you up so thick and heavy, drawing down your walls lazily till he reaches your cervix before sliding out and pushing back in. He was always so gentle before he felt you loosen up around him, feeling the way you drip down his length and quiver with each draw of his hips.
There was a mixture of moans, whimpers, cries and groans shared between you both and floating around the heated atmosphere. His free hand holding your thigh up as he picks up his paste graciously. He’s lunging into you, chest clinging to his button up that is soaked with sweat as he leans in and presses kisses into your damp skin. The hairs by the end of your neck cling to you as your body moves with every thrust.
“Who’s gonna make you feel like this?” Harry taunts, his cock driving down your walls angrily as he fucks you. You can’t help the whimper that travels out from his words with the way he’s burying you into the couch.
“Huh? Who’s gonna fuck you like this if you leave?” Voice in your ear so deep and sexy that it makes you take your hand away from the grey leather and run them through his curls, head turning as your mouth hangs slightly open as your body rakes with complete ecstasy.
“Mhm… look at your pretty face,” Harry says, dropping your thigh and wrapping his hand around your throat, only making you sigh out in pleasure as you feel rushed kisses and the sound his hips meeting your backside overcoming the interviewers on tv.
“No one can fuck you like this, right?” He’s huffing in your ear, grip tightening around your throat as your eyes flutter open, the burning sensation of your clit throbbing in pleasure tingling down your thighs. Shaking your head in between movements your fingers trail themselves out of his curls and to the hand on your neck, feeling over his touch as he pounds down your walls. His movements so deep and fast that you can’t even speak anymore, not even cry out in pleasure.
“That’s right, no one can fuck you like me, huh.” He continues, his teeth biting down softly on your cartilage as the vibrating feeling of your orgasm cashes down on you.
God, you hate that he was so proud with the way he can have you coming undone and knowing just how. The way he rams into your heat with such aggression that it has your eyes rolling back and nails digging into the skin of his hand, the grip he’s holding on your throat only making your motions escalate to your hips quivering away from Harry’s at the exploding feeling drumming in your core.
Chest heaves up and down as your lower half twitches against him, eyes fluttering up at the chandelier high in the ceiling to the oak spiral staircase, your mind in a complete haze as you shudder against Harry, his shaft still pumping away inside you as you try to collect yourself from the riveting feelings coursing through you.
“Look so sexy all over me,” He husks, your creaminess sliding down his cock as he releases the hold on your throat. His hand slips to your stomach burning in arousal as holds you there, his hips not letting up as he continues to fuck you into the sofa.
“Oh god Harry please,” You cry, eyes opening and following his movements as you let your hands trace over his and backside meet his movements. “Come in my pussy, please.” You whimper, his teeth tearing away from your ear and lips sticking to your temple as he hums to your words.
“That’s right baby. Only I can come in your pussy cause you’re all mine, right?” He utters, fingers dragging over the skin of your stomach as you nod your head softly.
“Yes all yours.” You sigh, teeth biting down on your lip as the feeling of him stretching you out has you lightheaded.
“Fuck you look so good like this,” Harry breathes into your warm skin, his hand wiping the strands of hair off your lips. He looks at the way your throat bobs with each lazy swallow, listens to the tiny whine you make when his balls press right against your folds, feels the way he slides into you effortlessly from the juices flowing out that he can’t help the long groan that escapes him when he feels his seed spill into your walls.
Your arousal mixing with his runs down your sweaty thighs while heavy breaths escape you, your version lies tirelessly on the packages in front of you while Harry’s hand goes to play with the hairs framing your face when you move around in his hold.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, the television playing as he tangles his fingers through your locks and lets the other drape down the expanse of your stomach. The sound of his heart slows as does yours in the space between you both. Lungs finding balance with feet tangling together, the sound of Harry sighing behind you makes you turn your attention to him.
“I know you want to leave but just stay. Just for a little longer.”
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cherry-titz · 4 months
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HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!
some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!
content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!
word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D
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This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.
A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.
Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.
Y/N doesn’t drink alone.
But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.
In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.
She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.
And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—
The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.
She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 
So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.
The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.
It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.
She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”
And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.
Or so she found out.
And he looks… the same. Of course he does.
Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.
All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 
And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.
Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.
She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.
The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?
“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.
She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.
His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.
The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?
…Did it matter?
It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.
And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.
The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—
“Sneaky little thing.”
Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.
“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.
When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”
Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.
Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.
It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.
Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”
And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”
It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”
Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 
Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.
So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?
Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”
She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.
Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.
But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.
“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.
Yes. She did.
But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 
It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 
He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.
He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.
“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.
“Shut up—”
“When you were cumming inside me—?” 
“—Shut the fuck up.”
Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.
“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”
He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.
It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”
“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”
Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).
“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”
“—It wasn’t a date—”
“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”
Something real? Something real?
“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.
She’s granted no such thing.
“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.
Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)
It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.
“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.
Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”
“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”
And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.
He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.
But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”
The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”
She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”
Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.
Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.
They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.
Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.
She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 
He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.
“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”
A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.
“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”
“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”
“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”
Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.
But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.
“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”
“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.
“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.
Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”
A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 
The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.
“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”
She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.
“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”
“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.
It’s not.
“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.
“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.
“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.
So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”
Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 
The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.
They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.
“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”
And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.
She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 
Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.
“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”
“—Mhm—”
He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.
“Ye-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.
He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”
Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.
“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.
Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.
His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.
“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”
She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.
Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”
“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.
A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”
It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.
“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.
He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 
One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.
“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”
A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 
“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.
He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”
“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”
“You’ll what, pet?”
“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.
“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”
“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 
“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”
No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.
“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”
A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.
“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”
She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.
The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.
He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.
He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”
Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.
He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.
But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 
Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.
“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.
His hips snap back into her.
“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 
It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.
“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.
“Don’t you?”
“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 
He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 
Her noises topple out.
Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”
The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.
He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”
And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 
Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.
This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 
Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 
And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.
But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.
“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.
“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.
He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.
“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.
She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.
“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”
Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.
And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.
It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.
“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.
Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.
“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.
She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.
“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.
Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.
“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 
He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 
Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.
Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”
It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.
It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.
He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 
Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.
“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.
“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.
He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.
“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.
But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.
Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 
He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.
“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”
Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”
Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.
She waits. 
The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.
He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 
Y/N never sees him again.
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whitemancumslut · 4 months
Text
20 MINUTES
SUMMARY You give Harry the best 20 minutes of his life.
CONTENT WARNING: 18+ SMUT, oral (m receiving)
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The digital clock on your bedside table read 6:40am. As usual, you wake up and get your day started, before your husband and two children even stirred. You make your way out of your master bedroom in silence, slowly opening each of your children's doors and taking a moment to gaze at them, lying peacefully in their beds. 6AM was early but when you have to prep the school lunches, Harry’s work lunch, and breakfast, all in one morning, it was reasonable.
As you stepped out the shower, brushed your teeth and got into some new clothes, you enter your bedroom, and you are greeted with the sight of your majestic husband. Stirring peacefully in the sheets, bathed in the warm orange glow of the rising sun. His bare, tatted torso is highlighted by the sunlight filtering through the window blinds. You’re slightly taken back because it’s very rare to even see Harry budge at this time. He’s not meant to get up until another 20 minutes.
"Baby?" he called softly, his eyes squinting with gentle warmth as he watched you draw nearer to him. As his foggy mind began to awake, he blinks causing his vision to sharpen.
You smiled warmly as you made your way to your king size bed. You crawled onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress. His hair was disheveled, yet you still thought he looked so perfect. His face was smushed in the pillow, his eye peaking out, watching you come closer. "Yes, it's me, baby," you chuckled lightly and your smile growing more and more. He returned your smile and pulled himself up from the fluffy pillow so he was now resting against it.
When you place your warm, gentle palms on his shoulder blades, he tenderly embraces you around your waist, tiredly pulling you in. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his puffy morning lips.
“Mmh, I don't know how you manage to wake up so early," he chuckles softly. He slowly closes his eyes and enjoys the sensual silence and the feeling of you on him. You hum in contentment, as you began running your palm over his chest and the tattoos that adorn it. He couldn’t get any sexier. Every morning look of his made your heart skip a beat. His hair, his voice, his puffy pink lips - everything about him was so sexy. How did you end up so lucky?
He watches as you tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth. He catches you when you trail down his torso, your hand stopping once you past the names of your precious children etched into his skin. Harry felt warmth building as your leg slipped between his thighs and you leaned down to brush a soft, lingering peck to his cheek. His hum filled the four walls as he felt himself being pulled closer in and before he knew it, your lips had moved to his. His eyes fluttered closed as he happily kissed you back, his tongue pushing past your lips. He loses the touch of your left hand on his torso as you grasped the back of his head, drawing him closer to you as you shifted your body to straddle him. He expected you to pull away, but instead, you stayed.
You groaned into the kiss as your right hand moved from his torso to his crotch, and he tensed in response. Harry was taken back, "Right now?" He asked. You had anticipated the twenty minutes before one of your children awoke, and it was time for Harry to get ready for work. You were determined to make the most of it.
“Yes. Right now,” Your eyes drew to the space in between you and where his cock was stiffening. Your voice was serious but a playful smirk grew on your lips as you leaned in for another kiss. You pressed your lips against his, lightly gliding your tongue against his lower lip, asking for entry. He welcomed you in eagerly and let your tongues intertwine.
Harry's hands groped your ass as he growled with pleasure into your mouth. His desire melting through you as you could feel his cock growing beneath you. The kiss was hot and you hated to break it, but you wanted him in your mouth. You missed the feeling so much, your mouth was about to water just feeling him budge beneath you.
You pulled away from the kiss, opening your eyes to see him fluttering his. He gives you a teethy grin as you pecked his the side of his mouth before sliding off his lap. You positioned yourself on your knees, right beside Harry's thigh, and watched as he began to slide his briefs down. He raised his hips, freeing himself from the fabric, revealing his semi-hard cock. An amused grin crawled onto your lips, and your eyes widened playfully. Harry drew in a hiss of surprise as the cool air of the room touched him. Your eyes drew back down to his large cock that twitched after coming to contact with the cool air.
