#the way that makes harry fall in love with him every single day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryjuiceblues · 9 months

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𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟐

➯ HARRY IS A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH Y/N AND Y/N JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHEN HE’LL HAVE SEX WITH HER AGAIN. ✰ dom!harry sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 14k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Harry doesn’t love his job.

He doesn’t hate it either. But he certainly doesn’t love what he does.

It’s not the hardest of occupations; since becoming CEO (and after getting over the guilt of surpassing his colleagues in status), having the option of assigning others to complete otherwise arduous tasks for him has eased some of his tension.

However—inevitably—those smoothed over stress bumps are quickly replaced by bigger, more stubborn protrusions that take more than a gentle palm to flatten out.

But Harry is comfortable—he’s financially secure, surrounded by a loving family and loyal friends, and treated with respect, revered even, by some. So despite being true, what Harry had told Y/N—that You think I was wishing to own a finance company when I was a little boy? indicating that it has hardly been a dream come true—he is grateful for his position in life. Aware of his privilege but also immensely proud of how much his hard work had paid off.

However right now, as he sits behind his desk with his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Harry hates his job.

Hates the schedule that’s pulled up on his monitor, hates the squeak of his chair as he rolls over to the filing cabinet, hates the way the clock is ticking louder than he’s ever heard it before. And the seconds are taking twice as long as they should.

With each passing minute, the presence of his phone in his trouser pocket becomes heavier and heavier; its lack of buzzing and dinging feeling abnormally disheartening. And everytime his work phone—that’s lying face up on his desk—lights up with an email or a phone call and creates its shrill cacophony that pushes the line of Harry’s brow deeper and deeper into his already default frown, he becomes less and less of the easy-going boss he presents to everyone.

It’s enough to drive anyone mad; this torturous waiting. Harry feels as though he’s being dangled over the edge of a cliff but never dropped, never given the sweet release of death which he would gladly take over the pain of not knowing when he was going to fall.

One week. It had been one week since Harry first met Y/N. One week since they’d had maybe the best first experience he’d ever had with someone, and one week since he’d heard a single thing from her. And the memory of that night is enough to have Harry distracted. Enough to have him on the edge of his seat.

ㅤㅤ

“Please.” She whines—to Harry’s teasingly obvious question.

“More what?” He wants to ask. Wants to make her spell it out for him.

But he doesn’t. He’s nice.

Nice as he stretches her open with his fingers—intrusion more than easy with the copious amount of slick between her thighs—whilst his tongue plays with her masterfully. She pants and whines, bucks and wiggles. Loses the ability to say coherent words without stuttering over them.

He takes his time—relishing in the fierce, squeezing heat around his fingers—in the way her excitement makes his palm shine the longer he goes at it.

And he’s thorough in the treatment he gives her. Behaves as if he’s a professional that’s been paid to change her life. He imagines Niall as his agent who had come to him earlier in the day with a ‘great opportunity’ and demanded Harry give his absolute best.

Pretends that his entire career rides on Y/N’s enjoyment of this night.

Harry thinks, really, that Y/N’s lack of experience means he could do a subpar job in actuality—but the thought just makes him go harder. Makes every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers feel like the best thing she’s ever known.

She’s soaking into his skin and it’s filthy; the way Harry’s throat rumbles out a groan at the thought of his stubble bathing in her—the resentment he’ll have in washing his face later.

Little does he know that Y/N is thinking the same thing—or rather, imagining the irritation of her thighs his facial hair will leave behind. The soreness that can only come from pure satiation, that she’s sure she’ll admire with great joy. Her first marks, her first memory-jolting piece of evidence of the night she was finally touched. The day she’s been waiting for—for far too long, in her opinion.

Especially now, as it’s happening, and Y/N doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to stop chasing this feeling. Her limbs fight between stretching out in tight, desperate attempts to grasp for her orgasm—and melting into the mattress in a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Harry’s mouth struggles to compete with the smile that overtakes his expression, watching Y/N’s body writhe in response to his ministrations.

This is his favourite thing to do.

She tightens, and squeaks, and drips—Harry’s fingers working her just right and tongue curling in fast, pointed flitters—as she propels further towards the edge. Close, so close; lips moulding around a string of garbled sounds and hips pushing up into the large span of his hand. She’s trying to beg but she doesn’t get the chance because Harry is feeling her spasm in contracting waves and she’s slicking down his fingers, crying out—

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s debauched daydream fizzles away when his work phone chimes insolently. The screen lights up, forcing his eyes towards it.

A reminder.

Team meeting | in 15m

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair as the leather stretches. His trousers are tighter than he would consider comfortable, but he’s safe—no recognisable evidence of unprofessional thoughts in his professional environment.

Harry considers himself to be a focused man—often finds solace in working to provide distraction—but this constant replay that has been leading his mind astray whenever he even attempts to shift his concentration is proving to be a hurdle too high for Harry to jump over. He thinks if he makes himself come then the unavoidable meeting that’s starting in thirteen minutes might be less torturous to sit through.

But just as he smooths a palm over his thigh, there’s a telltale knock on his door. The rapping a pattern that only his assistant uses.

Harry clears his throat, shifting himself higher to appear more orthodox in his chair.

“Come in, Mr Rowland.”

The door makes way as it’s opened, rattling the blinds that preserve Harry’s modesty—matching that of the ones on the full-length windows that look out into the building.

The man moves to stand stiffly in front of his boss’ desk, suit free of creases and long hair tied back to maintain formality. Harry used to have long hair once.

Mitch Rowland is a quiet man; stoic, but not unfeeling. Harry believes him to be the thoughtful type, and he chips away more and more of his exterior everyday, he’s sure. Cracking a joke that makes Mitch laugh feels like a reward—an acknowledgment of all the hard work he puts in to becoming closer to his reserved assistant.

“Time for a briefing, Mr Styles?”

Harry nods, gesturing to one of the armchairs facing his desk. “Yes, go ahead.”

He’s respectful enough to look intently at the man sitting across from him. As he speaks, Harry doesn’t drift off into his fantasy land full of strawberry embroidered dresses and passion fruit martinis—no, he converses with Mitch like the approachable boss he takes care to be, discussing the best way to go about conducting the team meeting and how to amicably pull up the areas that his employees are lacking in.

Truth be told, it’s life changing having someone like Mitch as his assistant. He demonstrates capability—enough so that Harry can often sit back and let him take the reins—it’s satisfying when their brains match up like they're connected via bluetooth. It’s an easy relationship to maintain, and Harry often ponders about how grateful he is.

But never has Harry been more grateful for Mitch as he is right now. (Which is cruel really, for a situation that would probably lose in a battle of importance if voted on by a large audience.)

The meeting is going fine, most likely—Harry wouldn’t know because his mind is elsewhere once again.

ㅤㅤ

“That’s it, take a deep breath for me, darlin’.” He’s good at maintaining composure, but God if Y/N isn’t testing Harry right now. She’s still fluttering—more than ready to let him start pushing into her—as her arousal coats copious miles of skin. He leans over her, pressing a soft kiss to the dip above her chin as he rolls a condom over his neglected cock. The throbbing gets harder to ignore now that she’s laid out for him; all stretched and wet.

“Are you sure it’s gonna… fit?” Y/N looks down, pupils expanding at the sight. Long, and thick, and hard.

“I’m sure,” Harry drags his nose against her throat, lifting back up to catch her blown-out eyes. He smiles.

“I… I want you to feel good too, Harry. Please?”

His heart thumps and his eyebrows pinch. She’s special. He wants to take such good care of her.

“I feel so good, love. I promise.” Harry drops his hips to prove it, sliding through her folds and nudging her sensitive clit as Y/N’s breath shudders. “Are you ready?”

“Can I—can I hold your hand?”

She’s a doll. (Maybe in more ways than one permitting she’d like to be pliable for him, but right now Harry knows she’s cuter than even the sweetest of puppies). He wants to coo right in her face, obnoxious and embarrassing, before his voice takes on a squeaky pitch and he expresses Of course, you can hold my hand—you’re just adorable, aren’t you?

Instead, he wordlessly transfers his weight to the now singular arm holding him up as he reaches for the girl’s empty palm and tugs it up beside her head. Their fingers entwine as the mattress creates a mould of their knuckles—and Y/N’s eyes clear themselves of the fear of rejection, gazing up at Harry with such appreciation that he doesn’t even receive from his employees. Not that he’d expect them to but the way Y/N is looking at him makes Harry feel as though he’s done something far more significant than hold her hand or coax a few orgasms out of her.

It’s almost sad.

“Ready now,” she whispers, and Harry’s forgotten everything else.

He reaches down to stroke over her hip bone in soothing circles. “Keep looking at me, okay?” She nods, eyes never wavering even as Harry guides himself into her drippy hole.

The first feel of intrusion is new—different to his fingers—exciting and tight as the mushroom tip of Harry’s cock presses in gently. Y/N gasps but it doesn’t hurt; it’s a filling sensation, one that makes her question why she’s not always been doing this. It feels right, like it’s meant to be.

And when she breaks eye contact to look down, she sees that he’s hardly an inch in and exhales heavily into Harry’s face. He squeezes her hand, green surveying her expression. It takes all of his composure to ignore how tight she is around him. It’s euphoria.

“H-Harry,” Y/N whines, shiny mouth falling further with each centimetre discovered inside of her.

“So good, baby, you’re so good. Keep looking at me…there you go.” His voice is taut, even Y/N can tell, and she blinks at him because it’s all she can do—hoping she is communicating well enough with her eyes.

As he gets deeper, she suddenly expels a great breath, jumbled words tumbling out. “Thank you, oh—that’s so—oh my god.”

And Harry is bottoming out, balls resting against her bum, as he lets out some air of his own. “Look at that, darlin’,” he smiles, “took all of me, first try.”

Y/N’s face suddenly splits into a grin. She chances a lift of her leg, to open herself up more as she stretches it to the side, bent knee pressing into the sheets.

“I didn’t know I had that much space in there.”

Harry laughs (it’s quite literally forced out of his lungs) and Y/N starts to let out endless strings of giggles—delirious with overwhelming happiness—as her stomach starts to contract. She can’t stop laughing. And every one has her core tightening around Harry’s cock in pulsing flutters.

If he wasn’t searching deep in his mind for the stability not to build up too quickly, then Harry’s heart would be bounding at the sweet sound of Y/N’s giggles. Pure elation in the form of prancing lilts. Bouncing off the walls and racing past their ears; slicing through any of the nerves she had left.

To see her face bunched up in laughter is to witness beauty in its rawest form, Harry is certain. All whilst she lays bare with himself inside of her—connected as far as he can possibly reach—this feeling doesn’t compel him very often. If ever at all.

ㅤㅤ

Sitting at the head of the table with absent eyes, Harry’s nodding his head in faux-interest whilst his mind is full of filth. Not many eyes are on him anyhow, as Mitch talks through the monthly rates but—understandably—when his personal phone starts ringing disturbingly loudly, the heads of everyone turn to watch their boss answer it alarmingly quickly. The same boss who most employees have never seen handle a personal phone in their entire career at his company; might have believed he lived permanently in his office, in fact.

It’s a shock when he holds the phone up to his ear, shoots his assistant a glance and says, “You’ve got this, haven’t y’Mitch?” before exiting the room with a curt nod and a rushed shuffle to squeeze around the chairs.

Harry knows it’s unprofessional of him, but he’s been waiting for his phone to ring all week. So he’ll be damned if he misses an important call just to maintain formality. He can’t fire himself.

The voice on the other end of the line doesn’t quite contain the lilt he was hoping for, however.

“Heyyy, Harry.” He can’t help but sigh as he closes his office door and slouches unceremoniously into his chair. “You’re at work, aren’t you? Surprised you answered.”

“The luxury of being your own boss, Niall,” Harry watches the seconds hand spin around the clock on his wall. Each tick is echoed by nails tapping wood. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was ringing to ask about you, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard from Y/N at all?”

Harry looks away from his clock. “I haven’t. Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s more than alright. She had a great time with you.”

He smiles a little, “That’s nice. She’s very sweet, Niall.”

“Mhm she is… I think you should see her again.”

Harry thinks so too. “I’d like that. But I haven’t heard from her, which is fine—I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”

“That’s the thing though—she’s so nervous, even though she’s been proper gushing about ya. She’d love to see you again, I’m sure. But she’s too scared to call you.”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Alright… what are you saying, Niall?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is shy.

Chronically shy.

She always has been and that certainly isn’t going to change overnight. Especially not if she were to meet the most attractive man she’s ever seen, have him take her home and then alter the very definition of pleasure itself. Especially not then.

But she so very wishes that was the case.

The post-it note hasn’t moved from the position Harry left it in when he penned his number. He’d been so sweet when asking if he could give it to her—like making her come multiple times wasn’t enough of an indication that she might want to see him again.

And she really does. God, she wants it more than anything.

But she’s an overthinker. She’s a worrywart, a nervous Nellie, a wet blanket—whatever. In every version of the phone call they have in her mind, she says the wrong thing, or Harry lets her down gently, or someone else picks up the phone. And if she texts him, her responses are awkward, or he leaves her messages on delivered—or worse read—or even worse he asks to see her again and then Y/N has to panic over fifty completely different hypothetical scenarios.

She decides that it’s just not meant for her—relationships, or human interaction, happiness—she’s not sure what specifically, but she knows it’s too much to handle. Harry would only be disappointed in the long run anyway; Y/N is simply saving his time—doing him a favour.

Niall isn’t inclined to agree—because of course the topic came up in conversation. Her friend had never been so eager to talk about anything in his entire life, and he loves talking.

The morning after Y/N met Harry, she was greeted by a dozen text messages, followed by multiple missed calls. (If Niall was ever in danger, Y/N thinks she’d be inclined to ignore him—never phased by the multitudes of spam she receives on a daily basis.) And at the first opportunity he had, Niall was knocking—no, pounding—on her door, sing-songing her name from outside her flat.

There was a reluctance in letting him in. This was all new territory for Y/N and Niall knew that. However in fairness to her—rather oversized golden retriever of a—friend, he attempted with all his heart to pretend he wasn’t bursting at the seams for as long as he could. Grinning in a somewhat subdued manner as she opened the door—elated beam withstanding his journey to her sofa—until he sat down and just couldn’t help himself, springing back up.

“You didn’t fuck on the couch, did you?” Half teasing, half deadly serious as his eyes widen and he shuffles away in an attempt to evacuate quicker if Y/N were to confirm his fear.

Y/N cowered behind her hands, cheeks burning, “No! Don’t say it like that, Niall.”

“Oh right, I’m sorry, hang on,” he cleared his throat obnoxiously, “You didn’t make sweet, sweet love on the couch, did you?”

She squawked and Niall cackled, holding his arms in front of his face when Y/N started to batter him with a sofa cushion.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll be nice.”

He was nice. A relief to have someone to talk to, and never before has Niall been happier about anything, Y/N is convinced. She didn’t realise the status of her sex life was something to be so thrilled about, but his smile threatened to blind her.

And once the initial embarrassment had somewhat passed, Y/N was honest.

“He was so lovely, Niall. Far too good for me, I mean—God,” she smiled but it’s a little sad.

“Hey,” Niall’s eyebrows pinched, “don’t go there with me, young lady.” He flicked her arm. “Harry wouldn’t have initiated a thing if he didn’t want to. And he left his number, come on.”

And that’s how they’d ended up in a tizzy over calling him. Y/N just couldn’t make herself do it. No matter how sweet, and pretty, and kind he’d been to her. Niall had even offered to do it for her but that had sent humiliating shivers down her spine, imagining it play out. My friend has a crush on you—absolutely not.

The days pass and Y/N works. She eats poorly, often asleep standing by the time she arrives home—and if it is proper food she’s ingesting, it’s something she’s woken up at two a.m. to bake because she’d had a sudden itch to do it. The rest of her time at home is spent cleaning the mess she made whilst baking—which turns into moping with a feather duster in hand. Moping about the best night of her life and how she’ll never get a part two.

Nighttime comes and her fingers don’t feel the same. It feels fruitless to even try. She’s hardly got hands big enough and none of the curling does her any good. It only makes her angry, and that’s the one thing she was always told not to be when going to bed.

She asked Niall not to bring Harry up in conversation again; that it would only make her sad and she’ll just have to get over it. Over him—or over whatever he could’ve become.

So the last person Y/N assumes is at her door when she hears knocking, is the very man she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist. She’s exhausted—been home for no longer than an hour after a long day of answering the phone to far more people than usual, trying to maintain equanimity as she booked meetings in the rapidly filling calendar. Her lunch break had been undeniably cut short—some may argue it was cut out completely—when the computer she was entering sensitive data into decided to crash (without saving) and Y/N had to compose herself in the toilet so she didn’t stain inky droplets all over her desk.

She was hungry, and tired, and sad, and—above all else—overwhelmed. Y/N’s not sure the last time in her life when she wasn’t, and it really builds up in a person. It’s near impressive that she’s even still running. If Y/N were a computer, much like the one at work, she would have crashed years ago. And point blank refused to turn back on again.

It’s unsettling, to say the least, when she hears that knocking. Because who could possibly be at her door right now? It’s too late for it to be the postman, Niall is still working—and that is literally all the people she knows.

In a panicked rush, Y/N scrambles to answer it, too startled to check her appearance or wipe the panda circles from around her eyes. It feels like everything happens in slow motion, from the door opening to reveal the man standing behind it—to the unveiling of his gentle smile and kind eyes. Y/N is half-inclined to slam it shut in his face with an affronted squeal.

She doesn’t quite squeal, but a noise is certainly made. One of terror, Harry might believe, as her eyes widen and flit around his face in a frenzy. The flowers in his hand are only just noticed, and she pauses on them for a moment, an expression of disbelief passing over her features before they become chaotic once again.

“Harry! I—” Y/N pastes a hand to her cheek in bewilderment, heart sinking at the sight of the man’s eyebrows kinking, migrating towards the centre. Then she trails further down, sees him still clad in his suit—crisp navy pressed to perfection. It’s jarring the way her brain switches from awkward to lewd for a split second, until she looks away with shame.

“Darlin’, are you alright?” He steps forward, hand reaching out. “You’re not going to faint, are you?” His voice is light and Y/N wants to laugh because what a ridiculous suggestion, of course she’s not going to faint! but she’s not so sure she believes it.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she lies.

“Let’s sit you down. Can I come in?”

Y/N swallows, exhaling as she looks up at him, before nodding slightly and stepping to the side to allow him room. Harry barely stops to assess his surroundings—only guides her to where he’s been before—her sofa feeling like the softest of clouds in this moment, while her heart is racing and her skin is tingling. He stays remarkably calm and light on his feet, whisking himself away to do God knows what but Y/N is hardly concerned. All she can think about is the fact that he’s here, and she’s a catastrophe, and she has not prepared for this. She has NOT prepared for this.

Harry finds the kitchen, near tripping over his feet to turn down the boiling pot of water that’s about to overflow. He throws some pasta in the saucepan—something quick he can fill her tummy with—and digs around for another that he fills with a jar of sauce. Then he’s rifling through cabinets to find a vase for the bouquet in his hand—which is something she apparently does not own, so a jug will do—before filling both that and a glass with water to take back to Y/N.

She looks timid and small—hands fiddling with themselves in her lap as she disassociates whilst staring at her coffee table. Harry places the jug down right where she’s looking and she blinks some. Her lips upturn just a little at the sight of the buttery petals.

“Drink.” Y/N accepts the glass easily, swallowing multitudes. Her face is dewy, a slight sheen of anxiety, and her knees bounce. “Better?” Harry softens his gaze, aware of the tension between his eyes—he knows he can sometimes appear cross without realising.

Y/N nods, rubbing at her nose like a little rabbit, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is small, “you’ve been at work, and now you’re here and I’m… I’m a mess,” she tries to laugh but it falls flat.

“Don’t be silly. I’m a big boy, Y/N, you don’t need to apologise.” He’s encouraging as he smiles, rubbing over her knee soothingly. She’s still in her pencil skirt and white shirt—but she looks less like a sexy secretary and more like a sweaty schoolgirl. It’s hardly self-respecting.

Y/N grips the glass like it’s an anchor, altering her train of thought. “Uh… no one has ever… bought me flowers before.”

The smile he gives her is compassionate. A small curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as if to implore his feelings to display correctly on his face. The way he disagrees with the fact of it—why could that be true? It shouldn’t be true. Everyone deserves flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile… yellow tulips, that’s what they mean.” He offers the information with zero insecurity.

Y/N’s face starts to burn, heart fighting to burst through her ribcage. She opens her mouth, and then she closes it. Harry’s watching her so, very intently, eyes crinkling when her hands press into her cheeks as if to will the heat away.

“I don’t know what your favourites are, but I thought you might like those.”

“No…” Y/N shakes her head, “yellow tulips are my favourite flower… definitely.” She chews on her lip to detain the smile threatening to break free.

“Yeah?” His eyes are shining, light reflecting off the sea glass of his irises and unlocking the depths of his spirit. “You gonna let me see your sunshine smile, darlin’?”

She laughs, a bright, bubbly giggle as her palms smother her face. “No!”

“What?” Harry grins. “What’s so funny?”

“Stop talking like that… it’s— I’m… flustered.”

“‘M just talkin’!” He insists, hands holding themself in a surrender.

“You’re being… a lot.”

“Too much?”

“No. It’s just— people don’t talk to me like you do. It’s nice… but I don’t know how to react.”

“Just show me your pretty smile, I think that’s a good place to start.”

She giggles again, eyes full of mirth—trying so desperately to embrace the fire in her cheeks. “Thank you for the flowers, Harry.”

They hold each other’s gaze.

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” his voice is soft.

“Can I— Can I make you dinner?” She starts, desperate to repay him in any way that she can. And then her eyes widen and she springs from the sofa. “Oh shit—”

“It’s okay, I did it, love.”

“What?”

“I turned the water down and put some pasta in. I’ve got it all sorted.” He touches her elbow, conveying his wish for her to sit back down.

She doesn’t.

“You— Really?”

Harry nods.

“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be doing that! I can’t even boil a pan of water properly.”

“Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice hardens a little. Not enough to be scary, or rude, or suggest he has ill intentions. His voice hardens and suddenly Y/N wants to listen to him, just like he said. It’s relieving, almost, the way his words cut through the thick fog inside her skull.

“Sit down, okay?”

She does, eyes wide and nervous.

“You remember what we spoke about last week?”

The look on his face prompts Y/N to answer—to brush past the sex despite it being the first thing she thinks of. “About you being a— a dominant? Or… uh… taking care of… people?”

“Mhm. How would you feel about letting me take care of you?”

And Y/N is shy—it’s been discussed—but she knows she really has to be honest right now. Even if that means embarrassing herself.

“Guilty,” she murmurs.

Harry straightens up some. “Guilty? Now why would you feel like that?”

“Because! You’ve turned up today with—with flowers and you’ve put dinner on and I already want to pay you back. I don’t deserve it, I’ve done nothing to warrant all of this.”

“All of this?” Harry parrots. His eyebrows furrow but he maintains a gentle tone, shifting closer to Y/N and holding his hand out, palm facing up. She places her own on top with the hesitance of a newborn lamb, eyes meeting his. “Darling, I don’t mean to be blunt but… this is not a lot. Flowers are really the bare minimum, and putting pasta in a pot is hardly a back-breaking task. Lovely… relationships, friendships—they’re not transactional, okay?” His thumb drags across the back of her hand.

She’s going to cry.

“You don’t need to pay me back for anything. I’m here because I want to be. And I want to show you that you deserve to be taken care of. Because you do, Y/N. You do deserve it.”

A tear brims over her rapidly filling waterline. “I’m sorry,” she laughs wetly. “I’m just tired.”

Harry nods, “I know,” wiping her cheek. “You just need a little help. And that’s okay.”

“You wanna do all this… and you barely know me… why?” He’s cloudy in front of her eyes, tears obstructing his handsome face.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week. You know that?”

“Okay, sure.” Y/N rubs at her lashes, smearing more mascara around. But she’s smiling a little, at the absurdity of Harry’s words.

He replaces her hands, the soft pads of his thumbs doing an adequate job of preserving her dignity whilst he wipes the smudges away.

“Mean it. Been distracted at work remembering it all.”

She’s not laughing anymore. No, her skin is tingling now. And her throat squeezes around a swallow.

“But it’s not just about sex. I like you, Y/N. And I want to like you more—get to know you, spend time with you. Is that convincing enough?”

Y/N shakes her head. But Harry sees the glint in her eye. He narrows his own at her.

“No? Are you playing with me? I thought you were a sweet, good girl.”

The skin of her cheeks has never been subjected to so much heat in such little time. It spreads out to her chest, and down her arms. She must be praying to some sort of God to ensure her hands haven’t become sodden yet.

“That’s not fair,” she squirms. “I just… like hearing you talk.”

“Hm, you like hearing me say that I like you, is that it?”

“Maybe,” she looks down. “Never really heard it before.”

“Well, get used to it, love. I want you to become sick of those three words.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Harry just smiles. “Will you let me?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is confused.

Or rather, she is tentative. Anxious, uncertain, disbelieving—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Harry sits across from her in the café they’ve frequented quite a few times in the last two weeks. His eyes are closed, taking in the first gulp of his coffee as it slinks down his throat and warms his chest, leaving a pleasant trail of heat in its place.

She admires him; something she wishes she could do more without his beady eyes on her and making her feel all embarrassed. He’s pretty—she likes to look at him. Especially when he’s not in his usual suit and slack attire. (Not that her brain doesn’t start to malfunction when he’s embraced by the flattering lines of fabric clutching to the muscles Y/N has had the pleasure of being crowded by but…) The contrast of seeing him comfortable and unfiltered is enough to make her relax too.

Or attempt to relax.

The first time Y/N and Harry came to The Little Snail Café, the former of the two had been nervous. (That is hardly information anyone would pay for.) It was a date as far she had been aware; Harry had explicitly labelled it so. And Y/N hadn’t been on a date since she was with her ex… but their time out was hardly ever impressive enough to warrant any kind of excitement.

Even remembering that she’d had a boyfriend renders every moment spent with him as less and less meaningful. As time spent wasted. He’d never told her her smile was that of sunshine. He’d barely ever told her he liked her.

But Y/N wasn’t thinking about him. Not on that day.

Harry had forced her to let him serve her dinner that evening he’d brought her flowers. Had implored that she change into something comfortable and sternly ordered glue your pretty arse to that sofa, little miss. That had been hard to argue with. Then he’d proceeded to plate up perhaps her first proper meal she’d consumed in a week and ask her about her day.

Y/N had been a little hesitant to admit the extent of her misery but Harry cottoned onto her pause quicker than most would. He was earnest in his sympathy, eyes void of ridicule as she detailed all her misfortunes.

“No wonder you nearly stacked it when I turned up,” he’d joked. “I’m sorry you had a rough day, love.”

It had been nice to have company. A pleasant silence whilst the two filled their stomachs. Y/N had missed it irrevocably—someone to breathe the same air with.

That had been when Harry asked about taking her somewhere the following day during her lunch break. A quaint place I think you’ll like. It wasn’t far and he’d have her back at work just in time. Y/N found that she trusted his word.

And although she had been worrying about it, as soon as Harry walked through the front doors and into the reception—wearing a chestnut suit that once again clung to him, like thick globules of honey, with his slicked hair that begged to curl onto his forehead in ringlets like that of a piglet’s tail—she had tunnel vision.