You bend over so that you're on eye level with his dick, your hand firmly grasping it. It's so large, it's difficult to wrap your hand around it fully. But you manage and apply pressure as he enjoys, and jerk him slowly.
You inch closer and slowly trace your tongue up the side of his cock. As you lick up the vein that was running up his length, Harry lets out a strained low moan of pleasure. You lick your way up to the tip causing all his nerves to shoot through. Harry brings his hands to the sheets, gripping feverishly. You grinned up at him, before kitty licking the tip of his cock again and again and again. Then, going down to his balls. Placing your hand on them and massaging them in your palms while licking from them to the tip. He threw his head back in satisfaction of your actions, while your hand continued to fondle his balls. “Fuck, Y/n,” Harry groaned. Your hand goes back up to his base and began stroking him at a good pace.
Eventually, you giving in and place your mouth back on him again. Sucking on tip lightly, swirling your tongue around, he becomes stiffer in your mouth as you tease. You could taste his pre-cum on the tip of your tongue and you swallow before you finally, brought your mouth down to suck on his large cock. Harry throws his head back.
The groan and growl and strain in his voice was sexy and you couldn’t help but moan around his cock. Your eyes meet when he brings his head back up so he can see you. He swears he could cum just by the looks of your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. You hum gently against the tip and his body shivers in response, and he gasps, "Holy— F-fuck! Just like that, sweetheart.” Harry exclaims lowly.
He became more aware and realized you guys weren’t home alone and he kept his volume low. But you could still hear the beautiful sounds he let escape every now and then. “That’s it,” He muttered. Your hands rested on the sides of his naked tatted thighs, nails digging into his skin each time you went down and felt you were about to choke.
You bobbed your head, up and down, up and down, and up and down. Spit was spilling from the sides of your mouth and a deep dent formed in your cheeks as you sucked him harder. “Faster,” He said. So you went faster. You went down, further and further until his tip touched the back of your throat, and you stayed there for a while. Breathing through your nostrils, you huff as his dick literally stuffs your mouth.
Harry curses, “Oh fuckfuckfuck!” Oh, how you missed it. That feeling. The feeling of having him stuff your mouth. You practically choking on his heavy cock.
You pulled up for air, and asked, “Feels good, baby?” His cock didn’t get a break as your mouth left it, your hands replaced you. You jerked him as you await his response, he nods.
“Fuck yes,” He practically whines. “You’re doing amazing baby, a-as always…” The tug your hand was doing on his dick was causing him to get caught up in his sentence. Your grip was firm and your strokes with moist with your spit and felt phenomenal. Brushing over his tip ever so lightly, you nod before you bring his cock to your puffy lips and wrapping them around him again. Taking him as deep as you can, swirling your tongue around him, hearing him curse and grunt.
You knew he was close, he was a blabbering, trembling mess. Just because of this you take him in shallow, going deep, all the way until your nose hit his base. His thigh muscles tightened, as you felt on your elbow that rested just about it. You continued to move your head up and down, fast and faster.
“I am so close,” He grunts. That you knew. You bob your head faster and sucked harder and harder. He was going to pop. The feeling of you around him was euphoric. The way you stared at him with the big eyes like you were innocent with your mouth full of him. An absolute devil.
“I’m going to cum, baby.” His thighs were tense. Now there was no stopping. His hands leave the sheets and into your hair. Harry grips your hair as you gave him all you got. You sucked him harder and harder and the closer he got. His eyes closed shut as he felt himself going more and more over the edge.
Spit continued to spill down his shaft and down to his inner thighs. You huffed through your nose again as you sucked. Harry’s thighs tightened even more. His hips subconsciously lift as he pushes himself further down your throat. “Fuck!” He hisses as he throws his head back and before you knew it, he was cumming down your throat.
His groans are a bit more louder and his hips are still up. His cock is pressed into your mouth, his tip almost touching the back of your throat as he released. His eyes are slammed shut and so are yours as you hold yourself down on him making sure you get all of him.
You eventually pull off, careful not to lose any of him in your mouth. He opened his eyes to the sight of you swallowing his load.
“Fuck, baby. That was— incredible.”
“Why, thank you.” You smiled.
“No, thank you.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to your lips.
With that, it was time to wake your kids up for school. You went to brush your teeth once more and gave them an extra five minutes in. Harry did the same, and got himself ready for work.
As it was time for the kids and Harry to go, the kids ran to the car as Harry says, “I’ll repay you later.” He winked before closing the front door.
AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry I’ve been gone for so long!! But I’m back!! Rusty come back, but I hope you enjoy!!
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cinemastyles-backup · 6 months
Text
One and Done?
Summary: Anon request - “Hello I have a oneshot request/idea can you do an enemies to lovers where y/n is just as popular as Harry and he can't stand it but he secretly loves her and make it as smutty as you possibly can?”
Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, enemies to lovers, angst, asshole!harry, masterbation using vibrator, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f rec), spanking, creampie, filth
My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.
DUNKIRK HARRY
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"You can't just not show up to the press conference, Harry." I overhear my manager tell Harry. Well, our manager.
"Why not?" Harry argues, "You'll have y/n there. She can cover all the questions."
I roll my eyes and smirk, Harry cannot stand that I'm just as big as he is. It gets under his skin that his fans love me just as much as him, and I live for that.
"You're the other star of the movie, Harry. You can't just bail on the press for it. We need you to talk about it."
I take a deep breathe and walk around the corner, "Hey, mick, I was looking- oh sorry did I interrupt something?" I glance at Harry and poorly hide my smirk on purpose.
"Yeah, kinda." Harry says with an annoyed tone.
"No, y/n. What's up?" Mick says with a sigh.
"I was wondering what the dress code for tomorrow is." I cross my arms and put my weight on my left leg, popping my hip out, "Is it dress up? Casual?"
"Yeah, we have a dress for you. They're bringing it tomorrow morning." Mick's phone rings, "If you'll excuse me.." he picks up the phone and leaves the room.
I look at Harry, "What?"
He shakes his head, "Did I say anything?"
I shrug, "You're staring at me like you want to."
He rolls his eyes and scoffs, "Staring? Never." He walks over and grabs a bottle of water, "You wish I would stare at you."
I pretend to gag, "Barf."
He tilts his head, "No, I was actually thinking about what horrid dress they're going to make you wear tomorrow."
I roll my eyes, "Please. I could wear a stained table cloth and still look better than you." I turn to walk out and Harry says my name.
I turn and look at him, "What."
He walks over to me and looks down. A smirk slowly grows on his lips, "Good luck tomorrow. You're going to need it."
He brushes his chest against mine and walks out.
——
I lay in bed alone. Tossing and turning, kind of anxious for tomorrow's press conference.
I roll onto my back and let out a sigh as I drop my hands beside me onto the bed. I bite my lip and flip the covers off of my body.
I get up and walk over to my suitcase, digging though to pull out my compact vibrator. I smile and prance back to bed. I pull the covers back over and bite my lip as I click the button to turn it on.
I go through the options until I'm on the highest setting. I place the vibrator on my clit and arch my back, letting out a gasp.
I spread my legs wider and try to picture something to help me get to the release I'm so desperately craving.
Harry.
I pull the vibrator away from my body and sit up, "No." I say to myself, "No. No. No."
I toss the vibrator on the bed and lay back down. I chew on the inside of my lip and sigh, he'll never know.
I lean up and snatch the still buzzing object off the bed and place it between my legs again.
Harry circles my brain. In my mind, I make the sex scene we filmed real, and with a few added details.
His cock plunging deep into my pussy. His hands tangled into my hair. His voice, deep and raspy as he tells me how much of a good girl I'm being for him.
I moan Harry's name loudly which catches me off guard and I slam my hand over my mouth.
I arch my back off the bed and squeeze my thighs together as I cum to the image of Harry absolutely railing me into the mattress.
My chest rises and falls quickly as I slowly pull the vibrator away and click it off. I lay it next to me on the bed and slowly take my hand away from my mouth.
Harry's room is right next to mine and I hope to God he didn't hear me.
——
"Good morning." Gwen, who does the makeup, greets as I sit down in her chair, "Oh honey. Did you not sleep last night? You look exhausted."
Harry walks in and sits down next to me, "Yeah, y/n, you look like you were up all hours of the night." He smirks and sips his coffee.
Oh god, he heard me. He fucking heard me.
"Harry. Stop it. You look tired too." Gwen snaps pointing a makeup brush at him.
I smirk slightly, "Yeah, Harry. You look like you were up all hours of the night." I mock him in a fake British accent. He rolls his eyes and starts to get his hair done.
"I'll fix you up nice and pretty, don't you worry." Gwen winks at me in the mirror and I smile, "Thanks."
——
"Okay people. It's almost red carpet time!" Don the direction yells while clapping his hands.
"You two better play nice today or I swear to God.." Mick says through gritted teeth.
"Not me you have to worry about." Harry throws me under the bus.
"Mhm." Mick rolls his eyes, "Just- both of you please .. this is important."
"You got it." I give him a thumbs up and give Harry an eye roll. He chuckles and shakes his head.
"What?" I ask turning towards him, "If you have something to say, say it."
He leans in close to me and whispers, "I heard you."
I freeze and stare at him in shock, unable to process that he fucking heard me touching myself to him.
Him of all people.
"Y/N." I blink and look over at Mick, "Y/N. Go. It's your turn."
I suddenly come back to the embarrassing reality and turn away from Harry. I take a deep breathe and smooth my dress out, walking with shaky legs down the carpet.
I smile, turn, and pose for the photographers, moving down the line. The fans scream for me, just as much as they do for Harry and I glance down at him. He clenches his jaw and forces a smile.
Even though he might know what I did, I still get under his skin and his huge narcissistic ego is bruised.
I walk up to the fans to sign a few things and say hello and they go wild.
"Hello. Hi. Hello. Thank you for coming." I say with a huge smile, "Thank you."
"Y/N. You look beautiful!"
"Thank you!" I smile and pose for a selfie with a few fans, "I gotta go! Thank you! Thank you!" I blow kisses as I walk to the last group of photographers.
"Can we see the dress?"
"Do a little spin for us, yeah?"
I spin around slowly, allowing them to see just how good this dress shows off the curves of my body.