Her boss could have come in and fired her on the spot and Y/N wouldn’t have heard a thing. Only the rush of blood in her ears as her pupils expanded to the size of ten pence pieces and her stomach became the home to a dozen butterflies.

Harry had watched her reaction as she’d read the sign above the café—smiled at her bright eyes when she’d told him how cute it was. Had smiled even larger when he took her inside and let her discover the tiny snails etched into the edges of the tables.

“No one else has ever shared my passion for these little guys,” he’d emphasised as they sat down in the corner, sunlight flooding in through the windows and brightening up their irises, making Y/N giggle easily. Harry could tell she wasn’t laughing to make him feel better—or just to flirt—and that only made him try even harder to elicit those sounds from her pretty mouth.

He’d insisted he wanted to get to know her better. So that’s what he did.

Harry learned that Y/N eats far too much sugar, doesn’t sleep enough, and wishes she could have a pet cow. Or that is how he heard the words that exited her mouth. Y/N had only said she usually baked goodies in the dead of night and that videos of little fluffy calves make her cry.

The two never glanced away from one another. It was the kind of chemistry that drew eyes. Subtle glimpses from other customers sipping their warm drinks and cherishing that collective sense of human connection just from witnessing two people so innately into each other. Old couples nudging the other to reminisce on their younger days—workers wiping down tables and feeling a sense of respite during their long day at the unmistakable widening of the woman’s eyes in an attempt to see all of the man before her—to hang onto his every last word.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

Y/N had asked him lots of those questions. And had seemed very content with every answer he gave her. Perhaps apart from that last one. Y/N might have preferred cats but it wasn’t a dealbreaker.

It didn’t last long enough, in her opinion; their date. She had to return to work far too soon for her liking. But Harry paid for her toastie and hot chocolate, much to Y/N’s disarray, and dropped her off with a stroke of his thumb to the back of her hand and a kiss to her cheek.

She’d smiled so much she’d had to bite her lip to tone it down. Receptionists were never that happy.

ㅤㅤ

Their second date had been impromptu. And not really a date. Harry had knocked on her door once again—however this time, Y/N hadn’t jumped out of her skin. In fact, she’d just finished decorating a cake she’d hoped to surprise him with and the shock of his presence was replaced with elation at the coincidence.

The door opened, and before Harry stood a smiling girl with youthful glee painted all over her face. A pleasant difference from the last time. She giggled to herself and instructed he close his eyes as she guided him to her kitchen where the sweet smells were surely giving away any element of surprise. Still, Harry played up to it—feigning shock—(it’s not that he’s a cruel man but Harry remembered things about people and Y/N wasn’t so hard to read).

“Oh! It’s beautiful, darlin’… you made this f’me?”

Y/N nodded, grinning. A proper smile, unabashed and without premeditation. Harry felt its warmth; lucky to receive such a display from someone he’d previously seen so reserved.

The cake was cute; rusticly smothered in vanilla buttercream and decorated with halved strawberries circling the edges (Y/N was not so hard to read) and it tasted heavenly. Harry never believed he was much of a cake person—he’d always much preferred ice cream—but devouring a slice with the knowledge it had been made with care, especially for him, had his taste buds in a sugarcoated frenzy.

Y/N had been so elated to watch Harry enjoy her baking that she’d failed to realise that he had come to her home for a reason. And so had Harry, apparently—a look of epiphany crossing his face as he was placing his plate in the dishwasher. (Y/N had tried to do it for him but Harry had smoothed a large palm over the top of her head and all thoughts just melted away.)

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mhm?”

“Weather’s supposed to be nice this weekend. Picnic?”

And Y/N still got flustered, sure, but…

“You came all the way here to ask me that? You have… you have my number, don’t you?”

Harry couldn’t help his smile, tongue stuffing his cheek to attempt to control it. “Yeah, I do. I do. Just wanted to see you. Good job I did too.” He nodded to the cake.

But Y/N was all twinkles. In her eyes, over her face, all the way to her toes. She had half the mind to believe Harry visited her just to garner this reaction; to inflate his ego.

“I won’t be able to take you for lunch tomorrow though, ‘m sorry.”

“Oh… that’s okay,” she smiled. It wasn’t okay. It was world-ending news. What was she supposed to look forward to now?

“Been offloading a lot onto m’assisstant lately—should really give him a break.”

Y/N frowned, “I’m sorry.”

Harry barely let her finish the word. “No. No, I don’t want to hear that.” He moved forward, nudging the back of his index finger under her chin. “Not your fault, is it?” His eyes bored into Y/N’s, stern but imploring her to not worry herself like that. To take the blame for something that was not her fault.

“I’m— I…” Words failed to form, eyelashes brushing her cheeks in repeated blinks.

Harry swept it under the rug. It’s not something he wanted her to get het up about. Another time—he’d thought—another time he’d make sure she understood never to apologise unnecessarily. To feel guilty about him causing an inconvenience just to see her; because God forbid she accepted that she was good enough to be treated with such consideration. Another time. “I’ll come see you the day after though, yeah? I still want you to try the beetroot soup.”

“Idon’tlikebeetroot,” the girl mumbled, lips downturning with the admission.

“What was that, love?”

“I don’t think I like beetroot, Harry.” Her eyes lifted…and there was that guilt once again. Fear that disliking something may cause offence or trouble.

“Have you ever tried it?”

Y/N’s silence was deafening. She smiled shyly up at him, skin tingling with the beginnings of heat—whilst Harry simply shook his head with a playful eye roll before stroking his thumb over her chin. The plush pad met with a soft indentation.

“Have an early night tonight, okay? Get some rest.” The syllables rolled off his tongue like a gentle caress; told her she looked tired in quite possibly the kindest way.

Y/N nodded, focusing all her energy on the feeling of his thumb on her skin.

And when Harry had gone, leaving her heart an overexerted mess of muscle and blood turned flower petals and bubbles, she’d simply looked to the ceiling with a shit-eating grin as she tried to swallow a giggle. There was nothing inside her that was not touched by Harry—and everything transformed from rickety and paint-chipped to sturdy and ornate—embellished down to the finest details.

ㅤㅤ

It had been a joy to wake up on Sunday.

Y/N felt the rays of sun through her curtains warming her sleepy face as her alarm blared—an alarm worth setting despite it being the weekend—and as her consciousness came rushing back to her, the memory of Harry promising to pick her up at eleven had her residual tiredness dancing away like it was performing the quickstep.

Dress weather made Y/N happy. Made her feel pretty and confident and giddy; something quite contradicting considering her skittish personality. And that’s exactly how she felt when she admired her sundress in the mirror of her wardrobe—square neck framing her chest, white fabric bunching around her shoulders in sheer puffs and cinching at her waist to flow into a floaty skirt. She looked sweet; the picturesque vision of a girl about to perch on a blanket under the sun and consume saccharine confections. Y/N pulled the hem between her finger and thumb, exposing the skin of her upper thigh, deep in thought at the fantasy of Harry taking her all in. His own confection.

And he did of course.

Though it didn’t unfold in perhaps the way Y/N had hoped. Which is why they’re called fantasies, she supposed. Because she was still her—despite feeling like a whole new person, she certainly wasn’t.

Harry had knocked on her door at two minutes to eleven, which may have been a problem had Y/N not been ready over an hour earlier than she needed to be. (With another bunch of flowers—white gardenias—“They mean I have a crush on you,” Harry leaned over and whispered as though it was some big secret. Y/N took them with a stifled titter and scurried off to place them in water, dress swishing around her thighs.) His gaze had dripped down her, as respectfully as he could manage when all he wanted was to glide his palms all over. The sight of soft skin contrasted by the sanctity of white cotton—her silky hands carrying a wicker basket (the true vision of a picnic) which Harry had plucked out of her grasp with little hesitation.

As a true gentleman would, he offered Y/N his arm to place her hand; the crook of his elbow providing a safe seat to rest from the weary necessity of holding the weight of her own limbs.

Y/N, however, would only be so lucky to mirror Harry’s formalities—to uphold the stereotype of womanly elegance—as her toe catches on a step down towards his car. Emulating their first night outside of her house, only this time it felt worse. It’s far more embarrassing, Y/N decided, to fall when holding onto the person you’re so enamoured by.

It was hardly a fall—moreso a drag of the foot, a buckle of the knee. But it was still enough to have her gasping and untangling herself from Harry. Harry who had kept her secure without any chuckling or patronising. Had his brows furrowed in concern and his hand to her elbow to steady her. Y/N still ripped herself away, turning so he couldn’t see her.

“Oh my god! Don’t look at me.” She was mortified; as the pair stood halfway down the steps, suspended in a moment.

“Darlin’—” Admittedly, Harry did have to try his hardest not to laugh. Not at her trip but her reaction; the drama! “Darling,” he tried again, “you’re alright.” His hand ghosted over Y/N’s shoulder blades, where fabric met flesh.

“That was—I’m mortified—that was so unattractive!” She barely meant it; was just humiliated as she’d said, but Harry shook his head behind her.

“You’re still very pretty, Y/N. Just a little clumsy. But that’s okay,” he turned her around, “you’ll just have to hold on tighter.” Harry admired the kinks in her brows, expressive in her shame, as he guided her hand back to his arm. “Very pretty.” He’d almost whispered it—not out of a wish that she had not heard but as an attempt to reseal their bubble—their intimate world.

The sun stayed magnificently bright for them.

As though it was watching its light bounce between their eyes; wanted the moment to last as long as it could maintain the warmth; the incandescence.

Harry followed the motions of her hands, fingernails painted in alternating shades of soft green and pastel pink, as Y/N devoured a punnet of strawberries. (She’d brought two.) She was a head-bobber, munching away with the occasional hum as her eyes transfixed onto his knees.

He was wearing corduroy shorts and a big floaty shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white top poking out from underneath. Y/N admired his golden skin, the delicate tattoos bracketing his kneecaps, and the dusting of hair covering his lean limbs. It was still a joy to see him so underdressed, the true image of a boy she would take home to her parents.

The two looked symbiotic—two sides of the same coin, or heart, or strawberry—as Y/N offered one to Harry, who took it graciously with a smile and a scrunch of his nose. (Mild hayfever, he’d described it as.) From an outside perspective, they looked established. A relationship that surely began as highschool sweethearts. Enough so to have strangers whispering I’ll bet you a tenner he’s about to propose to her.

But neither registered any sort of outside perspective, they were the only two people that mattered, after all.

“You ought to be careful, love, you’ll get a bad tummy if you eat so much fruit,” Harry prodded, as Y/N opened up the second punnet of strawberries.

“Oh,” she frowned down at them. “My stomach sorta always hurts anyway.” He perturbed her none, eyelashes fluttering as she bit into a picture perfect fruit. Harry hardened his gaze—registering her unbothered tone with concern.

“That’s not… ideal, Y/N.” He was slow, cautious. “Y’shouldn’t be hurting all the time.”

Her eyes rounded out as she looked at him, lips plush as she took another bite. But she just shrugged her shoulders, tastebuds too preoccupied by the blossoming on her tongue. The wind picked up a little, blowing her hair across her face in soft streaks—as though the Earth was wielding a paintbrush, and using her strands as the medium. She whined a little, trying to avoid getting hair in her mouth as she finished the rest of the strawberry. Harry watched with starry eyes—zoned in on her shining skin—as a drop seeped out of the edge of her lips and dribbled down the side of her chin.

He reached over without hesitation, thumb swiping the liquid away, and Harry basked in the subtle widening of Y/N’s eyes as he brought that very thumb to his mouth to coat his tongue. Her fingers scrambled at her face messily, brushing all hair out of her eyes. It felt incredibly humid all of a sudden.

“Hey,” she pouted, refusing to be swept away under Harry’s ruse, “that was my juice.”

And Harry couldn’t help himself. Not when she was setting the scene just perfectly. “Mm, sorry,” he hummed, “d’you want it back?”

Y/N nodded, tongue darting out to wetten her lips.

“Hm?” He prompted.

“Yeah—yes, I do, please.” She swallowed; Harry’s eyes followed the contraction of her throat.

“Come here then,” he tempted. He was already in a very alluring position, elbows bracing his weight as he sprawled across the blanket, knee propped up and easily manoeuvrable. Y/N shuffled on her knees, the short space towards him, setting herself down with her hands placed on her thighs as though he’d instructed her to.

Harry pushed up, hand ghosting along the side of Y/N’s cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” Their breaths mingled, swirling across one another’s face and sinking into their skin. Y/N’s eyelids dropped closed, patiently asking, waiting. He took his time to admire her anticipating face, leaning closer to drape a sigh over her bottom lip.

“Kiss—kiss me,” she exhaled, eyelids twitching—wanting to open. But they didn’t. They stayed shut, stayed waiting, stayed hiding her from the world around them.

Harry smiled and Y/N swore she could feel it. Feel as he leant forward and brushed the tip of his nose down the front of hers. His hand stroked through the hair behind her ear, large digits coaxing her to melt and mollify into his hands, which she did so easily. She parted her lips wider, blindly tilting to try to meet his. Harry let them touch for a second—a press of flesh—before he leant back, nose nudging hers once again.

Y/N expelled a shaky breath, a little whine falling out of her neglected mouth. Her eyebrows kinked and her pretty nails dug into her thighs.

She chose to stay in the dark—from fear that it would be over if she opened her eyes. But that was something she needn’t have worried about. Harry leant back, enough to see out of the corner of his eye and reach for a strawberry.

He resisted the urge to indulge himself, mouth watering at the thought, and instead brought the pointed tip towards Y/N’s eagerly awaiting lips. Harry grazed his nose along her cheekbone, words finding her sensitive ears as he pushed the fruit to touch.

“Bite,” he whispered.

A noise of complaint lodged itself in Y/N’s throat, but she complied regardless, teeth sinking into the strawberry. Its juice coated her tongue and lacquered over her lips, the gooey pulp going down smoothly as she dared to open her mouth for another offering.

But as she did, suddenly the air around her face shifted, and the heat of Harry’s breath ghosted across her once more. Pointed and heavy exhales from his nostrils as she felt his tongue dart out to swipe across her bottom lip. It felt exploratory, leisurely—like he had all the time in the world to get to know her mouth. And it’s not like they hadn’t done this before—kissed—but it felt new, all the same. It had her breath hitching and her body leaning unconsciously into his touch.

Once her bottom lip stopped being enough, Harry pulled it down with the pad of his thumb and unlatched Y/N’s jaw in the process. He opened her up, and she let him completely, sat still on her knees as he played with her. She didn’t feel toyed with really—was still processing being touched in such a way and wondering if it would ever stop feeling so intoxicating. Harry took one final moment to bask in her blind trust; to watch the stillness of her face and feel the gentle (but rapid) breaths fan against his mouth.

And then he kissed her.

He really kissed her.

Y/N’s hmph quickly turned into a muffled mewl, open mouth accepting Harry’s tongue rubbing over hers as though it was her resuscitative medication. The only thing to stabilise her bloodstream, to soothe her fighting heart. He tasted like strawberries. And so did she. Sweet, and wet, and promising. It felt filthy but it felt clean at the same time—renewing and resetting, like running across soft sands to plunge into bracing sea water—Y/N would let him drip juice anywhere he liked, she’d let him feed fruit from his own mouth into hers. She’d let Harry spread her out and do with her as he pleased. Right there. Right then.

And it caught up to her all too quickly, the overwhelming heat of her thoughts. They were in public. But yet she couldn’t possibly entertain pulling away—not when Harry’s mouth engulfed her entirely. It wasn’t a cute kiss, a sweet reminder of affection or endearment. It was a kiss you shielded your child’s eyes away from, or grimaced at from nearby. It was sloppy, and sticky, and mind-numbingly dizzying.

Harry’s lips left syrupy residue wherever they landed—her top lip, her bottom lip, her tongue, her cupid’s bow. Y/N felt poisoned. Drip fed for weeks until Harry deemed the time right as he went in for the kill. She wasn’t sure she was even doing much of the kissing; perhaps she was simply being kissed. She tried to keep up, returned his tongue with her own and let her mouth encase his bottom lip in a frenzied attempt at reciprocation.

But his hands were holding her face, and then they were sliding into her hair, and all Y/N could do was feel.

Feel, and be felt, and—and—

ㅤㅤ

And Y/N is still confused!

She’s drifted away from their cosy table at The Little Snail Café—well physically, she’s right there but mentally… Her eyes are glossed over and she’s still very much contemplating the state of their relationship. Because… that kiss had been nearly a week ago and… well, Y/N doesn’t want to be thought of as some sex pest (she loses her virginity and now she’s clawing at the walls for orgasms) but she always thought—completely aware of her ignorance and unrealistic education—that the role of a dominant was to… fuck the living shit out of someone on the regular.

And even as she’s thinking that, with Harry right in front of her, she feels crude and disrespectful. But he hasn’t so much as hinted that he was going to have sex with her again, and that moment with the strawberries has been going round, and round, and round inside her head for days and nights and it’s driving her insane. Because, as previously established, nothing she can do matches what Harry made her feel, so any attempt at quelling the ache leaves her worse off than before.

“Don’t much like hearing how I feel about squirting, huh?”

Y/N blinks, and physically shakes her head as if to wake herself up. “Sorry?”

Harry sips from his mug, smiling. “Joke, love.”

“How uh—” she clears her throat, “How do you feel?”

“Hm… messy, but hot.”

She nods—perhaps a confusing reaction to such a sentence. Most people would probably quip back something flirtatious or coy. But Y/N just nods.

“What’re you thinking about in there?”

“Um… I was just wondering when— when you were gonna kiss me… again…”

“Y’are, are you? How uncouth.”

“Well— I just… When you said you were,” she leans forward, volume dropping considerably, “a dominant… I just thought… something different would be happening.” And then she starts to spiral. “Not in a— not because this is… this is great. I mean—”

“Settle down, darlin’, it’s okay.” Harry sighs, scratching the top of his head with a thoughtful expression on his lovely face. “‘s my fault, really. I haven’t explained much to you. And I have no doubt you are basing all of your facts on poor media portrayal.” Y/N scrunches her nose in a silent show of guilt. “It’s not just about sex,” he starts. “It is for some people, but for you I don’t think it is. And I’ve been slow, and cautious in fear of overwhelming you, and it’s resulted in probably a couple confusing weeks for you. So, I’m sorry.

“The whole point is for you not to worry, and you’re still doing that because I’m not doing my job properly, but I was worried you might change your mind so I held off. You can still change your mind, by the way.” Y/N shakes her head. Harry continues. “I’ll take you home now, if you like, give you the whoooole run through. Does that sound good?” Y/N nods. “And you’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?”

“Yes, Harry. I will.”

“Can I take you to my home? Cook you dinner?” He asks, staring at the way Y/N’s head lays heavy against the headrest and her limbs are leaden, as she relaxes into his car.

She nods, lips quirking upwards with intrigue. At the blanks in her mind that will be filled. What to imagine when he’s in bed, when he’s watching TV, or eating… or… showering. “Can I help?”

Harry pretends to consider it. “We’ll see.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s house is… not what Y/N expects it to be.

Well, it is in some ways.

It’s large, and it’s expensive, and it’s astronomically grand. But it’s… it’s characterless. It lacks personality—and Harry Styles does not lack personality. Harry Styles is charming, and intelligent, and beautiful. But his house is stark white. There is no indication that his house is not a show home. It’s untouched, unlived in, unloved. And Y/N wasn’t expecting that.

“It’s too big, I know,” Harry gestures to the air around them as he watches Y/N take it all in.

“Not at all! No… it’s so beautiful, Harry.” And it is, it really is. She’s not lying. How can she lie when she’s staring at such a grand staircase? When the windows are so large, and bright that the space is nearly sparkling. And the garden she sees through the other side is blooming trees and unkempt flowers and just begging to be loved.

But as beautiful as it is, it’s still just… white.

He guides her through to the kitchen which…

“Woah,” Y/N admires, “you could make so many cakes in here.” She laughs and Harry grins just at the sight.

It’s true, there’s enough counter space to house at least ten separate mixing bowls. Impressively clean considering the observed shades of white. But there are signs of life in here—photos on the fridge, (one that catches her eye of two women that absolutely have to share his genes) post-it notes huddled around a pot of pens, a basket of cleaning products, a vase of flowers in the middle of the island. A comforting sight to see a little bit of the inside of Harry’s brain.

“They’re very pretty,” Y/N points at the photo on his fridge with a hesitancy that suggests she’s expecting him to berate her for being nosy.

“Mum’ll love that,” he laughs. “That’s her,” Harry points to the woman on the left, adorning sunglasses and a bright smile, and then to the right, “and m’sister, Gemma.”

“You look like each other.”

“Yeah? Y’think so?”

Harry shines when he speaks about his loved ones. Is so happy to talk about the photo of his father, his step-dad, his mum’s cat, the younger Harry surrounded by other young boys (“My mate Jonny, he was stoned as fuck in this picture. Had no idea.” His eyes crinkle around the edges and Y/N can only think about how beautiful those lines look).

Then he moves over to the island and tugs out a stool. “Come sit,” he pats.

He doesn’t let her help him cook—insists that she stay right where she is and carry on looking at him like that.

“Like what?” Y/N pretends she’s not shy about being caught.

“With those gooey eyes.”

“Gooey?”

“Mhm. You look one moment away from melting into the counter.”

“I do not,” she scoffs.

“It’s okay, I like it.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry owns the fluffiest rug in the history of the universe, Y/N is sure.

Obnoxiously cream in comparison to the rest of the colour palette. And in defence of Harry, the walls of his living room are painted a warm beige and his vast, velvet sofa is a deep forest green. The main attraction remains the rug, however. Long and shaggy and absolutely imperative to lie upon.

Y/N withholds the urge, but she stares pointedly and longingly towards it for too long to be considered a passing gaze.

“You can touch it if you want.”

“Hm?”

“The rug… that you’re eyefucking.”

“I—” she blanches, “It looks so soft.”

Harry makes the first move, blue jeans creasing at the knees as he crouches down. He pushes his palms into the strands and watches as they’re swallowed up into the depths of the faux-fur. Y/N hesitates, looking down at him on his hands and knees and wondering if it would be inappropriate to join him. But when he leans back, hands bracing himself behind him so he can lounge—mirroring the position of the day they had their picnic far too much—Y/N caves and drops to her own knees.

It’s sensory heaven—quite frankly—and Y/N knows immediately that she could get lost stroking this sole rug for hours. Harry watches her with an informed smile as she drags her fingers back and forth through the threads, already lost in a little world of her own.

“G’na have a mature and adult conversion now, alright, love?”

Y/N nods.

“Are you going to be able to listen and finger my rug at the same time?”

She narrows her eyes at him, adjusting from kneeling to crossing her legs. “I’m not finger—” she swallows. “Yes, I believe so.”

ㅤㅤ

“—I would encourage you to eat, go to bed at a certain time, turn your phone off. And I would want you to listen to me—not to argue, to trust that I know best.” That sounds easy, Y/N thinks. “I would want you to raise concerns in a polite manner—I don’t think it’s ever necessary to shout. And it would be important to me that you are always honest about the way you are feeling. No trying to make me feel better or pushing it down, okay?”

Y/N had feared it may be complicated, from the way Harry had suggested—had put off having this conversation for so long. But his commanding voice, and intense eyes make her feel so safe, and incredibly mellow. New feelings for Y/N. She nods.

“And when it comes to sex… trust is the most important thing. I don’t want to be doing anything we haven’t discussed, and I certainly don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable in an attempt to please me. Now I know you may not be experienced with a lot of the things that are involved in these kinds of relationships but would you be interested in learning… with me? What you like and dislike?”

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling now? Good?” When Y/N nods once more, Harry gets to his feet. His voice slicks down her spine when he drawls, “Come here then. And kneel.”

Whilst Harry had been speaking, Y/N can’t deny the fact that her insides had started stirring around in anticipation. But now, as he commands her to station herself so far below him in stature, the silly little brain inside her skull begins to melt into mush. She crawls the short distance towards him until her eyes are level with the tops of his knees, and she just waits, sneaking a glance up to see Harry towering above her with a subtle quirk of his lip.

He brings a hand up slowly, warm palm ghosting the heat of her cheek and smoothing over her head in a comforting stroke. “I want you to call me Sir. T’help you slip quicker. You wanna be all nice ‘n’ mellow? Forget about all your stress?”

“Yes… Sir.” It comes out as little more than a squeak.

Harry chuckles, “You’re so good.” Y/N quite nearly beams up at him, insides swarming. “You like that? You like when I praise you?”

“Mhm,” she nods.

“Well it’s just so easy for me, darlin’. Because you’re so lovely.”

She closes her eyes, bottom lip nibbled to hide the giddy smile that overtakes her. Harry’s hand in her hair, scratching and smoothing, is already doing enough to make her eyelids heavy. But she supposes sleep is not the end goal.

“Your first time,” Harry starts. “Did you enjoy it?”

What? “Yes—yes Sir, of course.”

“What would you change about it?”

“N-nothing! It was perfect.”

He hums, nails dragging soothing lines into her scalp. “Which part?” Y/N opens her mouth but Harry keeps speaking. “When I fucked you open with my fingers? Got you nice and stretched for me—had your little pussy just quivering and begging me to fill her up?” He fists a more substantial amount of her hair. “Or maybe when I finally got my cock inside of you, and you were so happy. Squirming underneath me like a wet dream.”

Y/N can’t help but grab for his thighs, nails trying to dig in.

“Hands in your lap, darlin’.”

She pulls away regretfully.

“Was it when I fucked up into you, hard enough to force all those pretty sounds out? Or when I stretched over you and held your hands above your head? Had your body arching for me.”

Y/N is on fire. She must be. Her body is aflame and her insides have melted.

“I think…” Harry bends over some, trying to catch the eyes of the girl who is fighting every feeling. Her eyelids are shut, concealing the windows to her soul, and her brows are knitted together so tightly that she might induce a migraine. He smooths them out with a thumb before stroking over the delicate skin of her lids. “I think—look at me, darling—I think… it was when I had your stomach pressed into the mattress and a hand around your throat,” thick fingers squeeze her cheeks together with care, “and all you could do was lie there and take it. As I fucked you for the first time, just like you deserve.

“And after you came around me for the third time, I flipped you over so I could see your pretty face, and I came between your soft thighs, didn’t I, love? Did you want it inside of you? Warm, and sticky, and all because of you? Is that what you’d change?”

Y/N doesn’t actually think he would have come inside of her—he’d worn a condom, after all—but if the thought doesn’t have her thighs squeezing… “Wouldn't change,” she shakes her head. “Liked having you— liked it on…”

“Mm, I think you’d say that about everything. What do you know, after all?”

He’s right, and she hates the way his condescension has her wilting even further into the palm of his hand.

Y/N leans her face into Harry’s hand as he begins tracing over her features with a curious thumb, dedicating every line and mark to his memory. Then he’s crouching down with a little exhale and securing his hands under her armpits to pull her up with miniscule preamble. Y/N gasps, and her hands shoot out instinctively whilst Harry is lifting her up to his height. She grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist using muscle memory she didn’t realise she had.

Her knees sink into the rich green of his sofa as Harry sits down, gently encouraging her hands down from his shoulders and behind her back. A buzz zips through her chest from the feel of his warm body underneath her. Warm, and strong, and solid.

“Wanna hold these here, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his rose-tinted lips. “Gonna be a little rough with you. If you want to stop, you say Red. If you want to slow down—take a break—you say Yellow. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says, eyes trailing down her neck, deciding what to do, “good,” repeated solely to himself.

Y/N feels the frustration of choosing to put on jeans this morning, mind spiralling at the thought of being on top of Harry with just a skirt to hide her modesty. Just a skirt that would so easily be slipped underneath by his hands, and then her underwear…

But Harry seems less concerned. His gaze is transfixed to her chest; to the intricate lace of her camisole, that—in contrast to her jeans—provides very easy access. Y/N’s breathing picks up at the very thought, ribs expanding and only drawing his eyes further. She’s tugged forward by a hand on her hip, searing through the fabric, and the other holding her hands. Tugged until Harry is resting his forehead on her sternum and inhaling deeply.

Her lungs are working at an extreme rate, and more of his nose presses into her with every breath. Y/N is so close to his hair in this position—just has to bend her face down a little and his musky scent fills her nostrils. It seems they both have similar ideas—breathing one another in—but Harry seems far more relaxed than the near shaking girl on top of him.

It only gets worse for her when he pushes his lips against the valley of her breasts—small, tender kisses that have Y/N’s breath hitching. The straps of her camisole want to fall down her shoulders in angelic swoops but her cardigan prohibits all movement. Suddenly it’s the heaviest and warmest piece of clothing she’s ever worn.

“Har—Sir,” she breathes, head tilting back on her shoulders. The caress of his breath on her body is immobilising, and he seems content in moving at a snail’s pace for his own enjoyment. Whether he gets the message or not is unclear, but regardless, Harry lets go of her hands just long enough to shuck the chunky cardigan down her arms and discard it beside them.

As soon as he tightens his grip around her wrists once again, the strain of her arms has her camisole straps slipping down the curves of her shoulders, like a waterfall of silk. The fabric is so light and thin that it pools underneath her breasts—the crooks of her elbows the only things keeping the straps suspended. And Harry’s immediate response suggests he’s somewhat of a starved individual, teeth digging into the top of the left cup of her bra and tugging it down with haste.

He takes her nipple into his mouth and Y/N is all gasps and bucks. The sensitivity of her skin and the rough suction of his lips, the flicking of his tongue and the grazing of his teeth. It’s deafening; the blood rushing in Y/N’s head, it’s near predisposing. The spit, and the hot exhales from his nose against her chest, the indentations his teeth leave behind when he pulls away to admire the wetness of her breast. But he goes back in—bites at her flesh—chews, and laves, and consumes her entirely.

Y/N’s cunt is pulsating. She is wet, and fervently hot, and the subtle rocking of her hips is ceased by a large palm over hip, which has her whining into the air.

“Stay still f’me,” he slurs into her skin, desperate fingers pulling her bra down further and watching to make sure it stays, before he starts on the other side of her chest. Her wrists are encircled behind her back, and Harry pushes her forward—into his mouth, as if he’s not already practically eating her. And maybe she can try her hardest not to squirm but all that energy has to go somewhere, and she’s panting now—whimpering all these sounds that she’s never heard herself make before—and Harry can surely feel the vigorous inflation and deflation of her lungs.

“Oh—oh, H—Sir, please.”

Please what? Stop? No. Keep torturing her breasts? Also no.

Harry hums against her, long and unwilling as his mouth leaves her with a wet smack. He admires her skin, eyes flitting up to see the dazed girl atop him.

“Don’t like it?” He puffs, inhaling deeply, beginning to dance a hand around her ribs.

“I do, I do,” Y/N breathes, eyes still closed. “Too h-hot.”

Harry frowns though she can’t see, before he’s unclasping her bra and pulling her camisole over her head—standing her up on jelly legs and pulling her jeans down. Sat on his lap once again, he tightens his grip around her wrists and curls his fingers around her throat.

“Can feel your heat, baby,” he looks down to where her clothed cunt rests just before his bulge. His still very clothed bulge. “Give me a kiss.” And she still feels exceptionally inexperienced in the whole department but her body surges forward, urged by the pressure against her pulse, as her lips meet his shiny ones.

This time, when Y/N’s hips start moving on their own accord, Harry doesn’t stop her—tugs her closer in fact. Right on top of where he’s warm, and hard. Their mouths part a centimetre, just enough to pant into one another at the feeling. Of his hand squeezing her throat, and pushing her arms into her back. Y/N doesn’t even notice when he lets go of her wrists—never daring to move them—as his palm comes down in an experimental slap to her arse.

It’s light; enough to not hurt but suggest his intentions. And when Y/N gasps and twitches on top of him, he gets the idea. “Is that nice?”

“Yes.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” she whimpers into his mouth, lips pasting to his cupid’s bow and falling away when he does it again. Hard enough to leave a tingle that spreads out to her centre and up her stomach.

“Unzip my trousers.”

There’s no hesitation, both his palms are holding her ass now, desperate to spread them apart but damned by the confines of her underwear. Y/N shakes a little but does what he says, exposing the hot pink of his boxers underneath—and the thick outline of his cock.

“Take me out, go on.” She meets his eyes—blown out and transfixed, mirroring her very own. “Take me out, Y/N,” he whispers, leaning closer to lick a stripe up the column of her throat, and then an open-mouthed kiss to her chin, and her mouth.

He’s heavy in her hand, and intimidatingly big. How did she ever fit this inside of her? But she feels the instinct to make him feel good. This was the one area she had experience in, afterall. The skin is so soft and all she has to do is spit down and watch as it drips from his head along his shaft. But Harry takes her hand instead and laves his tongue along her palm before guiding her down to wrap around him.

His breath hitches; their eyes don’t stray from one another’s. He holds her hand over him and starts to drag it up and down, his blinking lagging a little from the feel of her delicate fingers wriggling underneath his palm. It’s intense, and paralysingly slow—every second spent watching his face feels like sixty—and when she looks down, she feels herself clench around nothing at the sight of her smaller hand wrapped in his, and the way his cock looks between them. Red, and thick, and wet.

It must show on her face because Harry’s unwrapping her hand and reaching forward to press his fingers into the front of her underwear. “Put me in.”

“What? B-but I’m not… and you’re so…”

He nods, “I know. You can do it,” as he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet from his back pocket. Y/N’s heart jumps when he rips the condom open with his teeth—a true teenage fantasy—and slides it on with a swallowed grunt.

He tugs her gusset to the side, breaking strings of arousal and basking in the twitch of Y/N’s hips. She clumsily hovers over him, embarrassed as she holds onto his base. As she lowers down, Harry’s thumb finds her clit—swollen and hypersensitive—and she squeezes him reflexively. He groans, low and vibrating, content to roll her under his digit cruelly—distracting her from the attempt at swallowing him with composure.

Y/N whines as the thick head squeezes inside her tight hole, mouth ajar and eyes half-focused on the man who brings his shining thumb to his mouth and makes a show of relishing in the taste of her arousal.

“F-fuck,” the words force their way out of her shining mouth.

Harry rears a hand back and slaps her ass, harder than the other times, fingers staying on the skin to dig in and pull. “Don’t swear.” And Y/N doesn’t think he’s usually adverse to it but she’ll do whatever he asks of her right now.

“S-sorry, Sir,” she moans out as Harry sinks deeper and deeper inside. Maybe he should’ve stretched her out first but God if it isn’t the most blissful discomfort. That initial entrance—knowing what her body is accommodating for and how far he reaches inside of her most private place.

As soon as she’s seated on him, completely and utterly full, Harry confines her wrists once again as he sits up and encourages Y/N to lean into him. Her breasts squish into his shirt. His shirt. That he is still wearing. “Come on, baby. Tire yourself out.”

Exhaustion is already seeping into her bones but Harry’s voice croons into her ears so tenderly—it coats her skin in a sheen of glitter and pumps sparkling wine through her veins. She makes every effort in lifting up and sinking back down—in, albeit, slow and wobbly movements—but the concentration on her face is like a drug to Harry. It has him thumbing over her nipple and taking it into his mouth again, which only has Y/N stuttering and inevitably stopping. She pants, and wiggles, and whines, enough so to have Harry placing both palms underneath the seam of her underwear and gripping her bum like he’d wanted.

He squeezes and stretches to his heart’s desire, mouth still firmly attached to her breast, but his strong hold aiding Y/N in moving once more. She’s lifted up and down, and up and down—slow enough to feel every ridge of him opening her walls.

“M-my legs hurt. Sir.” Y/N wishes she were a gym fiend as she admits it.

“Do they, love?” He pulls back from her chest, discontent to stop nibbling her skin raw but her voice is oh, so fragile. He’ll take care of her like he promises all the time. “Lean your head on my shoulder—keep your arms where they are.”

When she doesn’t immediately listen, and looks up to his eyes with a silently begging expression, he cocks his eyebrow. “Can I f-feel you? Your skin, please, Sir.” He’d left his clothes on, somewhat intentionally, but he doesn’t feel so mean in this moment. A nod is all the encouragement she needs, as Y/N unbuttons his shirt with clumsy fingers, and pushes it off his shoulder to rest her cheek upon. Her arms go back behind her and her nose moves forward to press into his neck deliciously. He smells of allure.

Harry can’t help himself when he tears her underwear from her body. She’s too soft, and warm, and wet to simply entertain the idea of pulling out of her. And from the noise she makes—a surprised squeak but no beratement—and the clench around his cock, he can only assume she likes it. Likes the desperation, or the display of strength, or his pure animal brain—it doesn’t matter. Because Harry’s kneading her ass in heavy handfuls, and moving her faster and faster, and Y/N is flooding his neck in her warm, tight pants—sweet whines falling out of her mouth.

“Beg me to come,” he grunts, granting Y/N no kind of warning before his fingers dig in harder and his hips slam into her at a speed that has her lungs forcing out high-pitched squeals. The sounds are nasty, unmistakable and unexplainable. The slap of skin, the wetness between her thighs, the noises that leave both their lips. It’s raw, and scaldingly hot, and— and… she needs to rub her clit.

“I— Sir, I can’t—”

“No?” His thrusts don’t falter, not even once. She’s on her back in a second, and her wrists are trapped underneath her. He makes no move to readjust them, only stretches her knee to the side so it pushes into the back of the sofa before grabbing a throw pillow and stuffing it under her hips. “Come on, beg me, little doll,” his hand spans across her mound, thumb meeting her clit in a back-arching press. This, has her cunt tightening—pulsating, contracting, strangling his cock. And with the pillow angling her just right, Harry can feel himself underneath his palm; it drives him batty.

He fucks her into the sofa, hard and unrelenting, leaning over her to chew on her tits once more. It’s sweaty, and messy, and that only makes it hotter. “Beg, Y/N.” His thumb rubs faster, expelling the choked up cry from her throat. She’s so close, is writhing underneath him—fighting the rolling of her eyes into the back of her skull.

“Please! S-sir, I—”

“That’s it. Good girl letting me fuck you—your sopping cunt, baby. Beg better than that, come on.”

His words send her spiralling, orgasm racing up on her and she panics that she won’t be given permission before it happens. “Oh my god! Oh, pleasepleaseplease, Harry!— Sir, please l-let me, please.” It’s adorable, Harry finds, her minimisation of the English dictionary when she’s so bent out of shape. Her pleading is less begging and more repetition, but he’ll let it slide.

He’ll let it slide as he presses his thumb harder and leans back to watch as he murmurs something akin to the value of diamond. “Come. Fucking come f’me, darlin’. Look at you.”

Y/N can’t hear anything. Not now. All she needed was that first word of permission and she’s seeing stars. Spasming around him so tight that Harry’s own moans started flowing out, pace increasing as he rolls her clit under his thumb. “Fuuuck, there you are. Keep squeezing like that, there’s a good girl.”

It takes her a while to come down from, no surprise considering Harry is still pounding into her, and her whimpers echo his moans—desperate and unabashed, his lips red and brows tight. He looks so handsome. So beautiful above her with his flushed skin and his flexing muscles, unbuttoned shirt floating around him. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever felt so peaceful, in a dreamlike state in all her vulnerability. And she keeps contracting around him, like he asks—because when he groans like that, she’d have to be a sadist not to—and as his moans build up in pitch, and his eyes meet hers in frenzied pleasure, she’s sure she wants him to come more than she’s ever wanted her own orgasm in her life.

Harry surges forward, smearing his lips all over Y/N’s mouth. It’s messy, and uncoordinated, and his tongue is slicking her skin. But it’s the hottest kiss she’s ever had. And it feels so good when his groans hit a crescendo, and his hips stutter, and Y/N can feel the warmth of his spurts inside the condom. She whimpers against his open mouth, arms losing all feeling behind her back, but she doesn’t care because his eyelashes are brushing against her cheek and it’s the most intimate thing she’s ever felt.

They’re lethargic, Harry’s movements, and he’d like to be much more alert but his body is tingling and Y/N is looking up at him so trustingly—he wonders if she’s fallen into a stupor.

“Th-thank you, Sir.”

He strokes her hip bones, pulling out with a soft hiss. Y/N whines a little at the sensitivity.

“You can call me Harry again now, if you like, darlin’.” He leans down to kiss her forehead, consuming palms holding her cheeks.

She’s not really listening. “Mm, feels… feel kinda drunk.” She smiles, nose turning into his thumb. Harry gives her another kiss and pulls away, to knot the condom and collect her clothes. Minus the pair of panties that are no longer wearable. He doesn’t feel even an ounce of guilt.

He’ll make her some food, watch as she eats it with her eyes begging to close, and then let her sleep in his bed—hoping she’ll want him to stay.

Little does he know that Y/N will wake up in the middle of the night to raid his kitchen in a matter of ways that Harry will reprimand her for.

But for right now, he’ll keep her as happy as he possibly can.

#harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines #mutually beneficial #writing #domrry #dom!harry #fanfiction

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tropes-and-tales · 3 months

Text

Not Real Just Yet

Day 14: Breeding Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Breeding kink; the appearance of dub-con but with clear consent discussed; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only. Again, this is a breeding KINK with an element of dub-con (but consensual), so if that isn't your thing, pass on this one.

Word Count: 1513

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person! It was also not edited in any way!

It’s not real.

It’s not real just yet because Bob is active duty, often deployed for long stretches.

It’s not real just yet because you’re in a PhD program that requires long, long hours: as you TA for undergrad classes, as you pore over old archived papers buried in colleges across the U.S., as you spend late nights on your thesis.

It’s not real just yet because you and Bob are sometimes just ships passing in the night, and you both hate it, but you’re both committed to each other and see this current pain as paying off in the near future.

It’s not real just yet because Bob, modern though he is, has old-fashioned ideas. He wants to put a ring on your finger first, wants to carry you over the threshold of a shared home, wants to settle into a nice stretch of married life as a couple before adding to your family.

It’s not real just yet. It’s just a fun way of playing around in the bedroom, and it’s more about the power dynamics of the breeding kink. You have an implant, so the risk is minimal, but it’s still fun to pretend.

Bob, the back seater who often feels powerless: he gets to take the dominant role.

You, the harried student who often feels like there’s too much piled on your shoulders: you get to take the submissive role.

-----

It’s not real just yet, but it sure as hell feels real. Bob is finally home from a tour around the South Pacific, and you’ve finally turned in pages to your thesis advisor. You each have the luxury of time, for once, and you turn your respective life frustrations on each other in the best possible way.

It’s easy to forget it’s not real when Bob slides inside you, the wet silky heat of your pussy and not a single barrier to stop him from feeling every sensation. The delicious slickness of your arousal, the molten warmth, the way you bear down when he’s buried in you and whispers in your ear. He whispers the filthiest things he’s ever said in bed with anyone, and sometimes he’s embarrassed in the morning when he remembers it, but the embarrassment never lingers—because he loves you, because he feels safe to explore this side of himself with you.

I’m gonna breed you, sweetheart.

Just take it. Good girl, take it.

Gonna look so good, full of my baby.

Gonna make you a mommy.

Take all of it.

Taking me so good. Can’t wait to see your belly all round with our baby.

Just lie back and take it like a good girl.

He fucks you slowly, deep, purposeful thrusts that he punctuates with his dirty talk. He knows it’s not real, but it’s so easy to fall into the fantasy, especially when you whimper at his words, when you cling to his shoulders and whine out your answering script.

Wait, Bobby…wait…

Maybe we shouldn’t…

It’s all a game, of course. It toes the line of dubious consent but Bob knows it’s all consensual because you never utter the safe word and neither does he. And sometimes he thinks maybe it’s sick, maybe it’s twisted, and maybe no one else would understand it, but when he voices those concerns to you, you always allay them. You always cup his face and tell him that what the two of you do in the privacy of your bedroom is your business and no one else’s.

“Besides,” you told him once. “You have no idea what your pals in Top Gun are into when it comes to kinks. I bet Bagman is a foot fetish weirdo.”

So he pushes those doubts aside because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s done, exploring all the weird and surprising twists within his own sexuality and yours.

Your first orgasm is always the strongest—maybe because you pretend to fight it, pretend you don’t want this. Bob notices all of your little tells: the way your fingertips dig into the blades of his shoulders until he knows he’ll have dusty little bruises there in the morning. The way your arousal absolutely soaks his pistoning cock, soaks the thatch of rough curls at the base of him. The way you whine out no, please, as if your body is betraying you, and isn’t that part of the fantasy too: that he fucks you so well that you can’t fight off the orgasm he works from you?

“Good girl,” he whispers against your temple. “Good girl, coming for me.” He slows his thrusting, savors the spasms of your aftershocks, allows you to recover.

“Please Bobby,” you breathe out. “It’s too risky—”

He closes his eyes and kisses your temple, feels the sweat making your hair damp. “You think too much,” he murmurs. He shifts his head, nips at your earlobe before he whispers in your ear, “just take it like a good girl.”

“Bobby—”

“You’re going to look so fucking hot, swollen with my baby.” He says that staring into your eyes, which are wide in mock-fear, part of the game, but he can see how wide your pupils are too, your eyes damned near black, and it’s a reassuring reminder that yes, you are into this game too, you’re enjoying it as much as him. And sure enough, there’s the answering clench in your pussy, the way you unconsciously bear down on him as he starts to resume his slow, firm rhythm of fucking you.

And now that you’ve come once, he takes it up a notch, ratchets the moment higher. He gets an arm under your knee and hoists your leg up and out, spreads you out more for him to bury himself in you. It grants him that extra bit of depth into your pussy, and each time he hilts his cock in you, it draws out a low groan from you, a throaty growl that makes the coil of tension in his gut tighten.

Here is usually where the game falters just a bit. Bob’s never had this with any other girlfriend before; sex was always a fraught, anxious thing for him. He always worried about his performance in bed. Most of his girlfriends before you usually laid in bed like a starfish, limp and unresponsive, and it took Bob a long time to realize that it was them, not him, that was the problem.

But sex with you is always good. Sometimes fun and playful, sometimes intimate and soulful. Sometimes, like now, it’s both of you working through your own personal demons—him and his feelings of inadequacy, you and your feelings of overwhelm—but doing it together. Exploring shadowy sides of yourselves in a perfectly safe, perfectly loving way.

How could he not want to put that ring on your finger, carry you over that threshold? Bob could travel the world for the rest of his life and never find anyone half as suited to him as you.

And now, your second orgasm approaches. Now your hands shift from clutching at his shoulders. Your palms lay flat on his chest and you push lightly against him, the climax of your game timed to the climax you’ll share with him.

“Bobby, please,” you pant out. “It’s not s-safe. Pull…pull out—”

But he doesn’t because it’s part of the game, and a beat later, when you arch underneath him, when your eyes flutter shut and you wail out his name, he pushes into you and stills. He feels his own tension snap, and he comes with a pained fuck, baby, take it, and it’s absolutely perfect: the way your pussy ripples against his cock, how it pulls the thick ropes of his cum deeper into the confines of your body.

Here is where the game falls apart. Or, rather, it ends. Sex is a release for both of you, but since you are generally more stressed and wound-up than Bob, you have the habit of giggling directly afterwards. Which might make a lesser man wither, but the tic charms Bob, and now he chuckles along with you.

“Oof,” you breathe out once the laughing passes. You wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down to you. “That was great.”

Bob is still half hard, so he shifts his weight carefully to avoid slipping out of you. He leans his weight on one forearm and gazes down at you with a smile. He brushes gentle kisses across your warm face. “I missed you.”

You smile up at him. “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. Right now, it’s just a crummy little apartment near campus, but as Bob settles closer to you, he can already picture the future with you: a better apartment or maybe even a house somewhere. You with your PhD, him with his military career. Each of you with rings on your fingers, vows made and received, maybe a dog adopted from a shelter.

And maybe, after that, you can play at your mutual kink for real.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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munson-blurbs · 4 months

Note

Tui request?? Eddie gains a little weight after the baby is born and Ms heart looks amazing post baby and Eddie becomes sort of self conscious and Mrs sweet heart shows Eddie how much she loves his dad bod

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: When Eddie starts feeling insecure about his newfound dad bod, you make sure to prove how sexy you think he is.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (m! receiving), p in v, breeding kink, Reader breastfeeds (no lactation kink), mention of weight gain and a "junk food diet"

WC: 1.7k

A/N: Thank you to @jo-harrington for helping me with the pacing and to @corroded-hellfire for help with the dialogue!

Eddie Munson thought you were stunning the night you met at the Hideout. On your wedding day, he surmised that he was marrying the prettiest woman in the world. And when you got pregnant with Hendrix—especially once your bump became more prominent—he’d sworn up and down that you couldn’t possibly get more beautiful if you tried.

That statement, of course, is easily refuted by his current sight of you with six-month-old Hendrix nestled into your chest. You gently move the rocking chair back and forth as the baby drinks from your breast, your shirt hiked up so he can easily latch onto your nipple. You wince slightly as he suckles, though it isn’t nearly as painful as when you’d first begun nursing him.

“He’s getting so chunky,” you muse, running your finger over the roll that’s formed on his little wrist. You look at your husband to gauge his reaction, your smile fading when you see his distant expression. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” It’s a blatant lie, and you both know it.

You sigh, carefully adjusting your position to sit forward a bit. Hendrix is unfazed, too focused on his lunch. “Tell me the truth. You know I always find out, anyway.”

“You’re right,” Eddie agrees with a small laugh. There’s no sense in trying to hide it, not when you can read him like a book. “Guess, um, guess I’ve just been noticing that Hendrix isn’t the only one putting on weight lately.” He looks down at his stomach guiltily.

A delicate frown tugs your lips downward; you notice for the first time that he’s wearing a jacket despite the warm May weather. “So? You’re adjusting to being a father of two. Instead of both of us taking care of only Harris, we now need man-to-man coverage.”

“Yeah, but you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he protests. Your pregnancy glow has carried over to a new-mom glow, despite the exhaustion. Christ, you even make sleep deprivation look good. “And you’re the one who had the baby.”

“Eds,” you say softly, the weight of his statement heavy on your shoulders, “you spent my entire pregnancy and this post-partum hell reassuring me that you loved every version of my body. Why wouldn’t I feel the same way about yours?” Hendrix has stopped eating, so you fix your shirt and prop him up to burp him.

He shrugs, cheek pinched between his teeth to stifle emotion. “I dunno, I just…” he exhales long and loud as he searches for the right phrasing. “Your body made life; mine made the decision to eat chicken nuggets and mac ‘n cheese off of Harris’s plate instead of vegetables.”

You offer a hint of a smile at his humor, though his words are laced with true insecurity. “Let me put this little man down for his nap and show you just how incredible that body of yours is.” There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes when you stand, the baby satiated and ready for his midday sleep. Harris is at Charlie’s house for a playdate, which means you and Eddie essentially have the afternoon to yourselves.

Hendrix’s milk-drunk state has him falling asleep quickly, and you take Eddie’s hand and lead him to the bedroom. As soon as the door shuts, your arms are draped over his shoulders, and you press your torso to his. You give his earlobe a little nibble before bringing your lips to his neck.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” you start, letting your hands rest on his biceps. “I see the arms that carry our boys to bed every night.” You leave a delicate kiss on the spot you just mentioned before gently pulling off his shirt. “And your chest is perfect for any of us to rest on.” Another kiss, this one received with a shiver.

He shakes his head. “‘S not how I used to look,” he responds guiltily. “When I was younger, I lived off of Doritos and Mountain Dew–didn’t gain an ounce. Guess it’s catching up to me now,” he grimaces, giving his belly a little pinch.

You intercept the motion, gently pushing his hands from his stomach. “Did I know I love this tummy most of all?” When he cocks a disbelieving brow, you smile and elaborate. “It reminds me that you don’t have to settle for a junk food diet anymore. We’ve created a little home with safety, love, and delicious food. I mean, you could do some sit-ups, I guess, but…” you shrug, scrunching your nose as you say the words, “I kinda like having a little something extra to hold onto.”

“Really?” He still doesn’t allow himself to fully accept this truth, so you try another method.

“Really,” you affirm, pulling him in for another deep kiss. “I need you,” you growl, your core already flooded with need at the prospect of worshiping him. “Need you so bad.”

Eddie moans under his breath when you suck a bruise just above his collarbone. His hands grip your hips to tug you even closer, and you can feel him stiffen in his jeans. With a knowing grin, you drop to your knees and leave a hickey right next to his navel.

“You are,” you mumble against his skin, fingers coaxing open his pants button, “ridiculously sexy. ‘S not fair.” You unzip him, pulling down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion. His erection stands at attention, and you intend to show him plenty of it; but you have one last item on your agenda. “Eds, this ass? God, I could bite it all day.” You giggle as you lean around to sink your teeth into the meat of it, and he yelps in surprise. “Only want you, Eddie,” you say, now looking up into his eyes. “Only ever wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie groans, throwing his head back as you flatten your tongue and lick the underside of his shaft. “Thassit; take your time, Sweetheart.”

You take the tip between your lips, swiping at the pre-cum already dripping from it. Slowly, you allow more and more of him in your mouth until your nose brushes his pubic hair.

“Mhm. Kee-Keep going, mmf, little faster now.”

You eagerly oblige, swirling your tongue in that way that drives him wild; sure enough, you feel his thigh twitch next to your cheek. You assumed he would finish in your mouth, and you look up at him in confusion when he pulls out of it.

“I gotta…fuck…gotta be inside that tight pussy of yours.” He grabs himself at the base, eyes begging for you to let him in.

You shed your clothes and toss them in a heap on the floor, walking towards him and pushing him onto the bed. He grins when you straddle his waist and kiss his lips hungrily.

“Gonna take care of you tonight, Eds,” you coo, grinding your wet center over the ridges of his cock. “You always make me feel amazing, honey. I wanna return the favor.”

Eddie nods, adjusting his hard-on so you can sink onto it, enveloping him in your warmth. He stretches you perfectly, and you let him know with a pleased moan.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, nails digging into the flesh of your ass. “I’ll never get tired of that feeling.”

“Good,” you smirk, letting him bottom out before you begin moving again. His grip stabilizes you enough to ride him, rolling your hips teasingly. Your lips are beckoned by his chest tattoo, and you plant kisses all over it. “Mine.” You claim him with that one word, and he gives himself to you fully.

You sit back up to bounce on him, his hands reaching for your breasts and gently cupping them. A whine emanates from your throat as he thrusts up into you with more rigor.

“Kiss me?” he pleads, lifting one hand to clasp around the back of your head, bringing your face closer to his. There’s no need to ask twice; you lean in and kiss him passionately,

As much as you want to take the lead, you can’t deny how incredible it feels when he thrusts upwards. You whine pathetically as he drives his cock deeper within you.

“Take it so well, Sweetheart,” he grunts, pinning down your thighs. “Got me tempted to knock you up all over again.”