"Can we get the stars of the movie together please?"
My heart sinks to my ass and I swear fell out.
"Of course you can!" Harry says with a chuckle as he walks up to me, "Hello." He says with a smirk, "Nice to finally hear- er, I mean see you again."
I can feel my cheeks getting hot and I swallow, "Fuck off." I mumble through a smile.
"Sounds like you already beat me to it. Last night at least." He pulls me closer to him and looks up at the cameras.
I fight to hold my smile. It feels like forever until they're finally done with us.
"Thank you!" I smile and walk away from Harry. I walk into the hallway to meet the other cast members who are joining us today.
I lean against the wall and take a deep breathe. I look over as Harry walks in and I scoff and turn away. He walks up and leans his shoulder against the wall behind me, "You know.." he pauses.
I shake my head and pull my arm away as he touches the back of my arm, "Y/N." I can sense that he stepped closer, "If you would have asked.." he leans down, his lips are almost touching my ear, "I could have helped you."
I whip around and lay a hand on his chest, "You don't know what you're talking about." I yell in a quiet tone, "So just shut your fucking mouth and let me the hell alone."
He chuckles, "I get it. I'd fantasize about me, too. I promise you're not the only one."
"You're so disgusting." I roll my eyes and turn back around, "Fucking men." I grumble to myself.
"You're not easy to like yourself, sweetheart. So maybe before you judge anyone else, you work on fixing yourself." He huffs.
"I don't need.." I turn around, "I don't need to work on anything other than hating you more."
"Mhm." He rolls his eyes and looks at me, "I'm sure you hate me so much." He fake moans the last two words.
"Hmm. I don't need to hate you more because you've just maxed out the scale of hate." I roll my eyes and walk forward, getting ready to walk in.
"Go, y/n." Mick says motioning for me to walk in.
I put on a smile and walk in, waving to the crowd and blowing kisses as they cheer for me. I walk up on stage and take my seat, smiling and thanking them.
Harry walks in and it's the same level of excitement as it is for me. I purse my lips together and look down, brushing my lashes with my finger to hide my smirk.
"Hello, everyone. Thank you." He takes his seat, of course, right next to me.
——
This is has been a piece of cake. The questions were easy. The answers were easy. We were in the home stretch- until that one interview had to ask that one goddamn question.
"What we're the feelings going on during the big sex scene that you and Harry had to do?"
I stare at her for a few seconds before I speak, "Um, well. I feel like you need to have a certain level of trust when doing something like that, you know?" I start, "I can definitely say that there was a lot of that. We had an amazing coach there with us to help us achieve the level of realness, I guess you could say?"
I glance over at Harry and smile at him, "I couldn't have asked for a better partner to do that scene with."
I look back out to the crowds and Mick gives me two thumbs up.
"And Harry?" The interviewer asks, "How do you feel about it?"
Harry takes a deep breathe and thinks for a moment, "I have to agree with y/n on that actually. You also have to fully be okay with being that.. naked with a couple other people in the room, and y/n was just as nervous as I was at first." He leans forward, "We got comfortable with each other pretty quick."
"And how was that? Did you guys like-"
I cut her off, speaking kinda quickly, "No. No. it was more like we knew we had to do this so we talked each other through our nerves and just focused on making this movie the best it could possibly be."
"Thank you."
I nod and avoid looking over at Harry.
"Let's have a round of applause for our amazing cast of  Rose and Levi." The host says clapping with the crowd.
I stand up, smiling and waving, and praying this is over so I can go curl up in my hotel room and die for the rest of the day.
——
"We leave tomorrow morning. The cars will be waiting out front to take us to the airport, seven am. Don't be late." Mick says nodding, "You did good today. See you tomorrow."
I smile and grab my bag, "Thanks." I walk to the elevator and press the button. Someone else walks up and I can immediately tell that it's Harry.
"Not one word the entire way up." I say as the doors open. I get on and turn around. My eyes follow him as he walks on. He presses the three button and steps back.
He has his hair pushed back with glasses and a grey hoodie on with black shorts and I find myself thinking what it would be like to get fucked on an elevator.
I chew on the inside of my lip and beg myself to stop thinking that way.
The doors open and I practically sprint off and down the hall way to my room. I give Harry one last look, debating on acting on my thoughts or not.
I tilt my head and go into my room, shutting the door quickly. I press my back against the door and listen to see if I can hear him go into his room or not.
It stays silent and I let out a sigh, "Fuck." I run my hands over my face and go into the bathroom to run a shower.
I strip down from my morning clothes and put the robe on that's hanging on the door. I pour a glass of wine as I wait for the water to heat up and I drink it all in one gulp.
I pour another and do the same thing before I set the glass down and walk into the bathroom. I shut the door and step in.
I let the water run over my body and Harry's voice runs through my head, I could have helped you.
I bite my lip and shake my head. He wasn't serious. Was he? No, no. I'm not asking. No.
——
I wrap my hair in the towel and put the robe back on, loosely tying the belt around my waist.
I pour another glass of wine, but this time I take my time with it. There's a knock on the door and I look up, "Coming." I look through the peephole and let out a sigh.
"What do you want?" I say as I open the door. Harry pushes past me and walks right in, "Yeah, sure. Just co-"
He turn around and cuts me off, "Just shut the hell up for a minute, okay?"
I stare at him shut the door, "Yes sir."
He runs a hand through his hair, "You." He groans, "Fuck." He walks toward me then turns around, "God dammit, y/n."
"What the hell did I do?" I hold out my arms to the sides and watch was he paces, "If you ca-"
"You made me love you."
I cannot produce words anymore, so I just stand there, completely blindsided by what he said.
"You.." he walks over and stands in front of me, "You have a fire inside of you that just.. pulls me in and it gets worse the harder I try to fight it." His eyes scan over my face, "What you did last night? Moaning my name.. I've done countless of times with yours."
My lips part and I just stare at him.
"You have no fucking idea how much I wish I could have just .. Fucked you for real during our scene. Just ripped those panties off of you and shoved my cock deep into that pussy of yours."
My breathe catches in my throat and I look around, "H-Harry." I whisper trying to comprehend the words he just spoke, "I-I.."
He steps towards me, "Hearing you moan my name is something I've dreamed of hearing, y/n."
I watch as he traces the fabric of my robe.
"And the fact that you're loved by the world, makes it even worse for me because you could have anyone you want an-"
"I want you." I speak quickly. I repeat the words I just spoke in my head and nod, "I want you."
He smirks and is quick to untie my robe, revealing my naked body to him. He seen me naked a couple times but the look on his face is like he's seeing me for the very first time all over again.
His eyes scan over my body and he pulls me in by my robe, "You're so fucking sexy, y/n." His hands slide onto my hips and he pulls me into him.
I finish my wine quickly and set the glass on the table. Harry picks me up and takes me to the bed, laying me down and kissing up my body to my lips.
My hands grab his neck and I pull him close, almost like my body missed him.
It did.
"Tell me what you did last night." He says, "Tell me what you thought about."
"You." I whisper, "I thought about you."
"Doing what, my love?" Harry drags his fingers down my naked body, stopping once he reaches my clit.
My lips part as he presses down, "To-touching myself." I breathe out and moan. He presses circles onto my clit as his lips place little kisses on my skin.
"Did it feel good?" He asks quietly, "Did touching yourself to me feel so good?"
I nod and arch my back, "Y-yes."
"I was awake, doing the same thing." He kisses my jaw line, his fingers move down and slip inside of me, "But with you. Thinking about your beautiful, naked body under mine."
I moan as he pushes his fingers deep into me, curling them.
"You drive me fucking insane, y/n." He mumbles as he nudges his nose against my neck, "I hate it."
I open my eyes and look at him, "You.. hate it?"
"Well.." he tilts his head, "Until now. I hated it until this very moment."
I smile slightly and gasp as he thrusts his fingers in slowly, "Harry." I whimper, "Please."
"Please what? Hmm?" He kisses from my cheek to my lips, "Tell me baby. Tell me what you want."
"I need your cock." I clench around his fingers and he chuckles, "Can you cum for me, y/n?" He works his fingers in and out at a slightly faster pace, working me to the edge.
"Fuck." I gasp loudly as I cum on his hand.
He groans lowly, "Good job, baby."
I catch my breathe and look up at him, "Why didn't you ever tell me?" He slips his hoodie and shirt off and shrugs, "It was easier to hate you at the time."
"What do you mean?" I sit up and watch as he slowly pushes his sweats down.
He shakes his head, "That's not important anymore." He takes his boxers off and crawls up the bed. I lay back as he moves on top of me and I look up at him.
"What's important right now.. is that I find out what you taste like." He smirks slightly and kisses down my body.
I bite my lip and watch as he pushes my legs further apart and licks his lips. I throw my head back and my back rises off the bed as his tongue slides up my pussy.
He moans as his tongue slides in and out and I whine, "Harry." He grips my inner thighs and his fingers dig in.
I let out a loud moan and reach down with one hand to lay it on his head. My fingers gradually gather a fist full of hair and I pull as I push him closer.
I repeatedly moan out his name as he tongue fucks me.
His nose rubs my clit, adding additional pleasure and I cum again. He continues to eat me out for another few minutes and pulls away with a satisfied sigh.
"You taste fucking delicious, y/n." He whispers as he makes his way up to me again, "Hearing you moan out my name is music to my ears. I fucking love it."
I bite my lip and lean up to connect my lips with his. My tongue slides into his mouth and I moan at my taste on his tongue.
"Roll over." He commands.
I roll over onto my stomach and his hands grip my ass cheeks, "Fuck." He groans, "So fucking hot."
He leans down and kisses down my back as he grips my hips to pull them up. I move my legs up so my ass is in the air for him.
"You want my cock?" He asks delivering a slap to my right cheek, "Hmm?"
I nod and moan, "Yes."
"Couldn't quite hear ya, love." He delivered a smack to my left cheek.
"Yes." I practically scream out from the pained pleasure he gave me, "Yes Harry."
"Mm." He spreads my folds apart and pumps his fingers inside of me a few times before he pulls them out and replaces it with his cock.
I push my face into the mattress and leg out a loud moan as I grip the sheets.