His words have you clenching around him, your breaths shallow. You brace yourself on his chest, moaning out his name.

“Eddie, your body,” you whimper, unable to complete the sentence. Your mind is too focused on your building orgasm.

“What about it, honey?”

You take as much of a breath as you can. “Your body makes me feel so fucking good.”

“Prove it,” he growls. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”

Pleasure washes over you, his length brushing against your sweet spot and driving you over the edge. “I-I’m cumming—”

“Mmf, m-me, too—fuck!” Eddie’s eyes roll as he finishes, pumping you full of his release. He pounds into you, draining himself completely.

You lay on top of him until he whispers in your ear, “Sweetheart? I gotta pull out.” Sure enough, he’s gone completely soft, absolutely spent.

All you can manage is an mmh, pouting when he withdraws. Eddie laughs kindly and kisses you, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best wife in the world?” he asks, nose gently nudging yours. “Not just because of all that—which was phenomenal, by the way. Five stars.” You swat at him and he laughs harder. “I feel so…safe when I’m with you.”

Your lips ghost the tip of his nose. “You are safe with me,” you remind him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, holding you as close as he can. He pauses for a beat before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie clears his throat. “That thing about liking when there’s something to, um, ‘hold onto,’” he starts, cheeks filling in pink, “did you mean that?”

It’s your turn to kiss him passionately, lips parted, tongue grazing his. You roll your hips again, fingertips brushing the soft side of his torso. It reignites the fire within him; his cock twitches slightly.

“Does that answer your question?”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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ggrapeejuicee · 4 months

Text

„Just… Pretend.”

summary: in which harry convinces you to spend your summer in cape cod with his parents as his ‘girlfriend.’ but everything is just pretend, your not actually his girlfriend and you never have wanted to be his girlfriend, you’ve never seen him as more than harry styles, the singer… but by the end of the summer will that change?

tropes (so far) : fake dating

part one

“It’s just for one weekend.” He pleaded, “Then you can go back to hating me. You never even have to talk to me again, I don’t care.”

You sigh, your head falling backwards with a groan. You did not want to do this at all, but he’d been persistently asking you for days.

“C’mon, please?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re on a date with a new girl every week, I’m sure any of them would be up for it.”

“I can’t just take anyone to my parent’s place.”

“Why not? Or how about you just tell them you’re not seeing anyone right now? They won’t care.”

“I just need you to come, alright? I’ll owe you one, I promise.”

“Why me? There’s a million other people you could take, besides I’ve already met your parents at a show, they’ll never believe we’re seeing each other.”

“And they really liked you!”

“There’ll be a ton of other people that they like too, Harry. Choose anyone else.”

“I can’t.” He sighs.

“You can.”

“I can’t.” He repeats.

You look at him with tired eyes, awaiting his explanation. You’d been over this a hundred times, you had no interest in pretending to be his girlfriend while he visited his parents over the summer.

“I already told them we’re together.” He says quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“What?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta be joking.”

“They just… They met you at the show, and they really did seem to like you, and they kept going on and on about how they want me to find someone who makes me happy and stuff and I shut them up by saying we’re together…”

“You’re unbelievable.” You say, annoyed.!

The fact he’d been telling his parents ridiculous lies without even telling you about it, when said lies actually involved you had pissed you off.

Harry’s parents were lovely, and a producer on his latest album you’d met them a couple times at shows- Especially during the LA residence where you and his parents sat through the concerts in a VIP booth. His mum was lovely, always smiling and knew every single lyric. She told you that she was in Harry’s 0.5% of top listeners on Spotify last year.

You thought that was cute.

 You couldn’t relate though, 5 Seconds of Summer were your top Spotify artist- Harry could never find out about that.

“They’ve been asking for me to take you to the beach house for months-“

“Months?!” You interrupt, “How long have you been telling them we’re together?”

He shrugged, “Since the end of the Forum residency?”

“Harry that was SIX months ago!” You yell, “I can’t pretend to be in a six month relationship with you, that’s ridiculous.”

He sits down on the couch, hugging a pillow.

“Yes you can. You practically know everything about me already. We spent every day of the tour together.”

“Everything about you in a career aspect.”

“Everything in general.” Harry corrects, “Sometimes I think you know more about me than I do.”

“I don’t. You’re just saying this because you’re convincing yourself that this ridiculous idea will actually work.”

“Name my first pet.”

“What?” You question. He was being stupid. There is no way you’d ever be able to spend two weeks with his parents over the summer, it was never going to work. It was a recipe for disaster.

“C’mon. You know the answer.”

He just kept staring at you. He wasn’t giving up. The longer you stayed silent the more intense his stare got. When he began to raise his eyebrows you’d given up.

“Max.” You mutter quietly, unimpressed with this whole game he was playing.

“And what am I allergic to?”

“Marshmallows, but you eat them anyway.”

Harry was grinning, and it was pissing you off. He was winning and he knew it.

“My favourite Christmas song?”

You rolled your eyes, “Christmas lights by Coldplay, but you tell everyone that it’s Merry Christmas Everyone because it’s a classic.”

Harry was giving you a ‘I told you so’ look. He wasn’t going to quit until you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend.

You sigh softly, “Even if I agree to this… It could he really damaging for my career.”

“No one will find out.” His face was more serious now, and you could tell from the way he was looking at you that he meant it, “I’ll make sure of that.”

“But if if does-”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does, because there’s always a chance no matter what you think, then everyone will only think I got hired to tour manage because we’re ‘sleeping together.’” You say, using air quotes, just to further elaborate that this was all fake.

Harry had already got his grammy, he was at the peak of his career he’d be fine no matter what happened. But you were a female music producer in a male dominated industry, if people think you were only hired for this album because you’re fucking the singer- your career was over.

“If people find out I’ll kill you.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna agree?”

You nod, reluctantly.

“Thank you!” He jumps out of his chair, “I swear I’ll make it up to you, thank you so much.”

— — —

If you were in Harry’s position you’d be vigilant of everything, everyone, everywhere. You’d be paranoid of someone jumping through your bedroom window while you were asleep. But Harry was oddly calm. Maybe he was just like that. His lips were formed almost in a smile while he slept, and his eyes were moving under his eyelids- probably from a dream he was having. He wasn’t calm very often- recently he’d been very on edge and anxious about everything, it was nice to see him look so peaceful. You hoped for that sort of peace someday soon.

You had been in the studio going on six hours, and when he’d taken a break from recording so you could go over the tracks he’d managed to fall asleep in that short period of time.

You let him sleep while you packed up the equipment, putting things back into their assigned places, and didn’t bother waking him up until you were 100% ready to go.

“Harry,” You said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly, “Harry we gotta go.”

His eyes opened and he blinked a few times to adjust himself to the light.

“Huh?”

“We only had the studio booked until six, we gotta go.”

“Oh,” He sat up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck that had went into a cramp, “Sorry, don’t even remember falling asleep to be honest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You shrug, “We got enough done today anyways. You deserve a rest.”

There were only three days left until the day Harry had said you were leaving for his parents place, and you had skipped over the subject every time he’d tried to bring it up. You didn’t really want to think about it because you were dreading it so badly.

“I’ll give you a ride home.” Harry said as you left the studio building.

“No, it’s alright.” You say, “I’ll just get an Uber.”

Harry glared at you, “Y/N, just get in the car.”

You glare back. But it had been a long day so getting a free lift wasn’t so bad.

“So.” He said, starting the car. “We gotta go over some things.”

“About the album?” You play dumb.

“… No.” He rolls his eyes, “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Love, you gotta tell me some stuff about you. My parents are gonna ask me shit and I don’t have a clue what to tell them.”

You groan. You should’ve stuck to your gut and got an Uber.

“Like what.”

He shrugs, “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” You reply.

“Mines is blue.”

“I know,” You reply.

“What’s your favourite song?” He asked.

You laughed to yourself a little.

“Jet black heart,” You grin, knowing you’d get some sort of reaction out of this answer, “By 5 Seconds of Summer.”

“5 Seconds of Summer?” Harry scoffs, “They’re punks!”

You roll their eyes, “They turned to pop music and half of them are married, they’re hardly punks.”

“You know one of them dated my sister, right?” Harry groaned.

“Yep,” You grin, “And wrote a banging tune about it as well.”

“Don’t remind me.” He muttered.

“Look, you asked me a question and I gave you an honest answer. You can’t complain.”

“I know, I know.” Harry said, “You got any exes?”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

“This is the kind of stuff I need to know! Like I dunno if I’m your first boyfriend and all that.”

“Harry… I’m 24 years old. You’re not my first boyfriend.”

You said it almost as if he was your boyfriend. It sent a chill down your spine. This was going to be a long few weeks.

“Good to know.” He said.

He dropped you off outside your apartment.

“I guess the next time I see you will be for when we’re leaving, yeah?”

You nod. There was no studio session booked until after his vacation to Cape Cod, where his families beach house was, so he was right. The next time you see him would be at the airport.

“Flights at seven.” He says.

“Got it.”

The next few weeks were going to be hell.

part two coming soon…

support me through ko-fi! (buy me a coffee!!)

#harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles story #fake dating #fake dating trope #fake relationship

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weasleyreidstyles · 4 months

Text

Serendipity

chapter eight

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+ content, unprotected sex (use protection obvs), rough undertones but not really, bro's possessive as fuck

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Your old Professor had given you some much needed insight over the Christmas holidays. Harry had dragged you and Ron to sit in agonising silence as he and Remus had a back and forth battle of wills over Harry's wild theories. Remus was certain that Voldemort wouldn't recruit inexperienced, young adults who were barely eighteen, but you knew he was wrong about that, especially considering he was recruited into the Order as soon as he was no longer a Hogwarts student.

Theo had not replied to a single letter; you'd sent countless over the small three week break.

Remus had yelled at Harry for making such harsh accusations, then had apologised not ten minutes later. It was a full moon after all, and he was still grieving over Sirius' death. Before that had sullied the peaceful evening, you confided in your old Professor before lunch had been served, who was more than willing to offer his profound wisdom to you.

"Sir? Can I-" you hesitate in the doorway of the Burrow's living room, feet teetering on the edge of the threshold, the smell of Mrs Weasley's cooking permeating the calm air. Before you could continue, Professor Lupin let out a hoarse chuckle and invited you to settle in the cushioned sofa next to him.

"I'm not your Professor anymore," he spoke your name softly, "please call me Remus."

"Okay sorry. Can I ask you something, Remus?"

"Of course. I'll try to help in anyway I can." his encouraging smile led to you spilling what was on your mind – he'd always been easy to confide in.

"I've been doing some extra reading on further subjects," you start, chewing on a hangnail on your thumb. "about- about siphons."

Remus stilled. If you weren't so nervous you would have narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"What have you learned so far?" his response was slow and curious; carefully constructed.

"Well other than the fact that they don't draw magic from their cores...nothing. And every book in the library says the same thing." you let out a frustrated sigh and he seems to take pity on you.

"Siphons are extremely rare, which you know, of course." one of his hands cups his jaw contemplatively, as if he's choosing his words with careful precision. "That's why there's so little information, because there are very few people alive who have been able to record their true nature.

What we do know, is that siphons can completely draw out sources of magic into themselves; drain it to nothing to gain that power. They're very volatile in thats sense because no one knows how much power they can truely handle."

He gave no indication that he saw the way your flinched at his words. You were grateful for it.

"But surely harbouring that much power would be dangerous? Nature demands a balance." you say in a small voice.

He mumbles your name with a knowing look of understanding before patting your shoulder, indicating an end to the conversation but you still catch his parting words: "Look in the restricted section, in books about forbidden magical and mythical creatures and you'll find what you're looking for. Consult Professor Dumbledore too, it would be more useful than soley relying on my account."

"Thankyou sir- Remus." he leaves you there, chuckling quietly at your correction as he let you know that he'd see you at dinner later in the day. You're left infinitely more confused than before you initiated the conversation, but as you left through the opposite door that led to the bedrooms upstairs to find Ginny, you failed to see the curious eyes of you best friend, hidden under his cloak of invisibility.

~∞~

Something had changed over the holidays. The air around the castle was different; a dark, sinister energy permeating the comforting warmth that the magical wards usually bathed the castle grounds in. You didn't know how you felt the shift moreso than your friends. Maybe it was the January weather, or the fact that you missed the comfort of home, but you knew in your gut that things were different now. Your stubbornness didn't want to admit that it could be a result of your new abilities that hadn't shown since Katie Bell's incident.

It became evident in your patrol evenings with Theodore, too. He was withdrawn, sullen and constantly aggravated; if he bothered to show up at all sometimes. You knew what it meant and you kept this piece of information to yourself, lest it gave your friends one more reason for you to avoid the Slytherins.

But you made a promise; one that you wouldn't break.

The change was even more evident in your sessions with Mattheo. He was pushing you to your limit, and getting exceedingly frustrated with you, for no reason. He was angry at the world and at you, apparently.

After a considerably hard yank at your innermost thoughts, you shoved him out with a glare, which he returned tenfold.

"Okay. Ow? Why are you being so aggressive?" you snap, massaging your throbbing temples. He scoffed at you and moved to stand, beginning to pace.

"What? You don't think someone trying to infiltrate your mind won't be? Don't be so naive, I can see all your thoughts. Shut. Me. Out." He spat your name out like it was filth to him, and you suppose it was at one point in time. Pushing youself to stand, you make your way to him so you were chest to chest.

"What is your problem?" you question, narrowing your eyes at him as he stared back with deadly, onyx eyes. He scoffed and turned away from you, fingers rubbing at his temples as if this whole conversation was giving him a headache.

"It is giving me a headache." he spat and your glare intensified. "You're not focused, your mind is unraveling at the seams. It's like you haven't made any progress at all."

You startled him with the cold laugh that escaped you. "That's rich." you spat, your pointer finger digging into his strong chest. "You're a hypocrite Mattheo. You have been unfocused for the last week. So answer me this: what is your issue?"

In seconds he had you pinned against a wall that you hadn't noticed he had been backing you into, his breathing heavy and cold as ice. His hand was wrapped loosely around the base of your throat, not tight enough to harm but enough to pose a threat.

"You know nothing about me, Princess." his voice was a low and deadly rasp that sent coils of dread right down to the tips of your toes, but you couldn't deny the blatent arousal that was beginning to fester. "You know nothing, yet you're still willing to be in a room with me. Willing to let me do things to you that your friends would abhor you for. Willing to keep secrets from the very people you should trust with your life."

You cursed the flush in your cheeks, and the lust in your eyes.

"You've been dancing with the devil for months, sweetheart." his voice was a nocuous whisper as his lips grazed your's with controlled precision. The sharp feeling of his teeth piercing your bottom lip invaded all your senses along with the metallic taste of blood. "You should've expected that I'd behave as such."

He kissed you then, an art of carefully thought out distraction as he sucked on the wound he created. But he underestimated you as you raked your fingers through his unruly, dark curls. Wandlessly, wordlessly, you willed the Legillimens spell to take hold and you were thrust into his mind, barraging through his fortified shields as if they were mere shadows ready to be swept away.

You were thrown into a seat at an overly large dinner table, that could seat at least thirty people, Bellatrix Lestrange seated adjacent to the seat opposite you, causing you to flinch at the phantom feeling of her cruciatus curse from the Department of Mysteries. The room was vast, with a towering ceiling filled with delicate Jacobean decor, it was dark and foreboding; you didn't want to be here.

You were sat to the right of Death himself.

Voldemort didn't acknowledge you and the words he spoke were a garbled blur of nothing as your attention was brought to the back of the room, by the double doors to the Entrance Hall. Draco Malfoy walked in, followed by Lorenzo and....and Theodore.

The next moment made you want to scream and cry as Mattheo was forced to stand before his friends, before Voldemort's loyal followers who were a mere spillage of darkness to your vision, and tortured by his own father. Somehow this was more painful than the memories you'd seen of his in those first few lessons; knowing it had been as recent as the week before. You gaped as Voldemort merely turned to Enzo and Theo; you fought tooth and nail to stop the inevitable as you watched them writhe and scream as the Dark Mark appeared on their left forearms.

You were shoved so violently from his mind that your head collided painfully with the wall behind you. You were staring at him, wide eyed and wincing as he glared down at you, murderously.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't- I'm sorry." you tried to catch your breath, only now realising that the hold he had on your throat had tightened upon reflex. Your hands flew to the singular wrist that helf your life in his hands, clawing as it flexed. "Mattheo-"

You watched in understandable horror as a smirk painted his beautiful face. Your wrists continued their assault with renewed vigour.

"I'm very impressed." he mumbled, his face drawing closer to your's, his voice a sensual whisper in your ear. "No one has ever been able to do what you just did."

He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear and you trembled as the hold he had on your throat did not let up.

"What are you going to do to me?" you whispered hoarsely, fear painting your tone. He snickered at your predicament and the tightness surrounding your throat lessened considerably, but he maintained a loose grip, a warning.

"I want to do unspeakable things to you, sweetheart." he said, his voice a reflection of the arousal that was pressing heavily against your abdomen. His smirk widened as you shuddered at the way he said your name. "I'd like to think that I'm an honourable man. And I want to do the honourable thing, but I've resisted you for far too long."

Weeks worth of avoidance came to head in that moment as he surged forward, finally pressing his lips to your's. You could taste cigarettes on his tongue and his cologne filled your lungs with every breathe you managed to gasp between heated kisses. The wound on your lip pulsed from the attention, the pain causing a whine to crawl up the back of your throat. The kiss deepened.

His hands roamed over your entire body; hips, waist, thighs. Like he didn't know where to settle them, while his body pressed you further into the wall with pure male strength – you wanted to climb him like a tree. Somehow you managed to pull away from his ministrations, heavy breath mingling with his.

"You're not angry that I just broke through your shields?" you ask with a furrowed brow. He only lets out a quiet laugh as he shakes his head, leaning down to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, then soothing the marred skin with presses of his lips and swipes of his tongue. You breathed out an airy moan at the sensation, tilting your head back to grant him more access.

"A little miffed." he mumbled agaist your skin. "But not angry. No one has ever been able to do that, except you apparently. Smart girl."

He didn't speak for another minute or so, content with marking your smooth skin instead.

"I'm proud. These lessons are paying off, it seems." and you hear it in the tone of his voice, the pride. You respond with a stifled laugh as he bites into the sensitive flesh of your collarbone and you swat at his shoulders.

"You're always content in making my life difficult." you tut, but make no move to stop him as he begins to unravel the knot in your tie. "Do you know how long it takes to cover these up? With and without magic!"

"Don't want you to cover them up." he mumbles, so quietly that you almost miss it. But you don't miss the possessive gleam that ignited in his onyx eyes. "You're mine."

You're mine. The words echoed through every corner of your mind.

"Am I?" you challenge and you pull him closer to you as you weave the fabric of his tie through your fingers. He growls as he rips your school shirt in two, ignoring your admonishing protests as he pulls it from your body. This continues until your stood in nothing but your under garments.

"Beautiful." he mumbles as he traces featherlight touches down your body with his calloused hands. "Absolutely breathtaking."

"Well I don't think it's very fair that I'm the only one whose indecent." you snark, though your attempts at hiding your anticipation were rubbish at best.

"So undress me, darling." he says after a split second of reluctance, his voice low and demanding, it makes your thighs clench. Looking at him through dark lashes, you begin to unknot his tie, slow and teasing. The buttons of his shirt are next, popped one by one by your nimble fingers; when you raise to your tiptoes to smoothly remove his shirt from his shoulders he tenses as you come face to face with his lean, quidditch built torso.

That's when you see it. Ink black and imposing against his tanned, muscular forearm. Covered in thick scars, old and new, was the Dark Mark. Your breath hitched in your throat as you trailed your fingers lightly across it. Mattheo shivered at the feeling.

"Scared?" he asks, voice low, you almost detect a hint of shame...or something else.

"Of you?" you ask, taking his left hand in both of your's, fingers running soft circles across his palm. "No."

"You should be." he says it like he believes it to be true. His fingers flex in your hold and then tighten, squeezing your's in earnest.

"I'm scared for you, Mattheo. For all of you. This," your pointer finger trails against the Mark, "isn't fair."

He smiles at you then, all soft and sad and heartbreaking. "This is the life I've been dealt, love. No use in trying to stop it."

You brought his forearm level with your face and begin to press gentle kisses to his marred skin. His breath hitches and you can't place the look he gives you.

"You're not a monster." you mumble between soft caresses. "You're kind and intelligent, and compassionate and honourable. You've been dealt an awful card, yet you haven't let it ruin you. Not entirely. That says everything and more, Matty."

"Say that again." he says, onyx eyes staring resolutely into your's.

"Say what?" you ask, brows furrowed as he practically rips his arm from your hold, only to pull you closer to him by your waist. You both seem to realise that you're both near naked – only your underwear and his trousers separating the two of you. Your cheeks heat.

"My name. Say it."

"Make me." you say with a barely contained smirk. He lets out a near growl as he cups the back of your neck in his giant palms and presses a demanding kiss to your kiss-swollen lips.

It's not pretty. It's all teeth-gnashing and lip biting and purely animalistic.

You'd both been resisting eachother past blind fumbles in the dark and post-session make outs but you'd never been this exposed to each other before. It was exhilarating.

"Fuck!" he gritted against you. "You're so fucking pretty."

You whimpered against him as he sucked at your tongue, and that seemed to push him past his controlled limit. One of his hands guides your thigh to rest against his hip and he battles with his trousers to get them low enough to release his painfully hard cock.

You're not one to beg often, but your desire for the boy in front of you was too great to ignore. With a mewl and a whisper of pleas he pushed the fabric of your panties aside and pushed into you. The tightness and the pain of the action made you both groan in unison.

"Gods, sweetheart. You feel so much better than I imagined." he says against your lips as he pushes in to the hilt. He presses away the tears that fall from your eyes.

"Please move." you say as you attach your lips to his neck in an effort to stifle your moans as he begins at a slow pace, graciously letting you adjust to his size. He's bigger than anyone you'd had before him, the tip of him grazing places you didn't think was possible to reach. You were a mess of whines and moans as he adjusted you in his hold; letting out a shriek when he begins to repeatedly ram against a spot inside you that brought you immediate pleasure.

"Gods! Right there Matty, fuck....please!"

He smiles a wicked, sinister smile at you as he drags one moan after another from your lips. He takes both your hands into one of his and pins them above your head, restricting you to the wall.

"That's it, sweetheart." Mattheo rasps, revelling in the way you clench around him. "Moan my name."

His movements are precise and controlled. His pleasure deriving from the way he was making you come undone at the seams. He brings his free hand to the apex of your thighs, brushing them against your throbbing clit, smirking as his motion draws you closer to your orgasm.

You're not certain how long has passed since he entered you, but you feel like you're having an out of body experience as he rips an orgasm from you so suddenly that you don't know where the pleasure starts and ends.

You're a whimpering, moaning mess as he uses the extra slick to speed up his movements, which become erratic and lose their rhythm as he gets closer to his own release. The only sound to be heard are your soft whines, his grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin as he finally reaches his own climax.

His forehead rests against your's, both gleaming with a light layer of sweat as you bask in the feeling of him. His dark brows furrow as you let out a soft laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asks, a light smile gracing his face as he memorises every inch of your skin.

"I think you just ruined me for anyone else." you say, breathless.

"Good." he growls, that possessive gleam in his eyes again as you feel him harden inside you. "As far as I'm concerned no one else can have you."

He's rolling his hips against your's before you can utter a snarky response.

~∞~

The next time you see Mattheo is in the Potions classroom the following day.

"How are you so good at everything you do, Meadow?" Ron grumbled as he read through the instructions of the healing potion Slughorn was making you all brew.

You had just finished an apparition lesson; by the end of the two hours, only you, Hermione, Mattheo's group of friends and a handful of others had managed to apparate from one side of the room to the hoop at the other. Harry and Ron were not part of that group.

"Well unlike you, Won-Won," Hermione sneered from across the table, "she takes pride in her academic accomplishments."

The redhead scoffed. "Mione come on-"

"Don't call me that." she snapped, going on a rant about Ron's incompetence. He only spluttered in response. You and Harry only exchanged uneasy looks as they continued arguing.

"I thought this would've ended by now." you say under your breathe as you drop in your next ingredient, huffing when it does the opposite of what it should. Harry mumbled his agreement as he completed his own potion. You looked between his and your's incredulously. "Why does your's look different to mine? Is it that book?"

You glared at him with pleading eyes and Harry huffed as he slid the Halfblood Prince's book so you could see. Your body ached as you read through the annotations. You winced as you rolled your neck to get rid of the tightness and Harry noticed your discomfort straight away.

"You okay, Meadow?" he asks, his hand gracing your shoulder blade. You both looked up at the sound of a knife clattering against a table top. Mattheo was glaring at the hand that Harry still kept on your shoulder, you huffed as you turned to your friend.

"Fine. Just sore from apparition lessons is all." you smiled reassuringly which seems to convince him as Harry removes his hand from you.

Faintly you hear Pansy question why Mattheo was acting so strangely and you try your hardest to ignore it. Until you couldn't any longer, because he was in your head.

Why the fuck was he touching you like that? His voice was a dark growl in your mind.

Wow possessive much? You reply with a mental scoff. He was asking if I was okay.

The agression in his tone softened and he sent a wave of concern your way. Are you? Okay, I mean? What's wrong?

You can't help the smile that paints your face, and you have to duck your head to hide it from your oblivious friends. I'm fine.

You can practically see as well as feel the look he gives you all the way across the room. You clearly aren't. Tell me what's wrong.

You look like you're about to incinerate the tabletop. I'm okay, Matty, really. Just sore. You curse him internally as he smirks wickedly, onyx eyes dancing with pride and hunger.

I'd gladly satisfy you again, darling. Just say the word.

You kick him from your mind, ignoring the flush that overtakes your heated face. Then you send flares of annoyance to him as you hear his snickering laughter that he barely conceals.

~∞~

when i was researching siphoner lore literally the only thing that came up was vampire diaries theories 😭😭😭

the smut took a different direction to what i intended tbh but i wanted to include some soft Matty 😅

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @topguncultleader @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23

#mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #harry potter #serendipity series

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gucciwins · 2 months

Text

Love

Love told through actions

A/N: another short story. it's sweet and i hope you enjoy

Love in movies was always spoken to be about grand gestures and confessing your love in the rain. Y/N had never been lucky to be loved like that. Y/N cut off relationships because her partners never made her feel the butterflies books talked about. It was always an empty feeling, and Y/N held out for that something more.

It wasn’t until she met Harry that she realized the movies had it wrong. Love wasn’t about putting yourself on the line or professing your love in order not to lose the person you loved. Love was in every little act of kindness a partner did.

From the moment Harry came into her life he showed her love. It’s one of the biggest reasons she falls in love with more and more each day.

Harry loved to have Y/N’s coffee made in the morning because he knew it would put a smile on her face.

He loved to help her put on her coat before leaving the house because then he would be assured she wouldn’t be cold.

He loved holding her hand and putting it in his pocket because he loved keeping her close.

Harry made a playlist of her favorite songs because he knew how much she hated the shuffle playing the same three songs in a row.

He learned how to braid her hair because sometimes she was busy cooking and needed it out of the way. Harry knew a braid would keep it tight, which is also a reason why he always has a claw clip clipped at the end of his shirt.

It also made Y/N reflect that she pours her love for him in acts of love. She texts him during her lunch break so he knows she is thinking of him. She helps make his bed in the morning when he’s in the shower. Y/N will make extra lunch because she knows he’s forgetful in packing his own. It’s the little things for them.

Y/N had a rough day at work, she didn’t let Harry know but she would be going to his place after work. She had spare clothes in her pre-packed bag and was ready to enjoy the night with Harry. Y/N knew she might not be fun company but Harry always managed to put a smile on her face.

When she arrived at his apartment, she parked in his free space knowing he saved it for her. He’d never make her walk in the dark, especially not alone. She walked up, knocking one time and let herself in. Harry didn’t lock the door when he knew she was on her way. Y/N thought it was unsafe but he promised her it was only a few minutes.

She took off her shoes, lining them up next to Harrys. Her bag was dumped on a nearby chair. Y/N walked inside trying to find Harry but instead found the living room set up with blankets and pillows. There were endless of her favorite snacks almost spilling off the coffee table. The tv was set up to show the newest Trolls movie ready to be played.

Y/N felt herself well up with tears. Harry set this up for her, for no other reason than because he wanted to.

Harry walked out to the restroom, drying off his hair and his shorts hanging low. “Hi, honey.”

Y/N felt herself melt and hurried over to be in his warm embrace. He was quick to welcome her with a kiss to her temple, Y/N placed her own over one of his swallows.

“You don’t want to watch Trolls,” she sputters. Not believing he’d watch a dumb kid movie simply because they’re herfavorite.

Harry frowns, running his hands down her back. “I’ll have you know, I’m a big Branch fan. His character development is set to be huge.”

Y/N giggles, because that means he must have watched the other two films on his own. These were comfort movies that couldn’t make her sad. Their job was to have her sing and laugh to the silliness of the characters.

“Any special reason for the set up?” Y/N asks curious.

Harry smirks, pulling away to look at her shining eyes. “Can’t I be a good boyfriend and surprise you?”

Y/N shrugs, “sure but feels a little on the nose.”

Harry drapes his arm over her shoulder and guides her into the bedroom. He has a change of clothes laid on the bed for her. “You didn’t text me a single heart.” Harry hangs up his towel. “You love putting ten hearts to everything so I knew you must be feeling down or something.”

Y/N feels her tears start up again because Harry really does notice everything. She gestures for Harry to come back over to her and he does quickly. Y/N leans up on her toes and places a kiss on Harry’s sweet lips. It’s an “I love you” one they both don’t have to voice because it’s felt.

“I’m going to suck your dick so good after we watch the Trolls.” Harry throws his head back in surprise.

He pulls her into another kiss, much longer and much more passionate. “Don’t take long, I’ve thrown your favorite blanket in the dryer.”

Another, I love you.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic rec #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

DADRRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about.

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception.

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. The both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it.

Having been together for seven years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He had told you that if it meant he got more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences.

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief.

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely.

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss.

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is.

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with.

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime.

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter.

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pics of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe.

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home.

——

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food.

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face.

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes.

But that's beside the point.

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then responds: Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much.

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they both feel the after-effects.

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip.

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge.

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl."

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty-one, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes.

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service was excellent."

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here."

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time."

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the So-Cal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years.

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special.

Well, he had lied.

They were just any old regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked… at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate.

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices.

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice a raspy from work.

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you.

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers.

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to mumma, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight."

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her being in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb.

"Love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible.

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice.

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend.

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

——

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry.

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beachgrass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you."

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun."

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together."

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years."

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does.

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones with his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach…

You're getting carried away.

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through. I adore all of your soft parts."

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place.

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?"

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress."

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks."

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide."

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you."

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living."

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles.

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice." "you say in a scolding tone.

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind."

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot."

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of."

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates.

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner."

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says with infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me."

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed."

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glimpses down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations.

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight.

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move.

Harry saunters through the doorway, looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs.

He casually leans against the door jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face.

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game.

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there — a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky.

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard.

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?"

"I'd like you to not be in there alone."

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?"

"Of course, baby. You know I always am."

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry.

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom.

Oh.

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin.

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own.

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down.

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here."

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering.

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together.

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch.

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view.

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert.

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle.

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk.

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long."

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries."

So… he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit.

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good."

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices.

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale.

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angel eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch."

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?"

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time."

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench the both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on.

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity.

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming his position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall closest to you with his other gripping his cock.

This is going to be torture.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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hollowdeath · 2 months

Note

I LOVEEEEE YOUR HARRY FICSSSS 😭😭🙏🙏 I literally cannot get enough, your harry fics are amazing ❤️

I was wondering if you'd be willing to do an enemies to lovers type thing with dark!harry, similar to the one you did with "the dark side" fic, but maybe they're rivals due to quittich, yet they both just have tension they don't know gow to handle, so one day they just kind of get so worked up in an argument they start making out. (P.S. I loved the thing you did where harry came from y/n saying he hated him 😫😫 also the part where harry gets turned on from y/n scolding him. If possible, could you incorporate that in there? Thank you smm ❤️❤️) I hope it's not too much trouble ❤️❤️❤️

thank you so much for requesting this, i hope you enjoy!!!

pairing: slytherin!harry james potter x gryffindor!fem!reader (18+)

summary: you and harry have been quidditch rivals ever since you've become captain of the gryffindor team. the tension between you two rises until one of you needs bandaged up by the other, leading to you making a discovery about the school's bad boy that leaves you baffled and insanely curious.

cw: smut!!! angst, mentions of blood, degradation kink, sub!harry x dom!reader, dry humping

word count: 7k

it was your final year at hogwarts and, more importantly to you, it was your last year as the gryffindor quidditch captain. you took major pride in your status as captain, and dedicated a majority of your time outside of class to leading practice, coming up with new plays, and making sure that annoyingly good slytherin captain kept his distance from you and your team.

harry potter was well known at hogwarts years before he even came through. the boy who lived, or whatever. you had never paid him much mind to begin with because you knew he reveled in his own notoriety.

see, potter wasn't just the slytherin quidditch captain. he was the most vile, egotistical, disrespectful wizard you'd ever had the misfortune of interacting with. on top of thinking he was some kind of miracle that blessed everyone's presence wherever he went, he specifically treated you worse than the mud on his shoes. not just because of your status as gryffindor captain, but because you were the only student who wasn't afraid to stand your ground with him. had it not been for quidditch practice 4 times a week and games every friday, you would've done everything you could to keep your distance. however, things didn't work out that way, and you ended up forming a sort of rivalry with the boy that the student body found all too exciting.

it started last year when potter and his friends made a dumb poster and hung it up in every boys bathroom: a drawing of someone falling off their broom with your face printed out and glued to it, along with harry's whose drawing had just knocked you off victoriously. they had put "[y/l/n] vs potter: this friday at 6" at the top like it was some kind of promotional advert. and, as much as you hated it, it actually somewhat worked.

from that game on, the other kids began picking sides every week to see who would win. the crowd turnout became the largest it had been in your entire time at hogwarts. some came in support of potter or were otherwise afraid of what would happen if they didn't, while a good amount of students started to become your biggest supporters the more you showed your skills in the game.

see, you didn't just become captain by having a recognizable last name unlike some other people; you had been playing quidditch since you could fly from a young age, and made the team every single year before finally being nominated for the position by your own teammates. you made a promise to them that day that slytherin would no longer be known as the winning house, and that they finally had some competition to sweat over.

and sweat they did. your first game as captain was an easy win, and so were the next 3. it wasn't until the slytherin players learned they actually had to try in order to win now that they began winning every other game as well. that's where harry stepped in.

harry was someone you always tried to avoid during your years at hogwarts. you didn't socialize with many slytherins to begin with as you found some of them to be rather grating and obnoxious, but especially not with slytherins like potter. it was students like him that gave the entire house a bad name. everyone thought he was so charming besides his cocky attitude, but you saw through his act right away. you think that's partially why he singled you out of anyone as his target.

once he set his sights on you, it was impossible to avoid him. it's like he had some sort of tracker on you the way he always managed to pop up in the most random of places simply to upset you. not that you'd be surprised, as along with harry's sickening bravado came his disregard for moral ethics. if there was a way to cheat, lie, or steal your way into getting what you wanted, potter was already on it. he knew no bounds when it came to his little schemes either. from stealing your game plays and sharing them with his teammates to spreading rumors about your players to playing clearly illegal moves during the game only for nobody to notice but you, potter seemed to revel in the rivalry everyone pushed onto you.

you hated giving him the satisfaction of breaking your cold demeanor, but sometimes his antics pushed you too far. he knows how protective you've become over your teammates, so he'll target them when he can't get to you, especially the younger ones. this is where you've blown your cover quite a few times as you can't stand seeing your first years cower in fear anytime they see potter. yelling, spitting, nearly getting physical with him on several occasions when he ignores your threats to leave the kids alone or else. it's as if he rather enjoys getting such a rise out of you, and not just to fuel the public rivalry.

today was your last day of practice before the last, biggest game of the semester. your team knew to meet at the field at 5 pm ready to go as you had plenty of plays you wanted to perfect before playing against the slytherins tomorrow night. practice had only just started with a few flyers in the air before you heard a commotion of voices coming from behind you.

you turned and saw harry leading his team onto the field, laughing obnoxiously and pointing at your teammates in mockery. you swear you felt steam coming from your ears when you told your team to wait and let you handle this.

you stormed up to potter with an accusatory pointed finger. "you. get the hell off my field now before i call mcgonagall out here, potter." you spit at him before pushing his chest. harry takes the push and just laughs, shaking his head at you.

"[y/l/n], i'm not sure how many professors have to tell you that this field isn't yours before you let us use it for practice as well," he said with a smirk, changing his grip on his broomstick and letting it rest on his shoulder. you narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. "you know damn well we practice here every week at this time, and yet you're never able to find a time outside of that to spend with your own team. curious, isn't it?" you ask him sarcastically, your tone biting.

harry's smirk drops slightly. "are you suggesting that i'm trying to sabotage your chance at winning the season tomorrow? because i'd never do such a thing, [y/l/n], and it hurts that you think of me in that way." he responds just as sarcastically. a few of his players snicker and laugh just behind him, earning a nasty glare from you that has them shut up quickly.

you look back at harry who's waiting for a clever comeback from you, nearly on the edge of his seat to see what you have to say this time. you hate how much he thrives off getting you upset.

"fine. practice, then. you'll need it." you tell harry with a cold tone, giving him a disgusted look up and down. you take a step forward and point your finger back into harry's chest, your faces less than a foot away from each other. "but if you mess with any of my players, even as a joke, i will gut you like a fucking fish." you tell him in a hushed tone. you think you see his pupils dilate slightly, but you were probably mistaken. "got it?"

harry's smirk only grows as he starts backing away slowly. "got it, princess." he laughs, turning to his little group of followers for approval before they run off to the other goal post opposite from your team. the nickname is new, and for some reason it made your stomach drop and heart race like crazy. that potter kid just knew exactly how to get under your skin.

you tried to focus on your own team's plays for the rest of practice, but you could clearly hear harry and his friends saying your name and laughing too often for your comfort. anytime you happened to make eye contact with harry, you made sure to scowl at him and promptly turn your attention away. just his sheer presence made your blood boil and skin crawl.

for the most part there were no issues in the sky, the slytherins mostly kept to their side besides the few times harry's friends were messing around and ended up coming close to a few of your teammates. you scolded them each time, but they would only laugh at you and fly off to tell harry about your outbursts. other than that, you ended up getting a lot accomplished in order to be prepared for the game the next day.

however, towards the end of practice, your teammates were having some difficulty with a new technique you taught them, so you took the time to demonstrate it with another player in the sky. you were just about to start instructing when your teammates started calling out to you frantically. you didn't have enough time to process what they were warning you about before you felt someone fly into you from behind, nearly causing you to fall off your broomstick.

you could feel yourself falling to the ground, but your grip on your broomstick remained tight enough to quickly get it under you just in time to somewhat break your landing. you tumbled to the ground with a pained groan, and heard someone else fall just to your left. you could feel the wind get knocked out of you in the air, so it took a moment for you to properly breathe as you tried to sit up.

your teammates got to you in seconds, asking if you were okay and trying to help you up. that's when the pain set in. standing up-right you could feel your rib cage aching and your shoulder throbbing. "i'm fine, i'm fine," you told everyone, brushing off the grass stains on your clothes. you turned to see who had fallen next to you, and who else would be lying there but harry potter as his slytherin teammates rushed to his aid as well.

they're helping him stand up and you can feel the rage building inside you. you break away from your teammates' grasps and march up to harry as he's wiping the grass stains off his own clothes as well.

"you did that on purpose, you pest." you snap at him. harry looks at you incredulously as he fixes his practice jersey. "are you mad? it was an accident, i wasn't looking where i was going, drama queen." he snaps back, giving you a dirty look up and down. you can feel your jaw clenching and fists balling at your sides. "oh yeah, sure, you just so happened to run into me of all people in the sky. you know, you're such a…"

you pause in your anger noticing a gash on the side of harry's face with blood starting to drip down his cheekbone. harry notices your concern and gives you a confused look. you sigh and instinctively pull down the sleeve of your sweatshirt to hold it against his wound. "now you have a giant cut on your face, for fuck's sake," you tell him, your voice a mix of panic and exasperation. harry winces at your hand making contact with his face, but his eyes grow with concern hearing your panic.

you turn to your team and start guiding harry towards the school. "practice is over, do not be late tomorrow." you announce to them hurriedly, trying to keep your sleeve against harry's injury as you rush him off the field.

harry actually manages to stay quiet on the way to the infirmary despite your anticipation to shush him the entire way for making crude jokes. instead he remains silent and lets you urgently guide him through the empty halls.

once you arrive at the infirmary wing, you notice the entire room is full of people. every bed is taken, ans every nurse is running around frantically from patient to patient. you and harry share a confused look before you roll your eyes and find a nurse between beds. "excuse me, ma'am, i'm sorry to bother but um, potter here was being an idiot and got a cut on his face that just needs to be bandaged quickly." you motion towards harry and feel him give you a nasty look out of your peripheral for calling him an idiot.

the nurse, completely exhausted, sighs and motions towards a room to the side of the check-in station. "look, we are swamped with a potion experiment gone wrong here. if it's just a cut that doesn't need stitches there's a first aid kit in the little room over that way." she tells you quickly before being called away to another patient. you try to intervene but she's already jogging away, leaving you with a bloody harry in your hands. literally.

you sigh, clearly annoyed, and turn to examine harry's cut again. pulling your blood-soaked sleeve away, you see the blood flow still hasn't slowed and decide to just bite your tongue and help harry despite your hatred for him only growing in this situation.

you drag harry towards the little room, opening the door and turning on the lights to reveal the smallest examination room you'd ever seen. you had no idea this was even here, but it only contained a sink, a cot, a locked medicine cabinet, and a first aid kit. you closed the door behind harry and locked it. you grab a few paper towels from next to the sink and walk harry over to the cot. "sit," you command him, practically pushing him with your other hand to sit down.

harry looks up at you softly, way softer than he's ever looked at you. it makes your heart skip a beat but you ignore the feeling quickly. "here," you tell him coldly, handing over the paper towels. "just apply pressure on it while i get the first aid kit."

harry does as he's told and you slowly pull away your sleeve, making a disgusted face at the stains left on the cuff. you sigh and pull your arm back through the sleeve, starting to take off the hoodie altogether. "well, that's ruined," you complain, throwing it to the floor, leaving you in a tiny tank top and workout shorts.

harry's watching you intently, adjusting his glasses and shifting his weight in his seat. you walk to the sink and thoroughly wash your hands in case any blood happened to get on you as well.

opening the first aid kit up you find a tiny bottle of isopropyl alcohol, cotton rounds, and bandages. pouring alcohol on the cotton, you turn to harry and still find him watching you.

you give him a look. "what?" you ask with pinched brows. harry, for once, looks flustered as he turns his eyes away from you, instead staring at the floor below his feet. you just roll your eyes and set down the alcohol, walking towards harry and pulling away his hand from his cheek.

"here," you say, moving his jaw to look up towards you. "this is gonna hurt a little," you tell him before gently cleaning the cut with the cotton round. harry winces, but his eyes never leave your face. you try to ignore his gaze but it becomes even more intense the longer you take to stop the bleeding. you can practically feel his stare burning holes into your skin, and you start to feel that familiar annoyance rise in your stomach.

"i know i'm pretty, potter, but can't you look anywhere else?" you complain, giving him a cold look before returning your attention to his cheek. harry's eyes drop again, but end up falling on your chest this time. you back away and scoff, throwing the cotton pad into the trash next to the cot. "perv," you mutter under your breath.

just as you're preparing the bandage on the counter next to the sink, you hear harry say something from behind you. "you're gonna have to speak up, kid," you chuckle, throwing away some wrapping in the trash. "your, um, your back," you hear him stutter.

you turn to give him a confused look. "what?" you ask. harry motions towards your back, and you turn to look at yourself in the mirror above the sink. you look at your back and pull up your tank top slightly to see a massive bruise forming on your ribcage. you gasp at the size and color, immediately turning your anger towards harry.

he already looks prepared for your rage before you can even start to say anything. "you bloody prick, i know you did this on purpose. do you seriously want to win so badly you'd nearly break a rib to get there?" you snap at him, pulling your shirt back down and angrily marching towards him still sitting on the cot.

"i told you, [y/n], it was an accident." he says. you pause. he's never called you by your first name, at least not to your face. you were actually surprised he knew what it was in the first place.

harry looks up at you innocently, his eyes soft and brows raised. this just angers you again. you take another step towards him, your legs practically between his as harry tilts his head up to keep looking at you.

his glasses are crooked, his hair is a mess, and the cut on his cheek is still raw. and still, for some reason, your heart skips a beat looking down at him. you've never been so close to his face. you've never noticed his freckles before.

"you should just be glad i haven't targeted you the way you've targeted me all these years, potter. you're lucky i'm a nice person and don't believe in revenge, or else you'd be the one with nearly broken bones and a bruise the size of your lungs." you spit in his face, your tone razor sharp.

harry's expression hardly changes at your words. if anything his eyes only soften more watching you become filled with anger.

"and wipe that innocent look off your face before i do it for you. you should be thanking me for patching up this cut and not making it worse." you continue to vent at him as you step away to grab the bandage from the counter.

you're just starting to press down on the adhesive of the bandage around harry's injury when his eyes meet yours again. "thank you." he says, his voice broken and whiny. something about the way he says it makes your stomach drop to the floor. harry's usual annoying temperament was completely gone, no longer making mocking jokes or insults towards you, instead only speaking softly and looking into your eyes even softer.

confused and feeling a strange mix of emotions, you finish applying the bandage on harry's face without a word.

you start to put away the first aid kit, taking one last look at your bruise in the mirror with a sigh.

"i'm sorry." you hear harry say quietly. you look at him, his expression empathetic and almost concerned for you. it was then you started to believe the incident really was an accident. why would harry ever be apologetic for something he'd usually take loads of pride in, like knocking you off your broomstick?

you swallow nervously and look away from him, fixing your shirt. "you should be," you try to remain cold, but your voice is breaking. "i'm just glad you also hurt yourself in the process. you deserve to feel some of the pain too." you say in a deadpan voice.

you pick up your sweatshirt off the floor and start soaking the sleeve in some hot water to at least try and get some of the stains out.

"you're right." harry says behind you, his voice somber. you roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt to seem remorseful, turning to him curtly. "i know i'm right. and you know what else? you're just a loser who picks on people to feel better about yourself because you're insecure." you insult him.

you expect at least some kind of reaction from harry, but he just continues to watch the ground with a sullen expression. "i know." he says quietly.

you groan and turn to shut the sink faucet off, walking towards harry with the same accusatory pointing finger from before. "and you can stop with this whole act you're putting on 'cause it's pissing me right off," you nearly yell at harry, getting in his face. he just looks up at you with those big blue eyes again, biting his lip harshly.

you went to scold him again when you noticed a rather large bulge in his pants from where you were standing above him. you thought you were just assuming, but once you took a step back, you knew exactly what was happening with a smirk growing on your face.

harry nervously looked down at his crotch before quickly attempting to hide his obvious erection. he adjusted his pants and tried to use his shirt to cover it, but you were already laughing at him. "this cannot be real, this has got to be a setup. there's no way you just got turned on by me insulting you for 10 minutes straight." you could hardly get the words out from laughing so hard.

clearly embarrassed, harry looks between you and his erection with fear in his eyes. it only makes the situation that much better for you as you continue to humiliate your own bully.

"u-uh, this isn't, um–" "don't try and tell me this isn't what it looks like, potter. i know exactly what's going on here." you interrupt him and cross your arms. "you're such a loser that the only way you can get off is by having girls hate you. y'know, most guys get erections from making out with a girl, not getting threatened by them." you mock him, still a hint of anger laced in your voice.

harry's looking at you with that same innocent expression, but there's something else in his eyes that makes you pause. he's not just embarrassed, he's actually enjoying what you're saying to him. you can see his pupils dilate just looking at you, his bulge only becoming more obvious the longer you mock him.

you want to be disgusted at this situation. you want to hate the way harry's looking at you and leave the room with a huff to tell everyone about his little kink. you want to call him a disgusting creep and slap him across the face for ever thinking of you in such a way. but, you don't. because you can't.

you should be disgusted. you should be creeped out. but, for some reason, you're just not. you should be filled with rage ready to tell him off again, but, instead, you find yourself full of curiosity and…flattery?

of course it's never flattering for a guy to get an erection thinking about you being upset with him, if anything it's quite morbid. however, with you and harry, everything finally started to make sense. this is why he was always pushing your buttons just to get a rise out of you, or why he seemed to thrive off of your heated interactions. because he did. he found pleasure in your anger.

again, you should be fuming, but you're just not. your heart is racing and so is your mind. you're completely flustered at this point, possibly even more than harry is. you can feel the blush on your neck and cheeks and can't tell if the embarrassment you're feeling is secondhand or not.

still looking up at you, harry attempts to cover his erection up again with his pants. you just laugh at him again as there's no real point, you're more than well aware of his predicament at the moment. his blush is so severe he's nearly completely red, and you can see his hair start to stick to his forehead from the sweat. while you'd usually feel nothing but contempt looking down at harry's innocent expression, this time you feel a bit different. he almost looks younger now, his eyes soft and lips slightly hung open.

you notice the bandage around his scar starts to lift a bit around his eye, so you sigh and place a hand on his bandage to help reattach it. again, harry almost winces at your movement, and you can see his erection twitch under his pants. god, he really does get off on this.

while fixing it, harry's still watching you intently. "i'm sorry," his voice is soft but deep, making your blood run cold. you pause to look him in the eyes. "and what are you sorry for?" you lead him on.

harry's brows furrow together slightly. "for…well, y'know," he trails off, offering a fake, awkward chuckle. you smirk as you look back at his bandage. "no, i don't know. so why don't you tell me, potter?" you ask teasingly.

without fail, harry shifts in his seat uncomfortably and tries to subtly hide his erection again. your smirk only grows at his predictability.

"u-uh, well, i-i'm sorry for…for, um, getting turned on by you…" his stuttering is only making you enjoy the moment more. maybe part of you likes seeing him squirm like this under your hand. "by me…?" you lead him on again, taking a step away to examine his bandage. harry swallowed nervously watching you. "by you…being mean to me." he says meekly, his voice small and embarrassed.

you smirk at him again and decide to test the waters. "good boy."

harry's face absolutely drains of color. you can practically see his heart thumping out of his chest. and, if you weren't wrong, his hands actually started shaking in his lap.

you start laughing again at his reaction, hardly able to hold back from how funny this situation was to you. harry potter, the school's bad boy, the top slytherin student, the quidditch captain, your biggest rival, has a literal kink for being degraded. and he had the nerve to ever try and call you a loser.

"sorry, it's just so funny to me," you tell him between laughs, wiping tears from your eyes. "actually, no, i'm not sorry. i think you deserve to be laughed at for this. what guy actually gets horny from girls being mean to him?" you ask rhetorically, crossing your arms again and examining harry in front of you.

he's completely disheveled and getting sweatier by the minute. he breaks eye contact after your question, nervously scratching the back of his neck to waste time. "uh…" he starts off, clearly not knowing what to say to that. you just continue smirking, watching him struggle. "i mean, is it every time a girl is mean to you this happens? i'd imagine with your attitude that would be pretty often." you joke, partially curious but mostly just trying to make him squirm more.

harry shakes his head, both of his hands rubbing at his face and wiping the sweat from his hairline. "n-no, it's, uh…" he starts again, eventually trailing off with a sigh. you start tapping your foot impatiently. "i'm waiting." you say in a mocking tone.

harry tenses again, still not looking back up at you just yet. his body language is clearly uncomfortable and defensive. "it's not…all girls, okay? it's just…you." he finally spits out, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words. "this only happens with you, i swear. a-and it's only started this year, and i don't know why." he rambles, speaking with his hands, his eyes still fixated on the floor.

for once, you're speechless. you weren't expecting that confession from him, and you certainly didn't know how to react to it in the moment. i mean, this potter kid has had it out for you since day one, he's practically made you two enemies on the field and off, and now he wants to tell you all this? it's a bit confusing, to say the least.

harry sighs, resting his face in his hands once again. "look, i'm sorry about all of this, okay? all of it, not just today, but everything. i shouldn't have been so rude to you all this time, especially not for the reasons i have…" you can practically hear harry wincing at his own words. he uncovers his face but continues to look down. "just…please, please, don't tell anyone. i know that's asking for a lot considering all i've done to you, but…please, [y/n]." he's nearly begging.

you just watch him carefully, trying to figure out how to respond to all of this. on one hand you're inclined to feel insulted, disrespected, and downright disgusted at this information, but in reality…you're just obscenely curious. i mean, how often does a guy get turned on by you being mean to him? and not just you, but specifically, only you. does that mean he actually likes you? or is it only a sexual thing? and how would that even work?

as your mind continues to raise more and more questions, you feel yourself speaking before you even decide what to say.

"fine, i won't tell anyone. if," you take a slow step towards harry. he looks up at you with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. your heart leaps at the sight of him so vulnerable beneath you. it's as if you can see him thinking anything, anything for you.

you're not sure what's possessing you in this moment, but you can't stop yourself from pushing the limits further between you and harry. again, your mouth starts speaking for you.