"I want to hear you, baby." Harry says grabbing my hair and pulling my head up, "I want to hear you scream while I fuck the shit out of you."
I nod once and moan as he pushes his cock all the way inside of me, "Fuck, Harry!"
He groans and pulls out, roughly thrusting back in.
I let out a loud moan and push my hips back to meet his. His hand on my hip tightens as he starts to thrust, hard and slow.
"Your pussy is hugging my cock in all the right ways. Fuck." He moans, "I knew I needed you."
I moan louder with each hard thrust. Screaming out his name with the most utter pleasure, "Fuck. Fuck."
I clench around him and claw at the bed, "H-ha-" I can't even speak. My eyes roll shut and my body goes numb.
Harry groans and let's go of my hair. My head falls onto the bed and he grips my hips, pulling my hips back to meet his thrusts.
"Fuck, y/n." He moans, "You're going to make me cum sooner than I want, fuck."
I grip the sheets and pull, letting the whole hotel know, if they don't already know by now, that's I'm being given a proper fuck.
Harry's thrusts slow down and I can feel his cock twitch inside of me.
I let out a sigh and lay my body down as soon as he pulls out.
Harry falls down next to me and we lay there for a few minutes until he finally gets up. He puts on his sweats and lays his hoodie on the bed.
"So what was that? Just a one and done fuck?" I ask grabbing my robe and putting it on, "Or.." I tie my robe shut again and sit on the edge of the bed.
He looks at me and stares at me for a few seconds before he walks over to me.
He stands between my legs and lifts my chin up with his fingers, "If anyone else touches you, I'll break every single one of their goddamn fingers. You're mine now, baby."
——
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cupidsdolll · 24 days
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pairings: boyfriend!harry x fem!reader [1.8k]
content warnings: cockwarming, small bit of fluff
“Don’t. Move.”
Harry’s voice is low enough to not be picked up by his computer microphone but loud enough for the girl before him to hear. She looks up at him from her spot on the floor, her knees aching from sitting in the same place for long periods of time. She’s unsure of just how long she’s been sitting on her knees, eyes watery and mouth full of his cock, but she thinks a good chunk of his meeting has gone by she’s been sitting down. He had told her before the meeting started that it was an important one and that she should be good and keep herself busy until he’s through. That was his only request, she needed to leave him alone.
She nodded then, sure of herself and her ability to stay away from him. She was wrong. It only took twenty minutes into the meeting that the heat started to bloom within her. It started off as a small little feeling in her chest and she frowned. She started to read to try to distract herself from it but then the book started to get a little steamy which only made the heat worse. The longer Harry stayed in that room on his call, the more antsy she became, the more the heat grew.
He’s been in there for at least an hour by now, talking and laughing on the other side of the door and Y/N can’t wait any longer. She walks quietly into his office and he shoots her a warning look, reminding her of what he said earlier. Be good. She shakes her head and sits on an empty chair near him. She’s hoping that the close proximity will calm the heat licking at the inside of the girl’s body. She just watches him, her eyes roaming over every part of him, his slender fingers free from his rings minus one. It’s a simple little ring that Y/N had bought for him when they were just friends, a plain gold ring with a couple of small gems in a circle that just somehow reminded her of him.
Time passed and the girl was bored and horny and just itching to tease him just a little. She scooted herself closer to Harry, just out of sight of his camera. If Harry saw, then he acted as if he didnt, completely ignoring her, nodding along to whatever the man on camera was saying. She lays one hand on his knee, a touch so innocent seeming and just lets it rest. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, her main gaze focused on the screen, watches as he flares his nostrils and exhales deeply. He cuts her a brief glance with a hard look, another warning. He’s normally a very patient man, hard to visibly upset. She knows that he enjoys her being the slightest disobedient on a regular day, but he doesn’t tolerate it as much when he’s in business mode. He doesn’t like being distracted and she’s his biggest and main one.
Slowly she begins to start trailing her hand upwards on his lap, the feel of the rough cotton against her palm rewarding her but doing very little to calm the fire burning inside her. One hand swats at hers, a lingering tingle on the back of her hand remains. She can hear his mouse click a couple times before he turns his head to look at her.
“What did I say, hm?” He asks and she just shrugs.
“You’ve been on this call forever. I miss you.” She says and he just chuckles, a dry sounding laugh that just says he doesn’t buy it.
“So you think you can just ignore what I told you? You can do whatever you want, hm?” He says and she watches a glint pass through his eyes, one that only happens whenever she’s being a brat and she clenches her legs as the fire burns stronger inside of her. She’s warm, a little warmer than she’d like to be in all honesty. She shrugs, all faux confidence and brattiness. She’s trying not to seem eager at all this attention she’s getting from him and trying to ignore the wetness pooling in her underwear.
It’s no use though and she knows this, he’s able to read her like the back of his hand. He knows she’s turned on and trying to seem big and confident, knows that she’s squeezing her legs as tight as she can. He simply smiles, a genuine one as he turns back to his computer. He’s able to pick right back where he left off, adding onto the conversation as if he wasn’t talking to her just a second ago. She watches in disbelief as he goes back to ignoring her, acting as if she was outside of the door instead of right next to him. She huffs in annoyance before her hand is resting back on his leg, sliding upwards faster before she reaches his covered dick that’s beginning to harden underneath her touch. He breathes through his nose as she smiles and starts rubbing him over his clothes. He clicks his mouse and turns to look at her, the look in his eyes is one that she loves to see.
“On your knees, in front of me. Hurry up.” He says and she just tilts her head at him, feigning innocence.
“Why? Aren’t you supposed to be focusing on your meeting? I’d hate to distract you.” She says and squeezes his dick once over his jeans. He closes his eyes and sighs, she’s really pushing his patience and the both of them know it.
“On. Your. Knees. Now. Don’t make me tell you again, pet.” He says as he turns back to his computer and unmutes himself, she stares at him a little longer and then decides to listen to him. She stands up and sinks to her knees, crawling so she’s in between his legs, looking up at him with a smirk. She thinks she’s in control, she’s gotten what she wants so there’s no way she’s losing anything right now.
She has him wrapped around her finger normally as does he, they’re both equally whipped for each other and there’s no denying it. She thinks she has him in the palm of her hand, has him right where she wants him, but it’s quite the opposite actually. Harry knew she could only stay away from him for so long. Knew that she could only take so much before she gets all antsy and needy for him, just like she is now. He offers a soft smile, full of love and warm, opposite of the fire burning in his emerald eyes. He’s full of lust and the thought of punishing her while he’s actively on a call makes the fire burn brighter, hotter.
She stares at him, one hand tracing random shapes into his pants as she waits for instruction. He hums, an agreeing noise.
“Go ahead and take me out then, baby.” He says after muting himself, not wanting to alert his other coworkers, it’s none of their business and he does have a professionalism to maintain after all. She smiles up at him with excitement in her eyes as she begins to trail her hands up his legs, over his knees and begins to pull his pants down slowly. He lifts himself off of his chair as subtly as he can, disguising it as getting himself more comfortable. After all, he has been sitting in that chair without a break for over an hour. She stares at his hard cock, standing straight up and a small bead of pre cum begins to dribble out. Her mouth waters instantly at the thought of sucking him off, it’s one of her favorite things. He smiles at her again, this time it’s more of a smirk if anything. He knows she’s eager for it, she always will be. He coos at her gently before nodding once, letting her know it’s okay to go ahead. She wastes no time, eagerly leaning forward and taking him into her mouth. He closes his eyes briefly before he opens them again and tries to pay attention to whatever’s being said from the other side of the screen. He does his best to ignore the feeling of her mouth on him as she bobs her head and sucks on him greedily, her tongue gently circling around him whenever she reaches closer to the tip. Before she’s able to get too into it, Harry has to remember that this is supposed to be a punishment. She’s not supposed to be enjoying herself so he calmly takes one of his hands and tangles his fingers into the back of her head gently tugging on her roots.
“Don’t move now, just keep me warm.” He says softly, doesn’t want to keep having to mute himself in order to protect their ears and just chooses to talk quietly in hopes that his mic won’t pick up his words. She whines and shakes her head slightly, showing her displeasure but he doesn’t care. She brought this on herself. He sits hot and heavy on her tongue, the taste of his pre-comeum is salty and intoxicating. She’s always loved the way he tastes, and can never get enough of it.
She hates when he has her do this, hates just being still even though her mouth waters heavily, desire swirls in her stomach and courses through her body. She huffs at him to show her annoyance, trying to show her attitude even with her mouth closed. He simply chuckles at the girl and her efforts, amused at her antics. He pays attention to the screen, his boss droning on about numbers and marketing techniques that could help business. He finds that she listens to him, aside from a couple of tongue swirls around his sensitive tip and a few swallows whenever too much spit pools in her mouth. He smiles to himself as the meeting continues.
He’s not sure how much time passes, these meetings always end up being several hours long simply because no one can agree on one thing. He checks the time on his computer to see that thirty minutes passed, and he feels content. She’s been good, being as still as she can with just a few teasing licks and sucks. He smiles as he mentally decides to reward her, ettling deeper into his chair and subtly thrusting himself into her mouth and she immediately moans, her eyes fluttering close and the vibrations flow through him and makes him curl his toes. He clears his throat in an attempt to hold back the throat making his way up his throat.
He’s being mean, he knows he is. He can’t help it though, as he thrusts softly into her mouth again and she eagerly hollows her cheeks as she sucks him in deeper. He quickly mutters something to his team, some pathetic excuse of needing to get something as he mutes himself and turns off the camera. He begins thrusting slowly into her mouth and a rumble comes from deep in his chest as he watches her.
“There you go, baby. You did so good, I think you deserve a reward.”
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jarofstyles · 13 days
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One More Night of Freedom
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.... hey.... So this is another piece of filth! Stripper!Y/N and Bachelor Party!H with his one night of freedom. I hope you enjoy love bugs!
Check out our Patreon for early access and 150+ exclusive writings!
Warnings- infidelity (H cheating WITH Y/N), stripping, dirty talk, daddy kink if you squint, slight anal play. We don't condone cheating irl thanks
WC- 4.6k
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Harry knew it was wrong. So wrong, so against every normal moral compass he usually held, but there was something about the woman in front of him that enchanted him. Made him second guess everything.
It was his bachelor party and his mates had encouraged him- forced him, really- to go to the back room to get a private dance from the one he’d been eyeing up all night. It was hard not to, with her creamy smooth skin, breasts held up perfectly by her bra and those fucking garters around her thighs- it was a major weakness of his. She moved her body like water, smooth and rippling as she worked around the pole. Hair following her like a velvet curtain and a cat like grin, full of filthy promise. His head had been reeling as an unfamiliar feeling rose in his guts and his cock shamefully grew in his trousers. 
The thing was- He’d been trying to talk himself out of having cold feet for months. Proposing was what felt like the next logical step. That’s what her friends had said, what her parents had hinted out. They weren’t wrong, he supposed. Savannah was a good girl, someone his parents approved of, and she was nice. The sex was alright, she didn’t complain, and she was beautiful. But there was something missing. 
That passion. That lust he’d always thought he would feel when it came to his forever partner. Something he’d been convinced wasn’t real. And he was a piece of shit, because watching the woman in the skimpy get up approach him as he sat in the oversized cushy chair, his cock had more interest in her than it had in his fiancè in the last 4 months. 
“Hello.” She purred, syrupy voice warming his bones. “I heard I was specifically requested and with quite a nice tip promised. I can’t help but be flattered.” He could see her skin sparkling, like there was body shimmer sprinkled all over her. The thighs, the chest, her breasts especially- he felt that guilt in his stomach start to dissipate as she got closer to him. She smelled sweet, like coconuts and vanilla, and she stared right back into his eyes. Her lips painted a cherry red, he nearly panted as she placed her knees on either side of his spread thighs and sat on top of him. 
God, he felt like his heart could beat out of his chest. Her warmth went straight to his cock though she wasn’t sitting on it yet, her hair long and brushing his forearm as he kept it on the arm of the leather chair. It was oversized for this specific purpose, he thought. 
“Well, I have to admit to you that the feeling is mutual. I could feel your eyes on me when I was on the stage and I was impressed. Such a handsome man.” Her fingers stroked his jawline, tilting it up towards her face as she moved her hips. He was hypnotized. Eyes dipping to her lips and back up to her heated eyes. “You’ve got me for an hour, now. I think you should introduce yourself.” 
He could barely feel his tongue, but he had to get to talking. She almost intimidated him, sitting on top of him and touching him like she had all the rights to be there. Like he wasn’t about to get married. “Harry. My name’s Harry.” He rasped, managing to spew those words out without losing his tongue. Thank god, because he knew it wanted to do many other things. 
“Yeah? Well, Harry… you can call me Angel.” She purred, slipping her fingers up and through his hair. It was embarrassing when he let out a soft moan, feeling her manicured nails against his scalp. It had been so long since someone touched him like this. His fiancè was sweet, but she didn’t really… do much for him. Not like this. She’d make a good wife, a good mother no doubt, but he wanted more than that. “I don’t usually take offers like this, you know.” The temptation moved from straddling him to standing in front of him, turning around and bending over to brush her ass against his crotch. “I don’t do private rooms but being blunt? I thought you were sexy. We can break a few rules tonight, can’t we?” 
Her body laid on top of his as she rolled her ass on top of him, making him drop his head back against the chair. There was no way she couldn’t feel his cock, not with the way it was straining against his trousers. She moved perfectly against it, her arm coming back to tangle in his hair. Her temple was against his cheek, feeling the slight scruff as she took his hand from where it was clenching the arm of the chair with white knuckles, pulling it to run over her stomach. 
“Usually… we don’t let people touch us. But I think I can make an exception for you.” Her hand was slow as she moved it up, trying to feel for any resistance. It was clear she wasn’t going to make him do more than he wanted- but that was the problem. He wanted. Fucking desperately. It was hard to hold on to the resolve, to remain faithful when the girl of his dreams was dangling herself like a cat going for a string. He wanted to touch and taste and feel. All the things he absolutely, positively should not do. 
“Yeah?” His voice was dark and rough, trying to find his self control and ultimately failing as he let her drag his hand up and cup around her breast. The both of them let out a noise of relief as he squeezed without her urging, continuing her moving on him. “What kind of exception?” 
“Well… your friends told me that you have one more night of freedom. That you didn’t seem like you were getting what you needed in your other situation.” Her thumb ran over his ring finger. “They told me that you needed to pull your head out of your ass and see that it’s a mistake.” Her body moved further up, lips ghosting his jaw. “To put it bluntly, Harry, they wanted me to show you that you could have the attention you want. Don't settle for the first pretty face that someone approves of. Sometimes….” She moaned as his fingers pinched her pierced nipple through the lace of her bra. “Sometimes you’ve got to be reminded of the things you could have.” 
Harry was in a trance. He’d barely had a sip of his drink, having been too enthralled with her on the stage. His friends must have noticed it, and he hadn’t even been sure considering he had stared her whole set. Tipped most of his cash he’d taken out. At one cold sober, and he couldn’t even blame it on anything but his own mind. He hadn’t allowed himself to look at other women, tried desperately to make this work and be faithful but fuck, he was losing. Her supple ass moved against his cock, his fingers plucked her nipple as she was giving him an in. 
“And how am I going to be reminded of that?” He was going to regret this, probably. When he woke up tomorrow and the adrenaline had faded… or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe his mind would be as clear like he had been dying to have it. 
“Like this.” She hummed. “Let yourself do what you want with me, Harry. If you do decide to go through with it… if you cuff yourself to that woman, as lovely as she may be… you’ll have had one final night of freedom.” Her voice was a purr. “Let me take care of you.”
It scared him. Being locked into a relationship he knew he wasn’t going to be fully satisfied with… it wasn’t what anyone wanted, but he felt a little trapped. He’d settled, he knew that, but it hadn’t been so obvious to him until a woman he was truly attracted to came and ruined his plans. It wasn’t fair to put this on her, but it was like looking at his decision for what it was. A mistake. 
He wished he could be stronger. He wished he had more resolve, that his prick wasn’t leaking in his pants as he palmed her tits, that he stopped her from sinking to her knees and undoing the belt his fiancè had bought him for his birthday, that he didn’t raise his hips and help her pull his pants down. He wished he could say he didn’t groan in satisfaction as her hot little tongue ran up the length of his cock, from his sac to his tip with a filthy little giggle, but he did it anyways. 
“Fuck…” she cooed. “Such a pretty cock, Harry.” Her words were murmured as she lapped over the leaking slit. “I’m going to take care of you. Don’t worry about a thing, okay?” She took his hand and pulled it to her hair. “I’ll pinch your thigh if I need to stop for a second. Let go of all that worry and let me take care of you.” 
The guilt that had still tried to roll around in his stomach began to dissipate yet again as she sunk her head down on his length. Taking him down, showing off her skills as he felt the tip of his cock in back of her fucking throat. His mouth fell open as he looked down, feeling her nose brush his tummy before she pulled up, saliva stringing to her lips as she sent him a filthy grin. Harry hadn’t felt that in ages, his fiancè more gentle with the way she gave oral- refined. She didn’t like to do it much anyways  which- it was fine. Everyone had their preferences. But fuck, when she spit thickly on his cock and used her hand to stroke and smear it all over, he remembered just how much he missed a sloppy blowie. How much he missed the animalistic desire, when a person would be so eager to please that they’d put their all into it. 
“Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. “That’s good.” The words fell from his tongue without a second thought and her eyes brightened as she sucked the tip back into her mouth. The soft squelch of her wet hand stroking him was audible, sucking firm on the ruddy tip and her tongue brushed the slit, making his breathing quicken. He was only a few minutes into it and it was the best head he’d ever had. “Take more.” 
The Angel on her knees simply looked up at him, putting her clean hand on his on the back of her head and motioning for him to push. 
Fuck. 
“You- You want me to fuck your mouth.” He rasped, watching as she nodded, humming the best she could around him. How could he say no to that? When his prick was dripping for her and her hand was firmly stroking over the base. He held her hair in his hand, slowly pushing her down as he watched. Her red lips had smeared on his cock and his stomach and he knew he’d need to wash up before he got home and his clueless fiancè possibly saw, but it sent a thrill up his spine. Watching her stretched lips sink all the way down, marveling at how she took it with only a few gags- he was in his own version of heaven. 
“Christ, you’re good at that.” He grit his teeth, pulling her up slightly before pushing her back down. “Let me know when you need to breathe. Fuck, it’s been so long.” His head rolled back on the chair, lifting his hips slightly as he felt her throat flex. She was drooling around him, letting out noises that vibrated against him and added to the pleasure. It was disgusting, filthy, so fucking wrong- and yet he was obsessed. 
She sat like a good girl, even though she was being a filthy whore for him, her free hand gently dragging her nails over his inner thigh. It made him fucking crazy, hissing as he really fucked into her throat. She’d feel it tomorrow, she’d remember taking his spoken for prick into her mouth and changing his whole fucking world view. “Such a good slut for me. Can’t believe you’re taking all of this, fucking Angel.” He slurred, rutting up into her face as she let out little gags and fueled his arousal. 
Giving her a chance to breathe, he relished in the choked sound she let out as he pulled out of her mouth. She panted, pulling on his length before spitting on him. The girl was a fucking wreck, eyes wet with tears and chin dripping with spit but she looked happier than he’d ever seen anyone else taking his cock. It made him think about how she’d never seemed this happy to pleasure him. It was done, of course, but it seemed like a chore. This girl, Angel, which he doubted was her real name- she was enjoying every bit of it. Loving it. “You like sucking me off, don’t you?” He thumbed away some of the mess. 
“I love it.” She admitted, turning her head to press a kiss over his thumb. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to suck a pretty cock. None have been as good as yours.” The girl’s voice was wrecked and it did something to him, the most primal part. “Is this all you want, sir?” Her eyes gazed into his own. “Did you want to cum into my throat? Or….” She tilted her head. “Did you want to do more to me?” Her eyes fluttered as she gave him a soft, coy little look that made his prick twitch in her hand. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
The man didn’t even know that was an option. Honestly- he shouldn’t. This was bad enough. He was cheating, he was fucking up massively, but he couldn’t deny he was drawn to this woman. This beautiful stripper who had given him the most glorious head and let him fuck into her throat. It would be wrong to fuck her. So fucked up, so awful to do this and crawl back into bed with Savannah when he got home- but he couldn’t say no. He really, really needed this. 