"if…you let me help." you say with a smirk, closing the gap between you and harry and standing between his legs once again. he's looking up at you in complete shock, his eyes examining every inch of you in front of him. he's trying to speak but his mouth just keeps opening and closing, gasping for air and nervously chuckling.

arms still crossed, you wait for harry to say something and enjoy seeing him be the speechless one this time.

he eventually looks back up at you, biting his lip again and leaning back slightly. "help…me?" he asks, confused. you laugh at him, shaking your head. "yes, potter. help you. can't have you leaving here with that," you motion down to his pants with your head. "can we?" you ask seductively.

again, you're not sure what's making you act like this right now, but you honestly didn't mind it. you already got a kick out of insulting harry anyway, why not watch him struggle a bit harder under your thumb in this tiny exam room?

harry's completely frozen. you smile at him this time, the most genuine one you could muster in the moment. "if you want to, of course," you say quietly, softening your gaze at him and fixing his messy hair. harry makes a soft sound and leans into your touch, his eyes closing. you giggle to yourself, he just looks so innocent resting in your hand.

the moment didn't last long as you tighten your grip on the hair on the back of harry's head, pulling it so he's looking right at you. his eyes open and a soft whine escapes his lips. "i'll take that as a yes?" you ask smugly, leaning down until your faces were nearly touching. harry does his best to nod his head, swallowing nervously and glancing at your lips.

you smile at him again. something just felt so right when you were in control, seeing harry's front disappear as he became a mess in your hands. you felt powerful, confident, and, to your dismay, insanely turned on from the entire situation. your feelings of hate and desire for harry drove you mad, yet he seemed more than willing to be the recipient of both.

so, you lean forward, and you kiss him.

it's soft at first, slow, shy, you feel like harry's barely breathing. eventually he catches up, nearly moaning into your mouth as you feel your stomach fluttering. you put your other hand on his cheek and sit on harry's lap, your knees resting on the cot around harry's hips. you feel his hands tread carefully up your thighs and under your shorts, his fingers digging into your skin roughly.

this time you can't hold back your moans, causing harry to melt even more into you. his lips were soft, careful, but so eager. it's like he was starving and yet still took his time with you.

you pull away slightly, your breath heavy and forehead resting on harry's. "lay down," you command him, climbing off his lap. harry quickly lies back on the cot, kicking off his shoes in the process. you do the same before crawling back on top of him, carefully resting your ass directly on his erection.

harry openly groans, his hands reaching for your hips and squeezing the skin roughly. you bite your lip to hold back another moan. you slightly adjust your position and cause harry's head to roll back against the cot. "[y/n]..." is all he manages to say in his broken voice.

he's already such a mess and all you've done is sit in his lap. who would've known all this time his teasing you was just a cover up for this?

"this'll be easy. you're already practically falling apart on me, potter." you tease him, your cold fingers finding their way under his jersey. harry's body shivers, his hands moving from your hips to your waist. his fingers crawl under your shirt as well and cause your skin to break out in goosebumps.

he slightly smirks at this reaction, but you don't let him have his moment for long. "and don't get cocky," you warn him before you start grinding on his erection. his head rolls back in pleasure again, his mouth hanging open and fingers digging into your skin. you smirk to yourself. "don't forget you're the loser who likes to be insulted here." you remind him harshly, your hands running along his chest under his jersey.

harry's noises are completely pathetic, his hips bucking into yours for even the slightest bit more friction. you stop grinding into him and he lets out a shaky breath, looking at you with needy eyes. he looks so worked up already and you've barely done a thing.

"shirt off," you tell him, pulling at the material. harry, again, doesn't hesitate to follow instructions. he removes his hands from your waist and quickly takes off his jersey, throwing it to the floor.

your breath hitches in your throat looking at harry's soft, sweaty skin in the dim fluorescent lighting of the exam room. you never realized just how toned his shoulders and chest were, or how many scars and bruises he seemed to have, both new and fading.

you look back up at harry, his eyes nervously watching your every move. you lean in to kiss him again, messier, needier. his hands return to your hips and practically force you to start grinding on him again. you would've intervened if you weren't just as desperate to continue rolling your hips into harry's hard erection.

a soft moan comes from your lips as you grind into him harder, your hands resting on his chest for support. harry groans, his brows furrowing. "shit," he mutters, only encouraging you to go faster.

you could feel how wet you were through your panties. your stomach was tightening already, making you feel a bit embarrassed of your own desperation. seeing harry be so willing to please you only had you wanting him more.

just as you start to feel yourself blush at your lack of self control, you notice harry's panicked expression, his grip on your skin guaranteed to leave bruises. "what's wrong?" you ask, somewhat sarcastically and also concerned.

he struggles to get a sound out. "hmph, gonna, fuck, please, don't," he's stumbling through his words, barely able to keep his eyes focused on you. his hands try to stop your hips, but his grip his weak.

"stop what?" you ask curiously, slowing your hips slightly but rolling into him harder. harry moans, his hand covering his mouth hearing how loud it echoed through the tiny room. you just laugh at him and pull his hand away, guiding it to your chest. harry's eyes widen, trying to pull his hand away.

"stop, gonna…cum, if you don't," harry whimpers, squirming under your weight as his legs try to escape. you take your opportunity and pick up your pace, giving harry an evil smile.

"aw, already?" you ask, forcing his hand back to your chest. you guide his fingers along the curves of your breasts through your thin tank top, causing him to breathe even heavier. "you haven't even gotten to see these, and you're already about to cum? i was right, you're such a fucking loser, potter." you tell him, guiding his hand back under your shirt.

you can feel him struggling under you even more, his torso only getting sweatier. you just grab for his other hand and guide it under your shirt as well. he watches as intently as he can, his eyes still rolling back in pleasure at the pressure in his lap.

you help him lift his hands higher and higher until he's cupping your tits under your shirt, your breathing becoming hitched at the feeling of his rough fingers running across your sensitive nipples.

"fuck," you say under your breath, loud enough for harry to moan and grope you rougher, lifting your shirt above your tits. you gasp at the feeling and look back down at him, a sweaty mess with eyes barely open.

"please, please," harry starts begging, his hips still trying to squirm away from you. you place your hands on his sides and push him down, continuing to chase your high. "just stay still, harry," you nearly whimper. you realize you've never called him by his first name either.

that's when he comes completely unraveled beneath you. he's practically crying out in pleasure and desperation, his hands roughly squeezing the soft skin of your tits as his head is thrown back against the cot. just watching him fall apart like this has you shaking on top of him, feeling the warm wetness of your panties leaving a mark on harry's jeans.

it takes a few moments for both of you to come back to earth. harry's hands eventually loosen their grip on you before quickly pulling away, his eyes wide and panicked again. "sorry," he says quickly, his cheeks completely flushed.

you just shake your head and laugh, climbing off of harry's lap and adjusting your shirt. harry sits up and runs his hands through his hair, trying to catch his breath still.

the room is a bit awkward, but you eventually start to chuckle and push harry's shoulder lightly. "so…" you lead him on. harry chuckles as well, hanging his head low. "so…" he repeats, his voice still soft.

"so…is it wrong of me to assume you might actually like me?" you ask, picking up harry's jersey and handing it to him. he offers you a shy smile and puts it back on, shaking his head. "y'know, i'm not sure there's a way i could've made it more obvious." he admits half heartedly.

you laugh again, feeling a blush crawl up your cheeks. you turn away from him and grab your sweatshirt from the sink, the sleeve still completely stained.

"i really am sorry about that, i have a few you could borrow if you'd like." he says with a smirk, pointing towards your sweatshirt. you roll your eyes. "well, good to know your cockiness hasn't gone anywhere." you respond, suppressing a smile.

he chuckles. "never will." he says confidently. you give him a look and take a step towards him, causing him to swallow nervously.

you laugh at him again. "yeah, okay, pretty boy." you tease him, stepping away and towards the door. he follows behind you, still blushing like crazy.

leaving the exam room you notice all the nurses are still running around like lunatics, having no idea what's just happened only a few feet away from them. you and harry share a knowing look before running off together, laughing as you reach the halls.

"y'know," harry says between laughs, looking over at you with nothing but love in his eyes as you continue walking the empty halls. "don't think i'll go easy on you tomorrow just because of…that." he says, motioning behind him with a shy smile. you smile back at him and offer your hand. harry looks a bit hesitant, but shakes it anyway. "wouldn't want it any other way, potter."

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allthelovehes · 10 days

Text

Summer Paradise* | Part 2

Summary: Day two of their vacation in Greece. Y/N's parents leave for a romantic excursion so Harry and Y/N have to entertain each other all afternoon.

Pairing: bfd!Harry x reader

Word count: 6.1K

Warnings: Kinda rough? Unprotected, almost getting caught, face fucking, squirting.

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A/N: My oh my, I can't believe it's already the last day of April, the last day of uploading every single weekday. It's been a wild ride, especially with a car accident somewhere in the middle of all of the fun and me being behind schedule haha. Anyway, I hope you all love this little one shot!!

The next morning Y/N gets woken up by the feeling of Harry's hard cock pressing into her ass. Rays of sunshine peek through the curtains, onto her face, alerting her that it's morning. Harry's fast asleep with his head pressed to the back of her neck, little snores leaving his lips. She reaches her arm back, setting it on Harry's hip, and she feels his hand twitch around her waist in reaction.

She then presses her ass back against him he lets out a snore, impulsively jerking forward in his sleep. A soft moan leaves her lips as she can feel the head of his length skimming the curve of her ass. The more she rolls her hips back, the harder he becomes, and she decides maybe she wants to wake him up too.

Reaching behind her, she attempts to wrap her hand around him and Harry grumbles in his sleep. “Y/N?” He hums out, sleep lacing his voice, her name dragged off the tip of his tongue. She shushes him in her soothing voice as he kisses the top of his head. He peeks his eyes open slowly, his cock throbbing from her touches, another grunt leaving his lips. “What are you doing, baby?” He whispers.

“Don't you like my hands on you?” She breathes, continuing to pump her hand.

He hums and closes his eyes, letting his head fall into her shoulder as she drags her thumb over his slit. Harry knew exactly what Y/N was getting at, and it was hard to resist with the way her hand glides up and down the length of him. Her thumb makes swirls as she pumps her fist over him, dragging a breathy sigh past his lips.

“I just want to make you feel good, okay? I think you deserve it after last night.” She sighs back, turning herself around to face him. “You treated me so good.”

She slips out of his t-shirt and tosses it onto the floor, the sheets no longer covering her. Her hand pushes Harry on his shoulder so he rolls over on his back. He watches her eagerly as she settles down on his lap, hovering over his length.

Harry's watching her carefully with sleepy, green eyes. He's wide awake, but his actions are barely making any movement. Y/N guides his cock towards her entrance, latching her teeth on her bottom lip and she rubs his head along her lips. “Mm.” She breathes out as she slowly lowers herself down on him before she pushes back up. “Is this what you want, Sir?” She gasps, his hands gripping her waist.

He revels at the nickname falling from her lips. Such a fast learner she is. Such a good girl, too.

Harry helps her slide up and down on his shaft, his cock beginning to throb. “Yeah, baby. Show me how you ride.” He coaxes, stroking the surface of her skin with his thumbs.

Y/N quickly starts to up her speed and his cock is already hitting spots inside her she wasn't aware of. Her back slightly arches, a loud moan leaving her lips. Y/N plants her palms onto Harry's stomach, holding herself up as her body begins to react to his rough, textured skin against her walls.

Her head hangs back and more cries leave her lips, Harry's grip strengthening so he can help her quickly bounce on his length. His lips twist into a smirk and he begins to thrust into her, her head flopping forward.

“Is this how you wanna come?” He asks. “Riding my cock?”

A broken hum leaves her throat, followed by the sound of Harry's phone buzzing twice on his nightstand. Both of them ignore it because they are in the bliss of their intimate actions. All their focus is on one another, even when it starts buzzing again, neither of them stops their movements.

“Mhm, yes. Please make me come.” She whines.

The way her words tear at the lining of his heart. He wishes nothing but to feel every ounce of pleasure emerge from her. Maybe it's the thought of making her completely, utterly overwhelmed that entices him. Like an aphrodisiac, it sucks him in to see what it is that makes her scream, and it may seem strange. It's hot how his entire attention span has spiralled into just her.

“Can you— fuck.” Her voice trembles as her hips swivel, her lower abdomen tensing. “Are you close?” She finally squeaks, her pitch barely above a whisper as she cries.

His eyes shut with a moan. “I can last a little longer, I know you can too, baby. Don't stop fucking me.” Harry encourages, his head pressing against the back of his pillow.

His nails dig into her skin, and the light pink marks form crescent-like markings. More little whimpers, little mewls are pulled from Y/N, Harry's cock doing the perfect job at making her feel thoroughly used. He manages to push her hips down farther on his shaft, a tiny, achy feeling developing in her lower stomach.

“You're so fucking big.” She tells him with a whine as her throat becomes dry, her whines scratchy. The more he presses his nails into her skin, the more eager she becomes. “My pussy can only take so much.” She adds.

“Your pussy takes me beautifully.” He groans, feeling himself coming closer and closer to his release. “You're a good little girl.”

“I'm gonna- fuck.” Y/N moans as Harry bucks his hips roughly into her, clenching around his length. Her jaw becomes slack and she can't say a word, or rather find her voice, as a tingling feeling rises and heats her insides, then slowly pours throughout her body.

“Fuck, yeah, love. Like tha-“ Harry whimpers are cut off by a knock on his door.

“Harry!” Y/N's father says, followed by another knock, loud enough for both Harry and her to hear.

Both of their hips jerk, letting their arousal bleed away, as her eyes widen when she stares at Harry. “Oh my God.” She gasps.

She suddenly feels so exposed in front of Harry as she stares in shock. She scrambles off his lap, then combs through her hair with her fingers nervously.

“Go in the bathroom, we'll be fine.” He chokes out as she hears her father knock once more on his door.

“Hold on! One minute!” He calls, and Y/N throws a hotel bathrobe at him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to compose himself. Harry slips the bathrobe over his naked body, his cock still hard and wet with her juices. Y/N darts across his room and into his bathroom, just as he swings the door open.

“Ah! Finally, good morning.” Y/N's father says, almost way too chipper, but the cheer disappears when he looks at Harry.

“Um, good morning.” Harry replies awkwardly, sweat coating his forehead. His cheeks are stained a light pink and his hands ball up the ends of his robe.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” He asks. “I texted you a few times, asking what time you wanted to eat. But you didn't respond.”

“I haven't checked my phone yet, sorry. Wasn't up for long. Just going to get dressed and I'll join you guys at the restaurant.” Harry gives a crooked smile, his cheeks and nose becoming flushed as the blood rushes to his face. He then realises that his friend is probably going to find Y/N as well. “I'll ask Y/N to come too. You two go enjoy a cup of coffee in peace.” Harry offers, avoiding her father's gaze so he doesn't have to show his reddening face.

“That would be lovely. Thank you. We'll wait for you both downstairs.”

Y/N's father walks away, as Y/N stays concealed in the bathroom. She lets out a breath she doesn't even know she's holding in. Her hands roam her sides, her fingertips wiping the light sheen of sweat away.

“He's gone.” Harry whispers, Y/N's head peeping out from behind the door. “You can come out now.”

She pads out of the bathroom, then into his arms, burying her face into his neck. “Oh my god.” She murmurs into him, her throat dry and voice nearly gone.

“It's okay, baby.” He soothes her. Harry lets out a heavy sigh, Y/N turning her head slightly. “We should get dressed and go meet them.”

She nods quietly, suddenly feeling smaller than she's ever felt before. Y/N bites on her bottom lip, but her hands teasingly grip the silky material of his robe, mischief glowing in her eyes.

“No, no, hey. None of that.” He tells her, pulling away gently to place a kiss on her lips. “We can finish later.”

Y/N groans. “What if I don't want to wait?” She questions, licking a stripe of saliva over his lips, catching him off guard.

“I'm sorry your orgasm was ruined but your father is waiting and we don't want to be suspicious.” He starts. “So go to your room, put on some clean clothes and wait for me there.” He says.

Y/N obeys, picking her clothes up off of the floor and stalking to her room. As soon as she walks through the door, the bathrobe drops to the floor leaving her naked once more. She puts on her bikini and covers herself with a sheer top and jean shorts before she walks out to the hallway to wait for her man.

Harry exits his room in shorts and a white dress shirt. Y/N stares at him in amusement because she knows he is going to hate her outfit of choice. “Jesus Christ, woman. Did you really have to wear, that?” Y/N chuckles as he sets his hand on her back leading her into the elevator. Once the doors close they are on each other. Harry lifts Y/N's ass in his hands pressing her into the side of the elevator. Their tongues battle with one another, tasting the lingering toothpaste on his tongue. Both of them groan as the bell chimes and the doors open. But luckily no one steps in. Once the doors have closed again, Y/N is attacking his neck, sucking marks onto his skin while she rubs her hands under his shirt. Her hands travel down from his chest and squeeze the outline of his throbbing cock. Harry pulls back panting heavily as the elevator opens up at the ground floor.

Once they find her parents, sitting across from each other at a table for four at the lovely outdoor patio. Y/N sits down next to her mother while Harry takes place in front of her.

“Good morning.” They both smile awkwardly.

“How did you two sleep?” Y/N's mother asks and Harry clears his throat, barely able to look her in the eye.

“Wonderful. The beds are comfy and the pillows were very nice too.” Y/N smiles looking up to catch Harry watching her with amused, and slightly shocked, eyes. “I love having all that space to myself, it's definitely better than my bed at home.” She shrugs, trying to play it off as though she didn't spend the night in Harry's bed.

The breakfast restaurant is a buffet-style one where you can make your own omelette of choice, bacon and sausages, toast, and a big bowl of fruit. Her father suggests going and getting their food first, seeing as how they are all hungry.

On their way to the buffet, Harry's hand slides over Y/N's, giving it a quick squeeze. He watches her lift the tray and get her ingredients for her omelette from the displayers, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, slightly envious at how well she managed to hide what had actually happened. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears and Y/N's pink flushes on his cheeks.

They both wait for their eggs while the chef grills and prepares them. Harry looks over his shoulder to see Y/N's parents all caught up in each other out on the patio, giving him the privacy he wants. “Last night was fun. You learned fast.”

Y/N hums and her lips curl. “Yeah?” She responds. Harry wonders if this will blossom into a new fascination for her. “You taught me well.” She adds in a lower tone as her eyes fall to the space between them.

“Of course.” His voice drops as well, mimicking her. He leans closer to whisper into her ear and the hairs on her neck rise. “You looked fucking gorgeous when you came all over my cock.” He sighs, causing Y/N to curve her back as a chill runs down her spine. Harry then smiles. “Loved the sounds you made too.”

Harry leans back and Y/N sees the cheesy grin on his face, the apples of her cheeks burning. “Har, people might hear us. You wouldn't want me to start moaning now, would you?”

He simply shrugs and Y/N raises an eyebrow at him. “I bet you decided to wear this shirt just to tease me.” He says pinching the sheer fabric on her shoulders. “Putting your perfect tits in view. What's gotten into you?”

Y/N smirks. She indeed chose this shirt on purpose, she wants him to look at her and the unfinished business of this morning causes her to want to torture him. “Nothing has gotten into me. You haven't.” She pauses, trying to read his expression.

Harry chuckles. “Still annoyed, are we?”

“Very.” She replies with a sigh.

The chef places two perfect omelettes on the counter in front of them, calling their attention. Before they can go back, Harry grabs Y/N's hand, forcing her to turn around and face him. “Well, as I said, tonight you're going to get yours.”

***

After breakfast, they all make their way to the hotel's beach bar where they end up chilling around until it's time for lunch, and after that, Y/N's parents are escorted towards their activities.

“I hope you don't mind but your mom and I booked the two of us a catamaran cruise for today, so you're stuck with Harry. I bet he'll retreat to his room or just make sure he downs enough vodka soda's and he'll be good for the afternoon.” Y/N's father tells her. “We'll see you at dinner tonight.”

“I'm right here.” Harry replies from behind them, a bitterness in his tone. His words are followed by a loud chuckle. “Yeah. Enjoy your cruise. Don't forget you're not twenty anymore, that booze will give you a hangover.” He warns him sarcastically.

“Oi! I can still drink and enjoy myself. We're going on a cruise, let me live.”

Harry shakes his head, listening to her father grumble under his breath as he walks away. His hands settle on Y/N's shoulders, suddenly having her full attention as he dips down closer to her ear. “All alone with me for an afternoon. Let's make the most of it.” His voice, laced with an obviously suggestive undertone, makes Y/N's breath catch in her throat.

Y/N turns around, both of them still at eye level. “My parents aren't even gone yet and you're already putting dirty ideas in my head.”

Harry scoffs and smiles. “Oh love, you're the one who wore a bikini that hugs your tits just right.”

“Wow, such a charmer you are, Styles.” She giggles, a huff of air reaching the tip of his nose. Harry grins, loving the sound of her laugh. He enjoys this playful and happy aura he's had her radiating since last night and has continued the morning. His arms snake around Y/N's middle.

“We have an entire afternoon to kill. What do you want to do?”

“Hmmm.” She looks around, the warmth from Harry's body shielding her against the wind. It's nice, she enjoys feeling protected like this. “I can think of a thing or two.” She mumbles, leaning against his body as her hand lays on the centre of his stomach.

“You have a filthy mind, darling.” Harry hums, Y/N snickering, knowing he wasn't serious about the criticism. His arms still rest on her middle. “Should we go to the room? Just spend the afternoon wrapped in the sheets?” He adds, his deep and soothing voice making her pulse quicken.

Her lips twitch as she fights a grin. Harry takes her by the hand, his gaze locked with hers and leads them towards the elevator, up to the 14th floor of the building. “Maybe we'll have to check out the balcony.” Harry wonders out loud.

“Are we that adventurous?” Y/N asks as the lift shoots up. Her body lurching.

“I hope we are.”

It's then Y/N finally looks up at Harry's face, finding a mischievous glint shining in his emerald eyes. There's that smile, crooked and amused and causing his dimples to protrude. The same one she finds breathtaking no matter the moment. That smile is almost always there when they're having an intimate moment.

The two of them reach the door of his room and Harry slides the keycard through, letting the door click open. The second he steps in he slams her back against the wall, capturing her in a searing kiss as the door closes, a gasp leaving her mouth as his tongue licks along her bottom lip.

“Take this off, darling. Need to see those pretty tits.” Harry purrs against her mouth, tugging on her shirt, pushing the fabric up over her head and letting it hit the floor.

“Someone's desperate.” Y/N teases, her lips kissing over Harry's jawline and his earlobe.

Harry doesn't answer and instead reaches for Y/N's bikini top, the fabric loosening as he unhooks the strap and slides the colourful material down her arms, discarding the garment. “So. Fucking. Perfect.” His voice low, his hips pinned against hers.

He allows her to peel the thin white t-shirt off him, letting her get a better view of his body. “Even prettier.” Y/N speaks, a cheeky grin forming on her face, mirroring the one that is plastered on Harry's face. Her hand slides down the centre of his body, brushing down his abdomen until she's grazing her palm over his already erect member, letting her index finger caress his length teasingly. She hears a moan spill from Harry's lips as he rolls his head back.

Harry watches with half-lidded eyes as Y/N lets the last shred of clothing that remains on her body fall. The short jeans shorts that clung to her form now leave her completely exposed and wanting more. She looks heavenly.

He's seen her naked before, but never so bare and unashamed. “Go to the balcony.” His tone, nearly deadpan, surprises her but still, she complies and walks outside, not quite grasping his reasoning, but trusting him nonetheless. They are on the 14th story of the building so there's not a single chance anyone from down below will be able to see them. Harry is close behind, doing the quick and easy job of kicking his trunks off before joining Y/N outside, her naked body almost begging for him. “Kneel.”

She complies again, her heart beginning to thump heavily in her chest. She looks up, biting on her bottom lip, as Harry steps in front of her. She drops down with her knees on the solid floor tiles, cold, hard and kind of painful but Harry's gaze is making it all worth it.

“You look gorgeous like this, angel.” He starts. “Let's put those pouty little lips to use.” Harry uses his index finger to trace her top and bottom lip gently. His other hand massaging his length. Y/N parts her lips just in time for him to place the head of his member between her lips. “Suck.” Harry mutters, his thumb pushing up her chin.

Harry feels her soft lips close around him. Her tongue teases his slit while one hand rests on the back of her head. Her mouth is warm and wet and Y/N perfectly bobs her head back and forth. She moans, sending vibrations coursing through him, his groans causing a clenching to start in the pit of her stomach. Harry looks down at the woman, her lidded gaze as her mouth works on him, taking him deeper into her mouth, gagging as he brushes the back of her throat. He keeps watching, his large hand carding through her locks in encouragement, groaning and gasping out her name. “Y/N...fuck.”

“Hmm.” She hums, feeling his shaft slide between her lips. Y/N pushes back the instinct of having to swallow down saliva and instead lets it flow down her lips. It's messy but also hot.

Harry grasps her face with two hands, one on each cheek. His big hands cover her entire face as he holds her in place. Her big puppy eyes look up at him as if to ask why he stopped her. But Harry just holds her in place. “Relax for me.” He pleads before he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his dick gently brushing on the back of her throat. “Fuck...shit, yes.” He mutters, feeling the clench of her throat on his swollen member. Y/N's eyes immediately water and tears begin to run down her cheeks from the discomfort and gagging, Harry watching it all intently. He groans, seeing a string of spit dangle from her bottom lip and hearing the gurgling sounds she makes. His length twitches with the noises and he is too far gone to stop now. He pulls back before he pushes back in, a little bit further this time. Y/N swallows reflexively each time he fucks her throat and groaning each time his tip hits the back of it, her throat so tight and warm, the friction and movement and sight are overwhelming.

“Ahh, fuck.” He curses as he finally pulls his big cock from between her lips and watches as a string of saliva stretches from his tip to her wet lips. Y/N keeps her tongue out, staring up at Harry through her wet eyelashes. A sight that is going to stick with him forever, it seems.

“Darling, you have no idea how hard it is not to make you choke on my cum.” He growls and she responds with a hum, the tip of his swollen member resting on her lips again. “Stand up and turn around, hands on the edge.” He commands, pointing at the balcony railing.

As Y/N moves to her feet, Harry catches the faint pattern of red marks from the ceramic tiles, blushing slightly at how rough he's been with her, hoping she doesn't mind.

Once again, she does exactly as told, stepping forward, pressing the palms of her hands on the cold aluminium and spreading her legs a little. Her ass is now facing Harry as she bends forwards, his cock hardening at the view. The milk glass balustrade, along with the height they're on provides the perfect privacy for the two.

Harry walks towards her, his big palm lands on her ass cheek, squeezing tightly. She lets out a sharp yelp at the contact of his big hand. The cool skin warms up quickly under the pressure of his hand and Y/N relishes on it. “Ready to get fucked out here?” He asks.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Y/N doesn't hesitate, her words dripping with need and anticipation. “Please.” She adds, wiggling her ass on his rock-hard member.

“Tell me you want me to ruin your pussy.” Harry orders as his hands knead into her flesh, pressing his hips against her so he rubs between her ass cheeks. Y/N whimpers, her mind fuzzy with lust.

“Yes, please ruin my pussy, need you so bad, I need you, Har-“ Her words are cut off by a sharp squeal leaving her lips when Harry unexpectedly pushes in and bottoms out inside of her, her nails digging into the railing.

Harry takes in the new sensation of being buried in Y/N's hole. “Oh God.” he growls as his thick length slips easily into her entrance, her warm and welcoming heat enveloping his cock completely. A string of curses follows suit, leaving his mouth as a growl. Harry rolls his hips, setting the pace for them. “Fuck, you're so good, Y/N, feels fucking amazing.”

His hips move back before snapping forward, eliciting a broken whimper from Y/N which soon becomes a moan as the coil in her gut grows tight. Y/N meets his movements, trying her best to keep silent, not wanting any neighbours who might be out on their balcony to hear them. Her head hangs between her shoulders, feeling Harry thrusting inside of her, every nerve in her body burning, his cock stretching her tight entrance wide open with ease.

“Fuck! H-Harry...harder.” Her cries are breathy and whimpering as his dick keeps hitting her spot every single time, over and over again. She's sure she will go crazy if he keeps on hitting there, but fuck does it feel so good. Her knees grow weak and shaky and her arms threaten to buckle from under her weight. Her body tenses under the sensations as they work through her. Harry listens to Y/N and pounds harder, his eyes drawn to the motion of their bodies colliding with every thrust.