“I want to know your real name before I fuck you.” He decided, sealing his fate as an awful- but sexually satisfied- person.
“Y/N.” She mumbled, moving up his body. “But don’t tell anyone else, yeah? I like you…” her lips brushed against his own. “So I’m going to let you do awful, filthy things to me. The stuff the girl at home won’t let you do.” The side  took the lead again and took his hand, cupping it over his cunt. “Don’t waste a tight, hot cunt that’s wet for you. Or… my ass.” She purred. “It’s all up to you. I’m open to anything with a cock like that.” 
Harry moved in a blur. A double check she was okay with it, a condom being produced from the side drawer that she slipped on his cock and her body climbing on top of his, he couldn’t really find a way to stop himself when the mere sight of her had changed his plans, ruined his mental resolve. Her panties yanked to the side, her slick cunt wasted no time. He’d offered to prep her but she shook her head, telling him she wanted the stretch- and he wasn’t going to tell this girl no. 
His mouth fell open as he groaned, watching her cunt spread for him. He had a front row seat as she sat herself on top of his cock, watching it fill her up. She whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders as her tummy jumped at the sharp breaths, but she never stopped. Slowly taking him in, she engulfed him and covered him in that tight, sopping heat that he had been desperate for. She was much tighter than the woman he had waiting for him at home, and the thought only spurred him on. “Fuck me… you’re so tight.” He hissed, hands gripping her ass tight. His marks would be visible on her. She’d stumble home and go to sleep, wake up with the reminder of his cock in her and his hands on her- but he couldn’t have the same. He wished he could, though he doubted he could ever forget this. 
“Just for you.” She purred, pushing him to lean back against the chair. Fully sat on him, she began to grind over him. Whimpering as her clit brushed his stomach, looking at his face as his eyes were moving from where they were connected and her face. He looked almost like he was in pain, but she knew it was pleasure. Getting used to feeling her around him. The girl knew it was wrong to do this, but she never claimed to be a saint. A man as sexy as him should be positive about who he was marrying, because god knew he could get anyone he wanted. “Is that what you needed, Harry? Needed a tight cunt wrapped around your big cock?” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Testing her limits. 
Everything about this was wrong, but it had never felt so right being inside of a woman. Feeling her squeeze him as she rocked back and forth in his lap, her breasts brushing his chest and her lips nearing his. He knew kissing her would be the final nail in the coffin, the last straw, there would be no turning back or controlling his urges. But he knew she was the one in control at the moment and he was at the mercy of the beautiful woman and the needs of his leaking cock. “So fucking good, baby.” He panted. “S’all I needed.” 
Y/N beamed, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back before connecting their lips. And that was game over for Harry. 
He gave in. Submitting to his desires, the last tiny droplet of guilt drying up like water on a hot pan. Sizzling away as the arousal burned hot in his gut, his balls tight and full as she began to lift herself up and down on his prick and her tongue entered his mouth. Sweet like cherry vanilla, moaning into his mouth as she fucked herself on his cock like she owned it. Hell- he had to admit that tonight, she did own it. She was giving him everything that he had been dying for, begging for, but couldn’t have. He’d settled without it for a while but this was the reminder that it could be better- he could have better. 
She was so fucking wet. Harry’d never felt pussy like this before, not with it dripping down to his balls and smearing over his stomach as she whimpered against his mouth. Her hand held his hair and tugged, making him growl against her mouth as he began to fuck into her. Sinking down further into the chair with his feet firm on the ground, bucking into her welcoming, sopping hole as she let out little noises against his mouth. 
“Take me.” She taunted through breaths. “Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me like you’ve been needing.” Lips dragged across his own and he could feel her smile. “She doesn’t give it to you like this, does she?” Her hand pulled harder at the nape of his neck, making him grit his teeth. “Doesn’t suck you nice and messy, doesn’t let you take her pussy like this? How could she waste such a gorgeous cock…” her other hand clenched down on his shoulder, a squeak leaving her as Harry’s hand came down roughly on her ass. “Oh, fuck. She doesn’t let you do that either, does she?” The girl had nerve to giggle against him, suckling on his bottom lip as he snarled. “Do it again, baby. Hit me.” 
Harry felt like he could pass out. Fucking into her cunt without reservation, her filthy words fanning the flames of his arousal and dousing any possible guilt even just talking about her, she told him to smack her ass again. So he did. He didn’t hold back, feeling the sting in his hand but also noticing how she got even more soaked as his length pistoned into her, how she let out a string of low curses before tugging his hair harsher. “Again.” She growled. “Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me like you can’t do to her. Are you going to lock down this perfect cock on someone who can’t use it right?” Y/N was pushing boundaries but she was getting what she wanted, another rough spank that she was sure would bruise. 
“Yes, yes- you know I’m right.” A giggle of disbelief filled the room, along with the slap of wet skin. “You could have pussy whenever you want. Don’t-don’t tie yourself to someone you can’t pound like a slut. That’s what you’ve been needing, isn’t it? Pussy better than that frigid bitch of a wannabe wife-“ the words were cut off as Harry took control. Turning them around, he stuffed her face into the cushy back of the chair and lifted her hips up, making her scramble to hold on to the chair as he slammed back in. 
“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed, tugging her head to the side so she could breathe but holding on the side of her head so she stayed put. “Just shut up and take my cock like the good little whore you claim to be. Fucking slut.” He smacked her ass again, smiling to himself at the fucked out smile on her face. This was the nasty shit he’d been holding back, no outlet to put it in. It was pathetic, he knew it, not going after what he wanted- but this was a wake up call. Women like Y/N existed. Who wanted it just like he did, who taunted and craved and let themself get messy. Didn’t worry about bruises, who asked for it harder. This was his dream woman, if he was being honest. 
“Sorry, Daddy.” She whined. “I’ll be good for you. Just don’t stop fucking me. I’m gonna cum.” It wasn’t a secret. He could feel it, feel her beginning to pulse around his length as he railed her. He was in her stomach, fucking her deep and she took every inch. The thought lingered in his mind, thinking about how an hour wasn’t enough. He needed more of this. He wanted to take his time, to make her whimpery and wobbly in the knees. Make her fall out of work the next day. It wasn’t something he thought she did, but if she would allow it he knew he was going to pay her for every second. He’d been depriving himself of everything he wanted for the idea of a picture perfect life, for what people thought he should have. “You’re going to make me cum…” the warning was higher pitched, her eyes watering.
“I can feel it. God, can’t believe how lucky I’ve got it. Perfect little slut for my cock.” The chair was hitting the wall but the pumping music outside muffled it. His balls smacked against her clit, getting wet with each thrust and making her legs quiver. The girl’s fingers held tightly to the chair he was fucking her into, body lax and giving him then ability to do whatever he needed. “Maybe I’ll come back and take this pussy again. Would you like that? Like being a nasty fuck like this, ruining my plans?” 
“Yes- yes, don’t keep this dick away from me, Harry. I’ll do anything to have it again.” She was cockdrunk and he knew she may not mean it, but it was what he needed to hear. Y/N was doing what he’d needed to have months ago, providing him the mental clarity to see he was making a massive mistake if he went through with this. “She doesn’t have to know. I’ll be quiet, please- come back and see me. Shit.” Her hand hit the fabric, eyes hooded as he gave her what she needed in return. “Or don’t go th-through with it. I can give you what you need- oh my god.” Her words were interrupted by him spreading her open and spitting right over her hole, thumbing over her ass. “Yes. Yes- please, do it.” 
Harry was in awe of her, pressing into the needy girl’s ass with his thumb and watching as her mouth dropped open. It was a domino effect after that. Pushing his thumb in and pulling it out only once before filling her back up, she began to shake under him before letting out a choked moan of his name- she came. Wet and hot, gushing slightly around his cock and making a mess as she came, slick and perfect for him. 
He wished he had more willpower, but it had been so long since he’d fucked properly. Seeing her whine and reach back, finding his arm and digging her nails into his forearm and cumming like a mess around his cock, he was quick to follow. It surprised him how intense it was. Feeling her pulsating hole trying to milk him of every drop, he growled loudly and sloppily thrust into her, looking at the creamy cunt as he unloaded into the condom. His legs felt weak as he slowed his thrusts, breathing heavy and sweat covering his forehead as he looked down at the view under him. 
His dick sheathed by the best pussy he’d ever had, her ass snug up against his body and her blissed out face looking back at him. He was a mess, one that he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone without making it abundantly clear about what happened, but this was the best he’d felt in months. 
“You okay?” He asked softly, stroking the hair out of her face. “Went rough on you.” His knuckle brushed away the trail of tears. It did something for his ego, he knew, and this would be something he remembered forever. The most beautiful woman looking at him like he’d hung the damn moon. He’d done that to her. It filled him with pride. This was the feeling he was supposed to have after sex. That feeling he’d been going crazy searching for. Not the slight disappointment as soon as the lackluster orgasm faded. Savannah wasn’t a bad woman, not at all- but she wasn’t right for him. 
“I’m fucking perfect.” She breathed out, shaking her head. “Just- don’t pull out yet. I need a minute.” Her voice was weaker now as she slumped against the chair, Harry following suit. Pressing himself against her back, he took the lead and kissed her again, humming at the taste of him and cherry vanilla on her lips. “Are you going to come back and see me?” She mumbled as he pulled back a bit. 
“I’d like to, yeah.” He laughed breathlessly. “Have some things to break off but… I’d love your number, if that’s something you’d be comfortable with.” If he didn’t do this again, he thinks he may die. Dramatic, but his life was changed.  “Mmm…”’she hummed. “I don’t usually do that, but I’ll make another exception for you.”
799 notes · View notes
0oolookitsme · 3 months
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But Baby, It's Cold Outside
Type - One-Shoty Blurb!
Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n
Word Count - 1.2k
Warnings - None, just some tooth rotting fluff ;)
A/N - Y/n blushes so hard in this one I was legit smiling while writing the ending lmao. Hope you guys like it just as much! <3
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MASTERLIST | Please rb to share!
Y/n was on her knees on the carpeted floor, her hands stacking things up on the Christmas mantel that she had been set on decorating since she'd opened her eyes this morning. Her knees hurt because of the hardwood floor, but it was better than having to bend down while standing up, nevertheless.
They were surprisingly late to decorate for Christmas this year because of their prolonged stay over at Anne's for a while. After all, Anne wanted the see her daughter-in-law who was pregnant with her grandson or granddaughter -- and Y/n was starting to feel more and more deprived of a mother's love by each day, making Harry take her to Anne.
She had put Harry to work currently with fluffing up the Christmas tree's leaves, and to decorate it with the string lights they'd bought just the day before. He was crouching just about beside her, facing her with the tall tree standing between them.
"I swear, this tree has got me working the hardest I ever have," Harry joked, wiping the sheen layer of sweat on his face. He chuckled when Y/n shook her head, laughing at him and not at his joke -- but he didn't need to know that. "So dramatic," he heard her murmur under her breath, knowing that she meant for him to hear it.
"I'm the one who's dramatic?" He questioned her with a touch of accusation to it. "You're the one who's been up my arse this whole month with 'let's do this, let's do that'!" Mimicking her, Harry smacked his hand on the tree and hissed in pain when a thorn pricked his finger.
A smirk appeared on Y/n's face as she continued to mess with the order of stuff she'd stacked up on the mantel. Shrugging, she said, "that's what you get for teasing me."
Herry scoffed instead of saying anything and went back to fluffing up the tallest bit of the tree. His armpits were moist with his sweat but he wouldn't even dare to think about putting out the crackling-fire in the fireplace. He might be a naturally warm body, but Y/n definitely wasn't.
Whether it was summer, or winter -- her body was never found to be hot. Hell, even when she took off her fuzzy socks last night her feet were freezing cold. And, with the baby growing in her body, Harry wouldn't even let Y/n remove the thin blanket he had wrapped around her frame when he woke up at the first ray of sunshine and realized that it had started snowing.
"H? Will you please bring me those mini-Christmas trees?" Y/n asked him, turning to give him some puppy-eyes but caught him watching the snowflakes on the windowpane instead. Tilting her head and joining him in looking outside, her lips stretched in a smile.
The snow fell soundlessly, drifting down like white and fluffy cold crystals. It brought an essence of magic in the world, falling softly into blankets that cover the landscape. 
"...'course," she heard him mumble, and turned just in time to catch the smile he passed her with a glint in his eyes that she'd come to recognize as admiration. Though she wasn't sure if what he was admiring then was the snow, her, or the 7-month baby bump.
In the time that Harry went to pick up the set of trees from the kitchen island, Y/n dropped the blanket from her shoulders, feeling too hot suddenly. The room had grown too warm for her current liking, and as she sat down cross-legged on the floor to give her knees some rest, she wished for Harry to be back by her side.
She slipped back on her bottom until her aching back hit the leg of the sofa and rested there. Patting the spot next to her, she invited Harry to sit beside her and whined internally when he passed her a knowing look and brought back the blanket with him. "Open the window if you're going to make me wear that blanket again," she told him pointedly, passing him a smile to tell him she didn't mean that behaviour seriously.
"But baby," Harry looked at her with a desperate look on his face. "It's cold outside!" he told her, wanting to open the window himself but he simply denied to because he couldn't have Y/n catch a cold. He sat down, spreading his legs and crossing them at the ankles.
He draped the blanket over both of their legs, making sure her bump is also covered. Leaning in, he pressed his lips on her pouted ones, smiling in the midst when she wouldn't back away.
Y/n reached for one of the kid's books that she'd been reading to learn some stories she could tell her little bundle of love when they were old enough to whine to her for just one more story. With some trouble, she caught the book on the sofa behind her and opened it, keeping it tilted just in case Harry wanted to join her.
But Harry was rather busy idly playing with her free hand, and as she continued to read, she felt him raise her hand up and press a kiss into her palm. Her cheeks, that were already rosy because of the cold, had now turned a shade of raging red and Harry couldn't help but cackle at that.
Y/n slapped his arm, an embarrassed smile dressed on her lips. "Stop it," she hissed, unable from removing the bashful smile on her mouth when Harry kisses the back of her hand the other time around. She turned her face away so that he couldn't see the cherry-red tint on her face, her mouth trembling because of the shy-giggle she was working hard to keep in.
Harry loved seeing the smallest gestures affect her in ways that she couldn't even control. Sputters of laughter kept falling from his mouth and when she didn't turn to face him after some while, he couldn't help but grab her chin and make her look at him.
Although she had shut her eyes tightly, the apple of her cheeks still suffused with a shade of pink that he decided was his favourite from now on. "C'mon!" He laughed when she wouldn't open her eyes.
He had only started getting such exquisite reactions out of her since he put a baby in her, and God, he would put another one in there if she would keep making him lose his mind like this.
Suddenly, a yelp flew out of his mouth, and he flinched away when she pressed her icy foot flat on his calf.
"Oh my god," he laughed with a surprised expression on his feet. "Baby, how the fuck are you so cold, still?" He shouted with laughter, his heart bursting with love when she started laughing profusely with her head thrown back. He, somewhere in the midst of it all, had stopped laughing, gazing at her instead.
But when Y/n didn't hear him laughing along with her, she opened her eyes only to find him looking at her as if she'd had hung stars in the room for him; and Harry swore her eyes were genuinely glittering and shimmering with something he was sure the poets would call love.
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1800titz · 22 days
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HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D
CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics
WC: 8.6K
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“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 
It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 
Harry blinks. 
It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 
In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 
The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 
She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 
There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.
Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 
I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 
Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 
“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 
Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 
“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 
That barista is definitely fucking peering over.
“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 
For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 
“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 
The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 
There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 
“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”
Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 
“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 
“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 
Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 
“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 
The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 
“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 
Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 
She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 
He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 
That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 
Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 
Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 
It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 
The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”
Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 
“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 
She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 
She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 
“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 
He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.
“Yeah. It does.” 
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Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 
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When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 
“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 
Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 
“Very nice.”
It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 
“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 
He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 
“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 
He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 
Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 
“F’course.” 
The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 
His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.
“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 
“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 
“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new homage from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”
Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 
Yeah. He can work with that. 
“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 
Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 
“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 
The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”
Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 
Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  
“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“
The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 
“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 
Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 
“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”
Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 
“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 
Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.
“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“
Her thighs press together.
“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”
She swallows. 
“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 
Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 
“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 
His strawberry mouth curls a little. 
“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 
It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 
It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 
There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 
“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 
Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 
“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.
And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 
“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 
Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 
“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 
“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 
The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 
“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 
The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 
A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 
He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 
Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 
This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 
Authenticity. 
Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 
“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 
His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 
“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 
“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 
Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 
“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 
Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 
“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 
When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 
It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 
“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 
The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 
It’s kind of game over from there. 
There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 
“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 
The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 
And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 
Gameovergameovergameovergameover.
Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.
Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 
Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 
And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”
Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 
That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 
Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”
A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth
“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 
“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 
Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 
It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 
She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 
It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”
The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 
“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 
Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.
“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.
“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 
Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 
“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 
He bites. 
At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 
“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 
“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 
His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 
And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”
Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 
His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 
“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 
And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 
Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  
“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 
He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 
“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”
She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 
“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 
The words coax her to clench over the plug. 
“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 
Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 
“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 
“Hm?” 
“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 
Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 
The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 
And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 
“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 
And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 
“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 
His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 
“Good girl.”
Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 
Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 
“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”
Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 
“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  
A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 
And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 
That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 
“Christ.”
Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 
When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 
“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 
Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 
“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”
Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 
“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 
She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 
“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 
He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 
Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.
“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”
Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“
And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  
“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 
Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 
“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”
And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 
Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 
Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.
“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 
Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 
“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”
His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 
Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 
The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 
A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 
Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 
His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  
She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 
“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 
She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 
“…Hm?”
1K notes · View notes
wrongplacerighttime · 11 days
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ex-boyfriend!harry x you
just a lil somethin somethin. wrote this super quick and didn’t proof read it so !!!! basically just smut with a lil bit of a plot, didn’t go into too much detail w the plot. just was in a….mood if you know what i mean HAHAHA.
wc: 2.8k
tw: ex-boyfriend!harry, smut 18+, squirting if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v. use protection kids!!!
bad idea, right?
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The bass through the speaker in the bar turns to muffled bumps as you look down at your phone and see a text from your former boyfriend, blood draining from your face, from your brain and you can't form a coherent thought. Just his name that you never deleted from your contact list. It had been six months since the tumultuous end that you never wanted to think about. You stared at it for so long that the letters of his name blurred together. 
Harry. 
Yes with just a period, because you had removed the emoji you reserved just for him, a giraffe from some inside joke the two of you shared. You had wondered then if he kept the teddy bear by yours or if he removed it like you had, erasing that part of your relationship from his memory. 
You remind yourself not to think of it that way. It was over. Six months ago, when he came home and said he just didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore with no explanation. He packed and left the same night. You didn’t stop him…how could you have, when he was so hellbent on leaving? You just wanted him to be happy, if he decided it wasn’t with you, you had to learn to be okay with that.
Your finger hovers over the message, wanting nothing more than to open it and see if he finally decided to give you the clarification you were desperate for. You glance around briefly, looking to see if any one of your friends was near. If they saw this they would freak. They’d yell and scream at you to delete it without opening it. 
You knew you couldn’t. 
The coast was clear and you inhale deeply, holding it in until the message was open. 
From: Harry.
“Hey.”
Just one simple word. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you type back.
To: Harry.
“Hi.”
Three gray dots show up on the screen almost instantly, like he was watching the message thread and waiting for you to respond while you were having a crisis on the other end. You drum your fingers against the back of your phone, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you watch them disappear and reappear, as if he was typing and rethinking whatever he was saying. Then it finally shows up. 
From: Harry.
“Busy?”
Yet another message with one single word. Narrowing your eyes, you quickly type back that you were at the bar with your friends. The typing bubble comes up again, but he doesn’t seem to hesitate on sending this time because the only thing that comes up is an address. Assuming it’s his new place, you look around for your friends but don’t see them in your line of sight. 