His cock slips inside Y/N's tight cunt repeatedly, making the most sinful and filthy sound known to him, wet and slippery and obscene. “Want everyone to know that my cock belongs in your wet little pussy?” He grunts, giving her a sharp slap on the ass, another one quickly following. “Want to scream my name so everyone knows you're mine and mine only?”

“Fuck, you sound so good to me, fucking hell.” Her thighs tremble under her weight.

“Say my name, come on.” He says, moving closer, their skin connecting.

Harry is pounding inside of her, not giving Y/N a chance to process her thoughts. Her moans get stuck in her throat, a tightness growing in her pelvis, about to explode at any given moment. She can't even talk and Harry just takes everything away, ripping it all away with every snap of his hips and making her feel him deeper than any person has ever gotten.

His hand snakes around her perfect body, his fingers sliding down to circle her clit, still managing to move his hips at the same speed. “God, your little pussy is gripping me so fucking tight, baby.”

Her knees are threatening to fail her. Y/N knows her body is already covered in a thin layer of sweat, her forehead is shiny. As his fingers keep circling her sensitive bud and his big dick stretches her pussy wide open, she knows there is nothing she can do anymore. All her body wants is release, craving sweet relief from the pressure growing on her lower stomach, getting unbearable each time his member glides in and out, each time his fingers move fast.

“Shit! Yes! Mmmm, I'm gonna come. Don't stop.” She moans louder than she initially had planned to, a little higher-pitched than usual due to the pleasure she is receiving from his fingers playing with her bundle of nerves and his length sliding in and out of her core.

Harry's hand caresses the back of her thigh. “Come all over my cock, angel, yeah...just like that, darling.”

Y/N leans forward, supporting her upper body with her elbows, her head hanging low, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the rail is strong. Moans and heavy breathing slip from her mouth and the slick sound of him pounding inside of her can be heard from between her thighs. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck and she is a panting mess, on the brink of reaching her climax.

“Oh my god, I-I'm...!” Y/N manages to let out. She squirts all over his thick, pulsating cock, Harry moaning loudly at the feel, both his hands now back on her ass cheeks to hold her steady.

“There we go, good girl.” He soothes, slowing his thrusts to ride her high until she is finished and she finally relaxes.

“H-Holy shit.” Y/N lets out, her voice shaking as she is left boneless and her head spins from her orgasm. She couldn't quite process her thought, her ears ringing and a light buzz taking over her. Her pussy is throbbing, wanting more, needing his fullness, needing to clench around him.

“I knew you had it in you to do it.” Harry sounds proud looking down at his soaking wet thighs and small puddle at his feet. He pulls out slowly, smirking at the sound his cock makes as it leaves her fluttering core. Her wetness makes him groan and swear. His hard dick is covered by her juices and as he strokes himself he is amazed by the feel and warmth it leaves in his hand.

“Did I do good?” She asks, breathless. She had never squirted before and honestly, it makes her feel kind of embarrassed at the mess she's created. Her walls continue to clench on nothing, her skin is sweaty and pink, a flush spreading across her chest, nipples erect.

Harry can't help but laugh. “Baby, that was one of the hottest things I've ever experienced.” He leans to kiss her, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth.

“Lay on the lounge chair.” Harry mumbles on her lips before taking them back. Y/N obeys again without a single complaint, her heart beats faster when she sits down on the leather lounger, his cock bouncing in front of her face once Harry has stepped closer.

He brings his index finger down to tease her soaking folds. “Wow, you're absolutely dripping,“ Harry mutters under his breath.

He motions her to lift her legs to put her ankles on his shoulders. When she does, he slowly pushes back inside of her entrance, relishing in the way she flinches in sensitivity from the stretch of his length, feeling her stretch around him to accommodate his size and length, burying his length deep within. Her entire body shivers as the pleasure sets in.

“I'm gonna fill your pretty pussy so full and warm.” Harry declares as his length begins thrusting. “Make you feel all my hot cum spilling down those beautiful, legs of yours. Make you carry my seed.”

His words have a hypnotizing effect on her as his hips push faster and rougher. Harry can't stop himself from spilling his dirty words into her ear, having noticed it was a major turn-on of hers and boy, were they doing the trick, her cunt is clamping down on his hard cock in a vice-like grip, so tight, and it is a wonder, to him, that he can even thrust into her at a respectable pace. But as much as it's pleasuring them, he was closer and closer to the edge.

“Come in my pussy, Harry.” Y/N breathes out, looking up to him with such loving eyes it has his balls tightening.

“Say may name one more time and I'll paint that pretty cunt white.”

“Make me all yours, Harry.” She moans and soon, his climax washes over him, hips bucking forward erratically. She whimpers, his hard and huge cock stuttering inside her cunt and filling her, coating her walls with his sticky fluid. Harry rides out his orgasm with his dick buried deep within her tight heat. Y/N hums, satisfied, their bare bodies melting together as one. She's never felt this love, not in a romantic sense, just, so taken care of.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. You're going to kill me.” He pants, pressing his sweaty forehead to hers. His heart is hammering in his chest. Y/N giggles and drops a tender kiss on his lips as she pulls him closer to him with her legs around his waist. Causing him to groan as his cock is being pushed even further inside. “Stop.” He says breathlessly, pulling back just slightly.

He kisses down her chest and sternum. Y/N mews as he reaches her boobs. He suckles a nipple into his mouth before drawing away once more, slowly pulling out, his softening length and Y/N's fluids drip onto the seat below. He loves to admire the picture of her, post-sex, chest heaving and cum-soaked. His work. His baby.

“Maybe we should take a shower.” He says with a gentle smile, one she can't stop herself from returning.

Harry picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, a loud squeal leaves her lips and her heartbeat goes crazy. Her laughter fills his ears. As Harry heads to his bathroom, Y/N enjoys the sight of his round, ass cheeks. ***

After spending the rest of the afternoon in bed, fucking a couple more times and watching a movie on his laptop, they are getting ready to go downstairs again and meet her parents. Y/N just received a text message saying they'd be at the restaurant in about thirty minutes.

“Shit, your bathrobe is still in my room from last night.” Y/N curses. She wanted to put it back on so she could sneak through the hallway without having to wear her clothes from this morning.

“Take the other one.” Harry says, gesturing to the fabric on the floor. “Go get dressed, before your parents are going to complain we're late.”

Y/N puts his other bathrobe over her body and wraps it tightly. Once the tie is secured around her waist, she leaves Harry's room, leaving the rest of her clothes behind. Finally, in her room she gets dressed in a fresh pair of lingerie and puts on a tight black dress, hugging her every curve in the most beautiful way. Her hair is wild, dry and free but the way it frames her face is enough to make any man crumble to the ground for her. She finds a nice pair of black, satin heels from her suitcase and puts them on before she picks up the two bathrobes from Harry's room to bring them back.

The elevator is packed with people on their way to the main floor. That doesn't keep the two of them to basically fuck each other with their eyes and Harry to keep his hands to himself. They effortlessly find her ass, grasping the soft flesh underneath the thin material of her dress.

The doors open and a sigh leaves Y/N's lips once she steps out. It's been way too crowded and her body had already begun heating up, the fact she's feeling sexy in her outfit choice isn't helping either.

Once they're out of the elevator, the physical distance between the two grows, not wanting her parents to see them together like that as they walk into the restaurant. Y/N lets her eyes scan the room, her stomach rumbling due to hunger. Harry clears his throat to get her attention, pointing at the table where her parents are already seated, watching them as they make their way over.

“Good, you finally showed up. I was afraid you got lost in the building.” Y/N's mother teases and pulls her daughter into a hug while Harry gives Y/N's father a firm handshake.

They quickly fall into conversation about all the adventures her parents went on today, enjoying some delicious meals and a few glasses of champagne.

Harry's fingers run up Y/N's outer thigh, bringing goosebumps to her bare skin and her heartbeat skips. A little smile lingers at the corners of her mouth and he knows he's gotten the effect on her he was hoping for. As Harry's palm teases the waistband of her dress, she quivers, heat flooding between her thighs and desire rises within.

“Anyways, enough about the catamaran cruise.” Y/N's mother begins. “What have you two been up to today?” Y/N nearly chokes on her food, panic rising in her.

“Yeah, what have you been doing?” Her father adds.

Y/N keeps quiet, wanting to avoid being a suspect in anything that happened between her and Harry and only keeps smiling at them.

“We've walked around the hotel grounds and then swam some laps before we ended the day in the spa.” Harry takes his napkin and wipes his mouth before he answers her question.

“Sounds relaxing.”

Y/N can't say she feels very relaxed. But knowing that the bed in her own hotel room will be unused this vacation does have her feeling pretty damn good about that.

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lokisrealpurpous · 30 days

Text

dating loki would include

dating loki in a nutshell

hair

loki would be obsessed with you hair and would probably be touching it with any chance he gets. he would always offer to wash it and braid it, style it or to even just run his hands through it. It would also work both ways, loki would love it when you played with his hair.

physical touch

this man is touchstarved. he will never be able to keep his hands off you, no matter where you are. he'd love hugging you from behind and nuzzling into your neck, taking in your sent, holding you as he sleeps, holding hands. He also would always have you in his arms or lap.

consent

Before loki does anything, this being touching or doing things for you, he would always ask, unless he knows 100%, you are okay with it. he's very strong on consent and always listens to your feelings and checks you're comftable even if you say something is fine. If you change your mind or refuse he will immediately stop and make sure everything is okay.

reading

Loki would love reading to you, reccomending you books and would constantly be ranting on about books he's reading. When you can't sleep, he'd often let you lay against his chest as he reads you an old book from his childhood while running his hands through your hair.

sarcasm

Even if you're his lover loki is still the most sarcastic, witty person to exist. He'd constantly be messing around or teasing you, always making sure you know his jokes are jokes and picking a right time but he'd probably be pranking you alot.

cuddles

He secretly loves them. After a long day he will search for you just to wrap himself around you or cling onto you any way he can. he loves hugs from people he trusts, and he would always make sure he falls asleep cuddled up with you.

insomnia

He barely sleeps and is always awake when you wake up. He loves the night but also the sound of birds at the crack of dawn. Although he doesn't sleep himself, he will always make sure you get enough rest.

kisses

Loki loves kissing you, his favourite places probably being your neck, thighs, hands, forehead, cheeks, and his overall favourite your lips. Even a peck is enough as long as he gets his kisses. When he's touchstarved, he won't get his lips away from you.

words of affirmation

he loves praising you, and he loves it when you say nice things to him, especially after his neglection as a kid. He will always make sure you feel loved, and it goes both ways. You'd often have him sneeking behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering small things in your ear like, 'you look so beautiful, my darling' 'that dress looks gorgeous on you'

gift giving

He would buy you the entire 9 realms if he could. Loki would spoil you every single day. Whatever you wanted, he would buy for you, and you'd always be getting small gifts off of him

princess treatment

loki would unshamefully do everything for you, even in public. If your heels were hurting he'd take them off, carry them, and then carry you to wherever you both need to be, if you had laces, he'd tie them up, if you were unwell he would honestly slave for you, you'd have breakfast in bed, a hot water bottle and literally whatever you ask him for. He'd probably make you some chocolate covered strawberries as well.

music

he loves music and deffinatly has a viynal and cd player in his room. He likes all genres depending on the mood he's in, and he is the type of person to play his music loud enough for the whole of Asgard to hear. You've introduced loki to many 'midgardian' artists such as lana del rey, amy winehouse, artic monkeys, the weeknd, billie eilish, and rihannah and he loves them, especially the older artists such as Bowie, Queen, ABBA, Elvis and Harry James. Loki also has quite a soft singing voice himself, and you'd often catch him singing or humming to songs. After a lot of persuading, he'd sometimes sing you old norse lullabies his mother used to sing to him to help you sleep.

#loki #loki x reader #aesthetic #fanfic #tom hiddleston #art #bbcsherlock #benedict cumberbatch #writer #bbc sherlock x reader #datingloki #lokisdottir

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harrysonlylover · 4 months

Text

Blazers & Cravings*

Summary:Some moments of spice and fluff during Y/n’s pregnancy featuring Harry’s infatuation.

Trope: CEO!H

Wc: 3.5k

Warnings: Cravings, smut, lactation kink, feral and primal harry, overstimulation, crying from pleasure, pregnancy talk.

A/n: I reckon she’s around 5 months pregnant here <3 also please don’t read if you dislike lactation kinks.

CEO H MASTERLIST

Every single moment in Y/n’s pregnancy was valuable to Harry. He needed to be present during the highs and lows, it was his duty.

He would never refuse her a request—not only is she bearing his child, but she’s also his lover.

Creating a small version of themselves in her womb for 9 exhausting months isn’t as smooth—not one bit but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make it easier for her.

Harry knew that he was lovestruck but he never imagined that it would keep on growing.

How can he be so in love? How can his heart expand this much?

He watches her brushing her hair, rubbing cream on her bump, laying on her side with a protective hand on her belly and he falls in love all over again.

He observes the antics that she developed after pregnancy—pouting her lips and rubbing her belly when she’s hungry, scrunching her nose when a smell doesn’t appeal to her, sniffling softly when she buys a new onesie. And of course, his heart explodes a million times.

He had seen how other men treat their partners and fought the urge to punch them. He didn’t understand how men could mistreat the woman they “love”. They weren’t men in his opinion.

Y/n was his everything.

His lover, the mother of his child, his partner, his savior, his guardian angel, his fiancée…

Their wedding had to be postponed since peanut was on the way, and Harry was completely okay with that. But when he remembered that he couldn’t call her his wife, his entire day would be ruined.

Eventually, he bought her a new Cartier ring and asked her to wear it on her left hand. An indication of being wed. She didn’t object at all since they were technically married.

Harry was itching to see a wedding ring on her finger, it was just a replacement so he could delight in knowing that everyone would see that she was taken.

But when the time comes, and the wedding happens—he’ll buy her another ring.

It was as if a weight was moved off his chest when she placed the ring on—but he didn’t expect that it would open Pandora’s box for him.

He loved that they were engaged, he really did. But once his eyes were set on the sight of her left hand resting on her bump, he was gone for.

Y/n was completely his.

The other sights that made him dizzy were during sex. They already fucked like rabbits but pregnant Y/n was on a whole other level.

He was about to fuck her a few nights ago when he noticed her ring that she didn’t take off once. Ideally, he didn’t miss the chance of making her finger herself as he stared at her arousal and wedding ring.

It took him a while to register that he can’t fuck her every time he spotted her ring, or that not all men get this urge.

She had been feeling grumpy lately, snapping at anything around her and giving Harry a hard time. He didn’t reply back or get angry, he believed that she had every right to act this way.

To deal with that, he had lots of solutions. But recently, he decided to book them a table at a new restaurant that opened downtown.

He disliked going to the company when he could just work from home. But some procedures require his presence, and he had to part from Y/n after muttering curses under his breath.

He drove home eagerly with a smile planted on his face as he set foot inside their house. Y/n was getting ready just when he arrived, but she was antsy again.

“Love, what happened?” He walked slowly, loosening his tie as he spoke.

She was seated on their bed, still in her robe with her arms crossed over her bump. He held himself back from laughing because she wasn’t even close to anger—not with how cute she looked.

“I don’t have anything to wear!” She huffed in annoyance.

Harry glanced behind him to the little corner leading to another room that held their shared closets filled with her designer clothes.

“I’m sure you don’t baby. What can I do?” He kneeled in front of her and grabbed her hand for a quick kiss on her knuckles.

“The clothes are tight on my bump. I want to be comfy.” She whispered with a pout on her face.

“What about the new dress I got you?”

“I don’t want to wear a dress.” She shrugged her shoulders while caressing her bump.

“Alright, come with me.” He helped her get off the bed and wrapped a protective arm around her body.

He stood in front of his closet and scanned it with his eyes, before grabbing a blazer and giving it to Y/n.

“Here, try this on.” The blazer was oversized on her body and wrapped around her bump perfectly.

Harry’s size was significantly different than Y/n’s so when she wore the blazer, it reached just above her knee. It was a black Gucci blazer and had her looking like a real trophy wife.

“Pleased now baby?” He led her to the mirror and kissed her temple.

There was something so attractive about wearing Harry’s clothes. Deep down, they both got turned on by that, but especially Harry.

He placed his hand on her bump that was covered with his blazer, as he admired her body through the mirror.

“Hmm, this can work.” She tipped her head backward to meet his face, catching his lips in a kiss.

His grumpy baby was happy again and that was all he wanted.

“Let me get you a mini shorts to wear under.” He quickly fetched it and went down on his knees to help her wear it so that she didn’t have to bend down.

“Heels?”

“I want to but what if it hurts my feet?”

“We won’t walk. And if it hurts then you’ll take them off and I’ll carry you.”

The heels weren’t extremely bad, she was able to walk in them properly. Harry carried her bridal style from the door to the car since he had a Range Rover that was hard to climb into.

He played songs from a playlist that she made, and held her left hand, leaving kisses on her knuckles and engagement ring.

The restaurant wasn’t that far, it was barely a ten minute drive filled with cheek kisses and rubbing Y/n’s hand.

The interior design of the restaurant was quite luxurious, just what he fancied. As a CEO, he received loads of invitations from restaurants with Michelin stars, just so that they could say that Harry Styles dined in.

Y/n went through the menu a billion times and still couldn’t pick something. Her cravings were merciless.

“Harry, my cravings are so bad.” She groaned and leaned her body against him. They never sat facing each other.

“What do you have in mind, honey? Italian? Chinese? Middle eastern? Seafood?” He browsed the menu with her.

“I can’t choose!” She set down the menu from frustration.

He rubbed her shoulders and signaled for the waiter before giving him the menus back and ordering.

“I want everything on the menu please.”

Harry did anything he could to please her.

When the food arrived, Y/n forgot that Harry existed and focused on taming her cravings. Old Wives’ tales say that if a woman craves sweets then she’s pregnant with a girl; if she craves salty foods then it’s a boy.

At this point—Y/n knew nothing. She ate every single thing from both categories. Chinese fried rice, Italian Pizza, Hamburger, San Sebastian cake, Tacos, Crêpes, French Beef.

Not only were her cravings intense but she also got more hungry than usual, no matter how much she ate. She also didn’t care about the looks she got at the restaurant. She was a pregnant woman and eating on behalf of two human beings or more.

Besides, as if Harry would allow anyone to stare in a wrong way.

“What do you want me to put on your plate baby?” He wiped her mouth with a napkin, paying more attention to her food intake than his.

“Maybe the dumplings?” She answered as she chewed on spicy pickles.

Harry hummed approvingly, pouring the food into her plate with his other hand rubbing back.

“Why aren’t you eating?” She looked at him with a full mouth, and sauce coating the corners of her mouth lips.

“Don’t worry about me, baby.” He chuckled, grabbing the napkin again and moving his hand to rest on her bump.

He would give her and their child the world. They only need to ask.

Harry doesn’t usually leave his phone away from him.

But he did this time, and boy did he regret it. He had an important meeting with a business partner who arrived early at the company. They sat in Harry’s office,drank coffee, and moved to the meeting room once the other members arrived.

Due to the rush, Harry forgot all about his phone and didn’t realize it until he walked into his office again and saw 3 missed calls from Y/n.

He nearly fucking fainted on the spot.

She rarely called him, she preferred texting which meant that something was wrong with her. He muttered curses under his breath as his hands shakily dialled her number.

He grabbed his car keys and was running out of his office just as she picked up her phone.

“Hello.”

“Y/n?! Baby fuck wha—are you okay?” His blood pressure definitely wasn’t stable.

“I am. Why?” She answered calmly which relieved him but also confused him.

“What do you mean? You called me three times.” He let out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Well yeah, this is all because of you.” She sighed heavily.

“What are you talking about?”

“This! You stuck your cock inside, knocked me up and now I’m like a woman in heat 24/7.” She shouted as if she was genuinely annoyed.

“Yeah? And what do you want me to do?” He asked in a deep tone.

“I don’t care what you have. Come home and fuck your baby mama.” She threatened and ended the call.

Harry stormed through the front door of his house, he threw his phone and keys somewhere on the sofa and headed toward the bedroom.

As expected, Y/n was lying on the bed with only his shirt covering her upper body.

“Took you long enough.” She rolled her eyes and spread her legs instantly. She had no panties on and her pussy was glistening with wetness.

Everything she did made him go nuts. The way she surrendered her body to him at any given time.

“Spreading your legs for your husband already?” That was the first time he referred to himself as her “husband”.

“This is your doing.” She brought her left hand to her pussy and rubbed her vulva with her fingers, making sure to show it off to him.

He walked slowly as his eyes watched her intensely and took his clothes off. Harry was rich enough to buy her a ring that was more shiny than her wet pussy.

“I work hard all day and you made me return home because you’re cock obsessed?” He climbed on their bed and towered over her. The moment these words left his lips—she knew that she’d be ruined when they were done.

“Fuck me, please.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes, as if it physically pained her to not have him inside her.

“Is that what you want? Hmm?” He unzipped his pants and took off his boxers. His cock was hard simply from knowing that his pregnant wife can’t stay without his cock for long. It stood against his stomach, with a swollen tip and veins that scratched the itch in her pussy.

She looked at his cock like it was her meal. He moved his body closer to her and placed his hands on her legs, spreading them even wider.

“Eyes up here cockslut.” He raised her chin with his finger before inserting it inside her mouth.

He had been sweet with her for a while but now? He brought “Daddy” out to play.

Every passing second without Harry’s cock inside her was miserable. The feeling of being empty had her core aching.

“I missed you.” She whispered softly.

“Didn’t I fuck you nice and sweet this morning? Hmm mama, tell me.” He pressed a soft peck to her lips.

“Yeah you did but—“

“So you know you’re greedy.” He tsked, moving away from her face and focusing on her shiny cunt.

“Let’s see if my load is still here, or if your pussy is greedy just like you and swallowed it up.” He plunged two fingers inside without a warning making her grip the sheets. His rings were still on and cold compared to her extremely warm walls.

“Hmm just as I expected. Completely snug inside. Can’t help taking my load.” His fingers were slowly massaging her walls as she squirmed beneath him.

She felt tears welling in her eyes at the feeling, her hormones weren’t helping and she just needed to be fucked.

“Not so surprised though. That’s exactly how I knocked you up.” He adored reminding her that he owned her—that she was bearing his child, that she was such a good wife and took his seed.

He didn’t even need to move his fingers inside her pussy. They slid in perfectly from her arousal and his cum. Her clenches pulled his fingers in a desperate manner.

“What a slutty cunt. Pulling anything that enters it inside.” He moved his pointer and middle finger inside her warm walls while his thumb teased her swollen clitoris. It had her arching her back and holding on to his biceps.

“Give me your cock—please.” Her begging was so erotic to him. His pupils dilated just from looking at her and seeing her so helpless, that only his cock can fix it.

“I already gave it to you this morning, how many times do you need it a day?” He teased as he continued pleasing her with his fingers. His eyes fell on her covered upper using his shirt and immediately reached out to raise it.

“M—many times.” She struggled to let out coherent words, overwhelmed by hormones.

Harry had to take a deep breath to balance himself, he did so many times because of her beauty but this time? His primal instincts couldn’t handle the sight of her—so raw and tender, just for him.

Messy hair strands spread across her flushed cheeks as she rested on her back, her legs open for him with a protruding bump. He could feel her wetness coating his fingers, dripping like a honey waterfall down to the sheets. The heat that radiated off her pussy was so lustful, warming up his entire body.

And of course, her breasts. Full and swollen with milk, bigger areoles begging him to take a taste. He had done so before when she whined and whined about how heavy and full it felt.

How could he deny her relief?

“Look at my baby, admitting that she’s a cockslut so proudly.” He tore his hand away from her pussy, causing wet squelching sounds to fill the room from how wet she was, followed by her whimpers.

He brought the same hand—filled with her wetness to her breast, holding it so tenderly in his hand and tainting it with the arousal.

Harry’s hand was big, perfect for holding both of her hands or using it as a necklace for her pretty neck—and still, it could barely cup one of her breasts.

Once he squeezed her hard nipple, tears began coating her cheeks. Her cunt was clenching around nothing—needing to be filled.

“Oh poor baby, need me to empty these breasts? Hmm?” He kissed her tears and moved the hair strands away from her face.

“Uh—yes.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, needing some sort of friction or warmth. Anything to soothe the ache in her core.

Harry closed his mouth around her sore nipple and suckled. It brought her a huge relief that he delighted in. Of course, she can use pumps to sort it out but not while he’s present.

“My perfect wife, gonna feed our children with these gorgeous breasts?” He hummed, clearly enjoyed her lactating tits. She didn’t know whether she was rolling her eyes at the sensation, or his usage of words. Children. The thought of him knocking her up over and over again has her grinding against him.

She laced her fingers in his hair, urging him to continue sucking. It didn’t take her long to begin dripping and he took every single drop inside his mouth.

“Perfect body… providing for our baby.” He never stops praising her, even during sex. His chin was covered in her milk as he aggressively suckled on both breasts.

He was a starved man—feral for the woman he knocked up.

Her entire body was on fire, his cock was poking her thigh and she couldn’t help but grind herself on him for friction. Her breaths were labored, and her mind hazy from the overstimulation to her breasts.

He was addicted to her taste, sometimes he spent his entire afternoon with his head under her shirt, suckling and relieving her from the heaviness.

“So full and heavy baby.” He moaned audibly when the milk flowed heavily down her chest. She withered beneath him, surrendering herself to his touch completely.

“Too m—much.” The overstimulation had her crying even more as she pulled his mouth away from her nipple.

His face was flushed with rosy lips from being overworked with suckling. His pupils were dilated and his mouth was open in awe as he breathed heavily.

He licked the remaining milk of his lips and kissed her deeply as their tongues clashed. His thumb wiped her tears away before he whispered in her ear.

“Does this cunt need its Baby Daddy’s cock? Hmm?” He brought his hand down to her pussy and slapped it lightly making her body jerk forward.

“Please. It hurts so bad.” She mumbled, roaming her hands all over his body.

He wasted no time in lining himself up with her entrance and thrusting inside. He didn’t even need to push—her cunt was so wet that it slid in perfectly like it was molded for his cock.

“Fucks sake.” He groaned, taking in the feeling of her velvety walls clenching heavily against his thick length.

The sight of relief washing over her face was like a movie scene in his mind. Let alone the milk slowly dripping down her chest.

“Like a proper cat in heat, eh?” He pulled away only to thrust in harder. Her mind was blank, nothing but the idea of Harry’s cock fucking her cunt and using it.

“Just needed me to stick my cock in. Legs open to show me your slutty pussy.” Her whines were music to his ears. They filled the room along with the wet squelching sounds from her wetness that already coated his pelvis.

He didn’t mind that her bump was in the way—he towered over her as much as he could while drilling into her hot pussy. The warmth of it was unbelievable—it made him flushed and sweaty. Her pussy was so fucking warm.

“C’mon sweetheart, cum for me.” She smiled at him feeling so lost in pleasure. He was hitting her spot as usual, the veins along his cock and its thickness had her rolling her eyes and mumbling “Daddy” now and then.

He wanted to correct her and say “Baby Daddy” but he doubted that her cock obsessed brain was focused.

“I—Cu—.” Her hormones weren’t gentle with her, she could do nothing but take his cock.

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. Cum for me.” He slowed down, giving her deep strokes as he kissed her temple.