You argue back and forth with the angel and devil perched on your shoulders. You know this means he wants you to come over. But it’s a bad idea, right? On the other hand you miss him, more than you ever missed anyone, and not getting to tell him how much you loved him when he left made it impossible to forget him. 
Just one time wouldn’t hurt, right?
Your phone buzzes in your hand, his name lighting up your phone in a different way this time. You press the green button without hesitation, putting a hand over your other ear to hear him better. But the other end of the line is silent, save for his breathing. Neither of you wanted to be the first to speak. Then he clears his throat.
“Come over.” He’s almost begging, and you sense some undertone in his plea. “Please. Just miss you.” He admits and the alcohol clouding your mind makes it sound like honey dripping from his tongue and you don’t question it. 
“Miss you too.” You slur, twisting a strand of hair through your fingers and looking towards the floor. “I’ll be there in 20.” You say without thinking about it and hang up quickly. 
You don’t waste time, leaving the bar and typing his address into your phone to get directions. On the way over, you think about turning around and going home, because this is crazy. You swore you were done with him, you didn’t beg him to stay, didn’t beg him to come back…and yet you’re unsure why it was so easy for you to come to his beck and call at your expense. 
You decide that it would be a problem for you to figure out when you’re sober.
You pull up in front of his place in a quaint little neighborhood, one you never imagined he would be living in. Sitting in your car for a moment, mustering up the courage to go knock was proving to be difficult but you take a deep breath and get out anyway. Standing in front of his door, you only get one knock in before he’s swinging the door open, not wasting any time like he was waiting there for you the entire time.
He’s there, standing in front of you, dressed in nothing but those goddamn gray sweats that seem to leave nothing to imagination and your brain sends itself into overdrive. It was like you were seeing him for the first time, and he was you. Looking at each other wordlessly, it seems to say everything the two of you need. You could see it in his eyes—longing, lust and a hint of repentance swirling in his gaze, but you know you’re not here for that. 
He surges forward, and you meet him in the middle. When your lips meet, you forget he isn’t yours anymore. Your heart melts along with your body pressing into him as your tongues dance together and heat swirls below your navel. It’s anything but gentle, teeth clashing together and tugging on his hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers tangle in strands of your hair, tightening his grip at the root and you whimper into his mouth. He backs into the foyer, bringing you with him without detaching his lips from yours. He lowers himself, tapping the sides of your thighs gently and wrapping his hands ‘round the backs of them and you know what he wants you to do. You jump slightly and he lifts you as you wrap your legs around his hips and he shuts the door, backing you into it and you arch your back, pushing your chest against his. You finally pull away from the kiss, needing to catch your breath. He doesn’t say anything, attaching his lips to your pulse point and lightly nipping at the skin there and you let a whine escape, leaning your head back to give him more access.
“Har.” Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritting at the marks he’s leaving on your skin, pain morphing into pleasure that clouds your senses. 
“Missed you so much, dovey. Can’t believe I let you fucking go.” He mutters against your collarbone between kisses. 
“Please.” You breathe out, and he brings his gaze to meet yours now. Using the door for leverage, he brings one hand up, drawing over your lips with his thumb and you part them for him. Placing the pad of his thumb against your tongue, you wrap your lips around his digit and suck lightly, hollowing your cheeks and his eyes flutter as he leans his forehead against yours.
“Fuck, angel. Missed this pretty mouth too.” He pants and pulls his thumb from your mouth, rubbing your own salivation over your lips. 
“Why am I here if you’re not going to fuck me?” You manage to ask, wanting to cut to the chase and still a little breathless. He grins.
“Who said I wasn’t? Just wanna take you in first. Didn’t think you’d show up.” 
“Well, I did. Please fuck me. Need it so much, Harry.” You beg and his grin grows. Carrying you, he walks you through the unfamiliar layout of his house until you reach the bedroom and he’s laying you down gently, climbing over you and kissing over exposed skin. His fingers dance under the hem of your shirt, sliding under and he palms over your tits and squeezing lightly. Your hands find his face in the dark and pull his lips to yours again.
The kiss is only brief, he stands and pushes his sweats off his body, kicking the material from his legs and he works on undressing you. He pulls your shirt over your head and immediately his fingers flick the button of your jeans open, pulling them and your panties off in one go. When he climbs back over you, you trail your hands from his chest to his navel, wrapping one hand around his cock and tugging gently. Thumbing over the tip, collecting the evidence of his own arousal. He swears under his breath, chest heaving at your gentleness and you don’t really want to waste any more time. You line him up with your entrance, forgoing any foreplay for the sake of just needing him to fill you like you’ve been craving. He seems to understand the desire you feel, slowly pushing into you and dropping his head to your chest. 
“Fucking missed this.” He says through gritted teeth, following his words with a garbled groan as he slides into you. You can only muster a whimper in response, the feel of him stretching you open leaving your brain fuzzy and unable to form a coherent thought and all you know is him…his touch…his cock. He stills when he reaches the hilt, warming himself inside you and he brings his head up to look at you underneath him. He can’t help but take in your flushed cheeks and your eyes squeezed shut, and he just loves how pretty you look like this. Like an angel. He pulls out to the tip and without warning drives into you over and over, hips meeting yours and his mouth pulls up at the corner at the noises you can’t hold in.
“Heard you fucking went out with Nathan.” He seethes and your eyes fly open at his claim. He knows you weren’t expecting him to bring it up with his dick inside you, but you know where he’s going. “Did he fuck you like this? Did he fill you like I can, pretty girl?” You can’t seem to find it in you to answer, lost in how he makes you feel. And you did sleep with Nathan, but you weren’t exactly sure how Harry knew that. 
“Answer me, baby.” He purrs against the skin under your ear, lips brushing against you as he whispers in your ear and you shake your head.
“N-no. Nobody—fuck—nobody does it like you.” It was the truth. Harry just knew how to satisfy you in a way no other man could. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew the spots that would make you scream his name…knew how to work you up just right until you were squirming just from his touch. 
“That’s right. Nobody fucking does it like me, dovey.” He’s relentless with his pace, looking for one outcome and one outcome only. He hits a spot deep inside your pussy over and over until you feel that all too familiar pressure building in your core. Your fingernails scrape over his back, clawing and holding him closer to you. 
“Har, m’gonna—” You can’t get the full sentence from your throat, your moan muffled as you bite onto his shoulder.
“I know it, angel. Fucking give it to me. Wanna feel you soaking me.” 
So you do, you let go and the pressure releases and you’re crying out and he’s got a smirk plastered on his face knowing no one but him can make you feel this way. You’re holding your breath and he’s tapping your face lightly to bring you back down to earth. 
“Breathe, dove.” He encourages and you exhale, chest deflating and your body goes limp from exhaustion. He fucks into you slower now, allowing you to recover and you give him a tired smile. His movements halt and he lifts your hips from the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and splaying his hands across your back while he kisses you again and again, pecking lightly until you’re giggling. 
Without pulling out of you, he pulls you to his chest and rolls until you’re on top of him, the shift in position pushing his cock in a little bit further. Your limbs are jelly and you steady yourself by flattening your palms on his chest. You roll your hips lazily, clit rubbing over his skin and making yourself shudder. You clench around him as his head drops back against the headboard, eyes rolling back from pleasure. His hands find your hips and squeeze, dimpling the supple skin. His fingers digging into your flesh burns but he knows this is how you like it, he knows that you like it best when it hurts just a little bit. Love looking in the mirror and seeing the evidence of his touches all over you.
He guides you the way he wants, rolling your hips over his cock before helping you bounce, ass meeting the top of his thighs so deliciously. It’s slow at first, then you find your own rhythm and fuck his cock into you and he’s a mess underneath you now. Praising you and roaming his hands from your ribs down to the swell of your ass. 
“Doing so fucking good, angel—taking me so well. Know you were made just for me.” His teeth clench together and his jaw ticks. “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, baby?” 
“God yes, Harry. Please.” You beg him and he nods, chuckling and throwing his head back once more. His hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him forcefully and you whine. 
“You’re a fucking dream, dove. So good to me even when I don’t deserve it.” He holds you there and he takes over, bucking his hips so he’s fucking you again and holds you just where he wants you. It doesn’t take much more before you feel him twitching inside you and feel the warmth of his cum spilling into you and it sends you over again, coil snapping as you pulse around him. You kiss over his neck as he rides you both through the high.
You stay there for a moment wrapped up in eachother, skin sticky with sweat and chests heaving together with pants and short breaths. Your head rests on his collarbone and you draw circles over the swallow on his chest and his fingers find a path on your spine, running down before coming back up. It was fast and quick and everything you needed. He turns his head and nudges you with his nose, pressing his lips to your skin and breathing in.
“I’m sorry.” You hear him whisper against your temple. Your eyes look up at him and feel your heart melting at the sight of him, sweaty and euphoric with his curls sticking to his forehead. 
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.” You mutter. “Just let me pretend the past six months didn’t happen for a little while longer.” He nods, pecking your temple once more, then twice. Exhaustion takes over your mind and you’re almost asleep on his chest when the shrill ring of your phone brings you to a panic.
You jump off of him, searching on the floor for your phone and when you find it you see it's a friend calling you. You swear under your breath, heart pounding in your chest when you realize you forgot to tell them you were leaving. You press the button and bring it to your ear as Harry flicks on his bedside lamp and illuminates the room with a soft glow. 
“Hello?” You say, calming yourself and trying not to sound too casual. 
“Where are you?” She asks curtly, and you curse yourself again for not mentioning you were leaving sooner.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well and left. I tried to find you but I couldn’t. Then I forgot to text. I’m sorry.” You lie and she’s silent on the other end for a beat.
“So you’re home?” 
“Yeah.” Another lie. They didn’t have to know you were in Harry’s bed. Not yet at least. You’d tell them eventually. Just not right now. You chew on the inside of your lip, and look over at Harry who has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes at him and bite back your own grin. 
“Okay. Well…feel better I guess.” She says and hangs up. You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 
You knew it was a bad idea.
Yet you didn’t seem to care as you crawled between his sheets and went to sleep.
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