Their bodies had a secret language formed by them. They came at the same time, making electric sparks go through their bodies. Sex was something sacred for them—the aftermath of cumming was always the best. Seeing her pink face sighing in ecstasy, knowing that he pleasured her.

His load leaked out and dripped down her thigh, despite him being inside her.

“Open your eyes for me, pretty girl.” She did as he asked, making him smile upon seeing her pretty irises.

“Did such a good job for me.” He kissed her cheeks, eyes, lips, nose, and temple. Her smiles were all that he needed.

“I love you.” She whispered.

“Me more my darling.” He whispered back.

He stayed inside of her for a while, allowing her to relish the feeling of being full with his cum. Eventually, he had to dismiss her whines and carry her to the bathtub that he filled with hot water and lavender-scented bath bombs.

She sat inside with her back to his chest as he rested his hand on her bump.

“Do you think I’m pregnant with a boy or a girl?” She turned her head to him.

“Do you want to find out?”

Fic divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @prettythingsworld-blog @slut4marvelmenn @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie @be-with-me-so-happily @harrysrockstarsgf @cherrys4suckers

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formulaforza · 8 months

Note

hbd my lil' lemonade connoisseur!

I'm saying blurb for Charles; him coming to surprise you at University or something?

—the nearness of you

summ. title from this. i'm only twenty-two days late on this req. that's got to be a new record for me. 800+ words.

It was like any other day as of late. Full of brutal seven-am alarms and even more brutal eight o’clock classes across campus. Half a dozen assignments due before the end of the week, a baker’s dozen by the following.

Campus was surprisingly dead and the weather was wonderfully crisp and you had no idea the turn your evening was about to take when you’d decided to take a walk at sunset, to clear your mind with the cool autumn air.

It greets you with a shudder and the sound of browned leaves crunching under your feet. It was like a scene from a movie—something utterly fall-ish and romantic. When Harry met Sally, maybe. All cable knit sweaters and falling leaves and careful scenery.

Unbeknownst to you, he—Charles, your Charles—is walking around the same campus, enjoying his walk a hell of a lot less than you are. He doesn’t notice the smell of burnt orange or the falling leaves on the green grass. He’s too occupied trying to find his way to your friend’s hall—to your friend’s dorm—to you. His mind is full of mumbled directions and the pursed lips they leave. Of how perfect yours are, of how badly he wants to kiss them.

He’d been planning the surprise for weeks. For months, almost, since before you’d even left home for the year. He’s prouder of his ability to keep it secret from you than he is of his directional skills. Carefully, he’d coordinated the whole thing with your friends to ensure the perfect surprise, and it was finally here. It was finally here, as long as he could find his fucking way around.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, a text from your best friend. She was asking you to swing by her dorm ASAP, swore she had a shirt of yours that you could swear you’d folded and put away two nights earlier. You complied, though, and gave her your ETA before making a U-Turn on the path you were walking down.

When you finally make it there, you’re surprised to find her always-open door is shut. You’re even more surprised when you move to turn the door handle only to find it locked. You look around the hall like a trick is being played on you because her door is always open. Always. And you don’t think she even knew there was a lock.

You knock, thrice, and call her name on the other side of the door, reminding her that this isn’t as funny as she surely thinks it is. Nothing, however, could prepare you for who answered your knock.

Charles. Charles with a bouquet of flowers. Charles with a bouquet of flowers and a big goofy smile on his face. Your stomach drops three separate times in a single second—from annoyed your friend isn’t answering, to horrified by someone else answering her door, to recognizing that it’s him. That he’s in front of you.

You squish the flowers horribly, completely disregard their presence in your joy of slamming yourself into him with the force of every hour apart. “Putain, c'est quoi!” What the fuck! you say, and your voice comes out far more cracked than you’d intended on it being.

With Charles, you’ve found that you don’t realize just how much you miss him until you’re with him again, ambushed by the reality of it all, of everything that is to love about him. There’s so much, so much more than you realize each and every time you’re apart. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you’re always fond of him. The fondest.

The evening unfolds into a flurry of laughter and stories and love. So much love. It’s like his presence had cast a spell over campus, made it all magical and energized like it was your first time there. The buildings fall into the background, nothing more than the scenic backdrop for your love story, for your catching up and calming down.

Your dorm becomes a cozy haven for endless conversation. Spontaneous chest games and first-hand accounts of last week’s race keep you smiling, and his never ending genuine interest in your life here makes you fall head over heels over and over again, every word that leaves his mouth making you feel particularly cherished, like the luckiest person around.

Dusk turns to dark and the two of you sit together at the dorm window, watching the same stars you’re always looking at. The same moon that serves as a reminder the world is never too big, the distance is never too much. It doesn’t matter where the two of you are, it’s always the same moon and stars in the sky. It’s a silent kind of love, careful like an early morning, beloved like a matching cup of coffee.

It’s a short visit. Too short, always too short, but it ends with promises of more, of this weekend and that.

You should be sad when he leaves, maybe, but you aren’t. You aren’t. You’re just full of love, and so, so happy to spend even a few hours with him.

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odinsonslut · 1 year

Text

Young

⊹ genre: Fluff mostly, minimal angst

⊹ pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin female reader

⊹ themes: Friends to lovers

⊹ summary: Fred rejected your advances, claiming you’re too young. You set out to seduce him, which backfires. Unwarranted comments were made in your presence, and George attempted to comfort you, finally explaining his fears and feelings in the process.

⊹ warnings: Swearing, third-party slut-shaming of the reader, mentions of an emotionally toxic relationship, very brief mention of drugs.

⊹ word count: 1.7k

⊹ a/n: I don’t know why I’ve chosen to base this whole fic off of rejection yet again, but It’s completely different to the last, trust. A cute Fred one today because I’ve had a recent fixation on the twins and can’t seem to write for anyone else atm.

Confidence has come naturally to you since the first day you walked through the castle doors. Many would wager that’s why you ended up in Slytherin over Hufflepuff. You’d never had issues letting people know how you felt about them; rejection had never been a concern or a fear simply because your self-assurance wasn’t so easily deteriorated.

This wasn’t ever in question until two weeks ago. You hadn’t thought twice about approaching Fred after months of mutual teasing, or so you thought it was. You went to his spot on Gryffindor’s table in the morning, greeting him with a single pumpkin pasty. You waited till he took a bite out of it before making some quip that you couldn’t seem to, or rather didn’t want to remember, about owing you a kiss and maybe something more in return for it, to which he painfully, tragically mustered a chuckle past his lips, probably the most awkward position I’ve seen him in, before finally finding the words to let you down easily.

“You know I love you endlessly, but we’re friends” He could’ve just as easily stopped there, but he continued.

“You’re just a little too young for me.”

Young

He briefly dated Amelia Farrow last spring, and she’s four months younger than you, so obviously, it wasn’t an age issue. He saw you as immature, a kid. He couldn’t even begin to picture you as attractive in any form. Actually, feeling affected as a result of rejection was unfamiliar; it was scary. How had you allowed yourself to feel enough for a man that your own stability suffered? As a result, you didn’t just feel hurt, you felt inferior, and that was harrowing enough in itself.

You were just beginning to fall into another rant directing every expressional detail from the twitch of his bottom lip to the scrunch in his left brow when you were interrupted by a loud sigh.

“Babe, I couldn’t live a day without you, but swooning over a blood-traitor Weasley is way more than I can handle for the 7th time this morning”, Pansy quipped after a supportive kiss on my cheek.

“Give me a solution then”, you pleaded, faux pouting while hugging her thighs desperately.

“Seduce him, love; you’ve got the best ass on anyone in this entire school. Malfoy tells me he’s got a preference for it, says he lets a lot slip when they’re off smoking muggle grass.”

“Teach me how. You’re probably the only girl in our year every Slytherin male wants to shag a second time.”

It was the first quidditch match of the year, so naturally, you put on your uniform from 3rd year to cheer the team on. Malfoy found your overreaction to rejection amusing, like a fish out of water, to use his words, so he didn’t mind playing the role of the pawn in your game. You spent all game cheering Draco on, making sure you were just enthusiastic enough to attract Fred’s attention.

The game finally came to an end. Gryffindor just barely scraped by, with Harry catching the snitch. I could already see Oliver Wood pushing Fred about, demanding a valid reason for his poor performance during the game. He pushed Wood off of him and stormed off with an exasperated look on his face.

I caught up to him a few feet away, deciding to skip past the jokes, figuring he wasn’t quite in the mood.

“Hey, you okay?” I timidly asked, reaching out to stroke his hand

“You sure move on quick, don’t you?” He spoke harshly, ignoring my question completely

“Are you serious? You reject me, then get mad at my attempts to move past that?” I shoved his shoulder, feigning annoyance. I knew exactly what I was doing, trying to prompt a reaction out of him.

“And what the hell are you wearing? Damn near sent Adrian Pucey spiralling into the benches with your ass out like that.”

“So I had both team’s beaters distracted, huh?”

“I wasn’t distracted so much as horrified.” He immediately followed

You shoved him playfully. “Shut up, weasel. You’re literally still staring at my tits.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t put that outfit on for me to stare at?” He whispered as we came to a halt just outside the quidditch changing rooms

To my dismay, I couldn’t think of anything to do or say but scoff at him, to which his grin grew even bigger.

He turned to leave, my brain regaining activity without the pressure of his eyes in contact with mine.

“I put it on so you’d have a clearer image to jack off to tonight.”

I headed back to my dorm before he could get another word in.

I approached the great hall hand in hand with Daphne Greengrass, completely satisfied with the way I left things with Fred yesterday, convinced I’d won. The smile on my face immediately dropped as I heard the conversation taking place at the Gryffindor table.

“- he’s even got a Slytherin girl in his pocket, dressing up like a little slut just for him.”

“Tell me, Weasley, does she like it rough?”

“Seems like the kind of girl that’d take it in the back.”

Your heart dropped as you heard comments from miscellaneous men in the house, jeering over each other, collectively patting an angry-looking Fred on his back and shoulders in a congratulatory manner.

We made eye contact. Before the men at his table sensed my presence, too, I broke away from Daphne and sprinted out of the Hall. I sank by a tree in front of the lake as I took shallow breaths.

What hurts is that every assumption they made about my character felt deserving. When did I become the girl so desperate for one man’s attention that I so pathetically made myself more sexually desirable in his eyes? So that his lust would cloud his judgement and throw me lay at the very least? I hadn’t even realised how delirious I was acting and how painfully obvious it was to everyone but me just how much more I clung to the idea of him. It was like a montage of clarity was playing in my brain, of the way I continued running up to the Gryffindor common room every morning, taking every opportunity to make what I thought was subtle physical contact with him. God.

I let out a little yelp when I finally opened my eyes. Fred sat right next to me, leaning his head against the tree the same way I was.

“God, you scared me half to death! fucking cunt” I muttered the last part, allowing my anger to peak through

“I had Malfoy help me make sure those guys’ mouths stay shut. I’m sorry you had to hear that, and I’m sorry they were able to say more than two words without me hexing them and their mothers, to begin with. None of what any of them said is worth your care. They heard us talking outside the changing rooms yesterday. They’re all jealous little virgins that have-

“They were things I needed to hear” I cut him off before he fell into a rant that honestly wouldn’t have made a difference to the way I felt.

He looked at me incredulously, struggling to find the words to respond.

“I was seeking your attention so incredibly desperately. It embarrasses me to think about it. You said no; I should’ve respected that and left it as it was. I took your reasoning personally, and for the way I’ve acted since that day, I apologise, truly,” I continued.

He sighed. “I only said what I said out of fear. I’m sure you remember I briefly dated a Hufflepuff girl in your year, Amelia. I made a mistake getting involved with her. She didn’t know how to separate love from attachment, and it got to a point her dependence on me started affecting her mental well-being, along with mine. Nobody saw much of me during the time we were dating because I was just so caught up with making sure she was okay since she relied on me completely. I didn’t realise I was even allowed to have boundaries at all in a relationship. She constantly made me feel selfish and uncaring for wanting space or even just time with my family. When you told me how you felt about me, I had recovered from the relationship, but I hadn’t yet allowed myself to consider a future relationship with another person. I said what I thought I needed to say to avoid our relationship turning into the one I had with Amelia. But ever since you told me how you felt about me, it made me realise nothing about us has ever been platonic to me. I have never thought of you that way, and even when I tried to, I didn’t know how to look at you in any other way than lovingly. I feel so much for you. I could see myself loving you so easily. I’m just really afraid. I don’t know if I’m ready to navigate that all over again.”

It took me a while to respond, taking in everything he said in a state of such vulnerability. I noticed a stray tear on my skirt; it was his. I immediately reached out to hold his hands in comfort. I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off yet again.

“I will never allow anyone to say a word against you ever again, love.” He added

“I care a lot about you, Fred. I reacted the way I did, with such force and conviction, because it’s unfamiliar to me too, feeling so deeply for someone. Whatever you want to come from this, we can do. I want to learn to keep my independence through my feelings for you. I don’t think declaring something more than friendship will change things between us overnight, and I think all we need to do is keep being us.”

“Okay”, he responded timidly but surely.

He could’ve just stopped there, but I’d come to learn that’s never something to expect from him.

“I absolutely did jack off to you last night, though.”

I kicked him in the shin as we walked back to the castle, hand in hand.

End

✩ I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE ANY OF MY WRITING POSTED ON ANY EXTERNAL WEBSITES ✩

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wrongplacerighttime · 3 months

Text

agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace meets someone, harry gets jealous (again), and something unexpected is confessed. // little bunny part 4

write this and i don’t really like it but it’s set up for the next part so WHATEVER IDC 😭🤣 if it doesn’t make sense just…ignore it please 😭 i know it’s almost midnight and that means this probably won’t get seen but it’s HERE NOW.

little bunny masterlist

wc: 3.4k

tw: jealous!harry (briefly), phone sex, masturbation. (think that’s all.)

halley’s comet

To Grace, her worst personality trait was that she’s always been afraid of love. In middle school, a boy she couldn’t even remember the name of confessed his crush on her as she sat alone in the lunch room with her nose in a book, and a spark of hope twinkled in her eyes and her 13-year-old mind going haywire as she watched the blonde haired boy smile at her. Then he turned his head to look back at his friends, her eyes followed his and they were laughing. She never forgot the feeling of the stain of embarrassment marking her cheeks, or the single tear that fell onto the page she was reading when he turned and walked away.

Then, in high school, she had her first “real” boyfriend, Jake. For some reason or other, he had been pining after her and she couldn’t make sense of why the captain of the boys basketball team wanted anything to do with the quiet and reserved girl who only took advanced classes and spent her free time with her nose in the pages of a good book. He followed her like a lost puppy after one tutoring session with her, driving her around in his truck on backroads through the little town in Tennessee where they resided. She gave him everything, in every sense, and after he got it he left her high and dry. She still remembers the way the stars shined in the sky that night. It was just a blip in Jake’s timeline, but felt like a goddamned gorge in hers. As a girl, you never forget your first time…and he played her up so nicely. Being gentle with her, brushing the strands of hair from her lips, the kisses he left just behind her ear when she turned her head to the side. She didn’t leave her bed for weeks. She swore off love after that. It was real to her, even if it wasn’t to him.

Then came Harry, and to her, he was just like the rest of them, and she refused to let him get to her…keeping him at arms length even though she was insanely drawn to him. Then one day, she didn’t look at him like the rest of them. She knew in the back of her mind that sleeping with him would fuck with her head. They didn’t get along unless they’re fucking, and that can’t be healthy. Was it because they really didn’t like each other, or some other reason? She’s too selfish to give him up though, even if he might not want her that way, a relationship might be too much commitment for him but they didn’t talk about it. She had a feeling they never would. She pulls her coat tighter around her, snowflakes falling around her and her breath clouds in front of her. Her mind spins and she doesn’t pay attention as she looks towards the ground, running right into someone walking out of the building she was heading into.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry.” She looks up to a man she’s never seen around before, his eyes an icy blue that contrasts the green she’s been seeing in her daydreams.

“Not a problem. I wasn’t paying attention…entirely my fault. Apologies.” He smiles at her softly, an expression she mirrors back to him.

“No…I wasn’t either, it’s okay.” She blows a breath, a cloud forming in the cold air between them, and his smile widens. “Sorry, I haven’t seen you around before…I’m Grace Weston. I work on the sixth floor.”

“James Seeley. I’m in organized crime.” He pauses and smirks. “If you’re on the sixth floor that must mean…” He trails off and Grace nods, already knowing what he was going to say.

“You caught me. I’m a profiler.” She holds her hands up, pretending to surrender and he smiles at her. He looks across the street, pausing for a moment and looking back at her

“Can I get your number?” He asks, and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry! Was that too forward? I just think it would be nice to have a contact in the BAU…you know, for any future cases.” He rubs the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness, and she pulls her lips in to prevent a smile from breaking at his nervousness. “I also think you’re pretty, and I’d like to get to know you better.” He rambles, and she nods. Maybe this would be good for her? He hands her his phone and she types her number into the designated spot, adding her name to the contact and hands it back to him. He briefly looks down at his wrist to check his watch and his brows pull together in the center.

“Sorry to be rude, but I’ve to get to a meeting downtown…and you know how traffic can be.” He says, jutting a thumb towards the direction he’s heading and she nods quickly.

“Oh, gosh! No, yeah! Again, so sorry for bumping into you.” She looks at him for a beat before looking towards the ground.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Glad it happened. See you around?” He asks and she nods again, making her way around him into the foyer through the sliding glass doors.

The rest of the team had made their way onto the jet and to Florida in the early hours of the morning, before the sun rose. Grace had sent Aaron a message privately before and asked if he cared if she stayed behind for this one. She was willing to consult from her position here and that was enough for him. A shiver travels down her spine and she thinks about the warmth of the Floridian sun and almost regrets her decision. She needed time away from Harry, she had convinced herself that much. She told herself if she kept her distance the feelings would go away. She wouldn’t feel this way if she stayed away from him, right? Love never came easy for her, and she was sure he wouldn’t make it easier either. She feels silly, falling for a person who was very much “no strings attached”. She can’t get him out of her head, her dreams filled with him, of a life with him…

She makes her way to her desk, shrugging her coat off and getting to work.

———

The day drags slowly and Grace is on the phone consulting with the team when the sound of the glass doors of the office open and tear her attention away from the video call. She looks up and sees the man from earlier this morning, James, walking over to her desk carrying what looks to be a bag of take out food. She grins over to him and he mirrors it back to her. He had sent her a message earlier after his meeting and asked if she wanted him to drop off lunch to her and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. He walks behind her, into the view of the camera before disappearing again and he perches himself on the edge of her desk. She silently thanks him as to not interrupt whatever Aaron was saying and her eyes flick to Harry on the screen. She can barely see the way the pixels of the video call catch the shift in his posture and the tick of his jaw, but she decides to ignore it.

She mutes her microphone as she listens to Aaron’s monotone voice through the speakers. Occasionally Harry or Kelly will add their input but for the most part it’s just Aaron. He’s throwing out ideas left and right trying to figure out where to start with the case. Grace can see all the files spread out in the table, the same ones that Grace has open on her other screen, and she scrolls. A crime scene photo catches James’ eye and he puts his hand up to halt her. He leans closer, pointing to a small symbol etched into the tree above the body, it's barely visible, blending into the seams on the bark. She turns her mic back on.

“Hey…guys? Did you see the symbol in the picture of our latest victim?” Her eyebrows furrow and she leans in closer to the screen. “Could it be satanic? Was there anything similar at the other scenes?” She asks and Aaron flips through the pictures to look for what she’s seeing.

“It’s not Satanic.” Harry mutters in a tone of voice that makes her eyes narrow, holding the picture closer to his face. He types in quick succession on his laptop, performing a quick google search. “It’s Egyptian.” He screen-shares a symbol that looks almost similar, more intricate than the one haphazardly carved into the tree.

“We need to have this picture blown up, it’s hard to identify from this distance. Good catch, Grace.” Aaron praises, looking down at the picture still.

“Oh it wasn’t me, it was James. We met earlier, he works upstairs in OC, we were eating lunch together and he caught it.” Grace replies, redirecting the praise to James while turning her camera towards him. He puts his hand up in a small gesture and Aaron nods, walking out of view of the camera. The screen goes black, the video call ending abruptly. Maybe the connection was bad? She pulls out her phone to text Harry.

Grace: “keep me posted.”

Harry: “k.”

His short reply makes her roll her eyes, and she almost puts her phone away when another message pops up.

Harry: “wanna start a group chat with lover boy so he can give me all his opinions directly?”

Grace: “i’m not doing this. he’s just a friend. and you’re being annoying.”

Harry: “just a friend my ass. friends that just met don’t bring each other lunch. he’s got a hard on for you.”

Grace: “so what? we definitely aren’t exclusive so it’s none of your business anyway. drop it. move on.”

She drops her phone down on her desk, shaking her head and scoffing.

He doesn’t reply.

———

A few days pass with no word from Harry, the case causing a build up of stress to fall on Grace’s shoulders. The Egyptian symbol was present at every scene in some form or other, and it had them stumped. James had asked her out on a date and she declined, really just wanting to go home and go to bed. She regrets staying behind, she feels out of the loop and she feels guilty she’s not there helping catch their suspect. Long distance while being an FBI agent doesn’t work, especially when her specialty is geographical profiling. It’s hard to create a profile for an area she’s unfamiliar with.

She showers. A long, hot, shower. The muscles in her shoulders relax with the steam blurring her vision. She just stands under the heat, washing away her stress…and she thinks of Harry. His words…his hands on her body…his lips on her neck, her tits…his teeth pulling her clit between them…Her breath catches and her legs feel weak at the thought of him. The way her body reacts to him, knowing he has this sort of control over her, she could never be with anyone else. She quickly finishes her shower, wrapping her hair in a towel and moving to her bed, not bothering with clothes because she has only one thing on her mind. She needs to cum.

Her hand dips down past her navel, running a finger through her folds before bringing them back up to her clit, rubbing gentle circles while tweaking her nipple between her fingers with her other hand, pinching and pulling, trying to replicate the way he does it. She replays every time they’ve been together over in her brain, remembering the way his breath fanned over her neck as he grunted in her ear, whispering words into her ear, words no one else has ever said to her. Words she didn’t even know she liked to hear.

The shrill ring of her phone pulls her from her thoughts, a groan of aggravation escaping her throat, so close to her release and she sighs, looking at the caller ID. Harry.

“Finally deciding to talk to me?” Grace answers out of breath, frustrated she didn’t get to finish. She tries to slow down her heartbeat, her breath left heavy in her lungs.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was being childish. I let my anger get the best of me, and I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be that way towards you. You’re allowed to see other people, you’re right. We aren’t exclusive.” He pauses. “Happy now?” He grumbles. She sighs,

“Are you okay?” His voice drawls through the speaker and she gulps nervously.

“Just peachy.” She answers sarcastically, trying to sound like she wasn’t just trying to get herself off less than five minutes ago. She gnaws on the inside of her lip. “Did you need something, is something going on with the case?” She turns over onto her side, waiting. He hums, choosing to ignore her response before diving into an update about the case as he paces around his hotel room.

Grace drowns out his voice involuntarily with her daydreams. She goes back to what she thought about to make herself get worked up in the first place, and then she imagines it…really imagines it. And it wouldn’t be so bad right? She lets her mind wander to the image of him curled around her in bed every morning, his hands gripping her waist as she stands at the kitchen sink, or her swollen belly in the mirror as she gets dressed for work for the day. A life with him.

“Earth to Grace?” His voice through the speaker pulls her from her thoughts and she blinks once to clear her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry. What did you say?” She’s breathless, feeling the arousal pool at her aching, empty hole. A smirk plays on his lips, one she can’t see, and now he knows exactly what she was doing before he called her. He knows her, knows how she sounds when she’s fucked out…when she’s needy. He knows just how to push her to the edge.

“Don’t worry about it, bunny.” He purrs and she whimpers into the microphone before covering her mouth and her thighs squeeze together almost on their own volition. “S’the matter sweet girl?” He coos and the drop in octave in his voice makes her squirm.

“N-nothing.” She stutters, lying straight through her teeth, feeling the flame igniting in her belly once again and she can’t help that he just does this to her. Her body reacts to him on its own despite the way her brain fights the feeling every single time.

“See, I know when you’re lying. I don’t like when you lie to me, Grace.” His voice is gravelly and he clicks his tongue as she pulls her lip between her teeth. “Let me help you make it better.” He mumbles and she whimpers out an agreement.

“What were you thinking about to make you all riled up like this?” He asks in a sweet voice and she stays quiet. She hears his breathing on the other end of the phone, silent. “Hmm?”

“You. Was thinking about you.” She admits and her cheeks heat with a little bit of embarrassment, but mostly with desire.

“Is that right? Well don’t let me interrupt, go on then.” He can feel himself hardening beneath his sweats at her honesty, but he refrains from touching himself. For now. He doesn’t hear any rustling on her end of the phone and his brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Need me to tell you what to do?” He jokes and she mewls.

“Y-yes. Please.” She whines and the tone of her voice tells him all he needs to know.

“Mm, okay.” He pauses, thinking. “What were you thinking about? Tell me, bunny. I’m curious.”

“Thinking about the last time…in the supply room.” Her voice is breathless and he smiles at the memory.

“Want you to pull your bottoms down for me, sweet girl.” He instructs her and hears rustling on the other end, her eagerness making his heart lurch in his chest and he feels all the blood in his body rush southward. “Have ‘em off?” He asks and she confirms that she does. “Good girl. Want you to touch your thighs, just drag your fingers over your skin, like I would do.” She follows his direction, the light touch of her fingers creating goosebumps in their wake.

“Want you to touch yourself, too.” She mumbles into the phone and he groans on the other end, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Want you to tell me how wet you are first, are you dripping? Want you to put a finger in and tell me how soaked you are at the thought of me fucking you against that wall.” His words come through gritted teeth and he shifts his hips, pushing his sweats down and he leans against the wall, palming himself through his boxers and biting the inside of his lip. She trails a finger through her folds, her arousal pooling on her finger before she pushes into her aching hole, feels herself clench around her own finger as she moans at the intrusion.

“Harry—” His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper.

“Tell me.” He demands, jaw clenched and hand squeezed into a fist and he can hear the way her finger is pumping in and out, the sound of her arousal evident through her end of the phone and he could almost cum right then, without even touching himself.

“S-so wet. Wasn’t entirely from the sex, though.” She admits and he raises his eyebrow in an expression still unseen to her. “From what you said.” He combs through the memory, her pushed against the wall with his hand around her wrists, slamming into her again and again. He pries his mind and the memory of what he said to her comes flooding back. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy up, get you all full of my cum…bet you’d like if I got you pregnant too, huh? Wanna see that cute little belly swollen, let everyone know who you belong to.

“Little minx…likes being full of me, doesn’t she? Likes feeling me dripping out of her.” He can’t help himself now, the memory playing over and over in his head like his own personal porno. He pushes the rest of the barrier away and spits into his hand before wrapping it around the base of his hardened cock and pumping himself with a soft grunt falling from his lips.

“Yes, Harry.” She whines, feeling herself come closer to her release as she flicks her thumb over her clit and pulses her fingers in and out. “Want you to…need you to, Har. Just wanna feel you.”

“I know, sweet girl. Wanna have my babies in your cute little belly? Know you’re carrying around part of me and that I’ve claimed you?” He grits and she nods even though he can’t see her, his hand working himself at his own pace, his tip leaking and dripping onto his own hand as he grunts and groans at the frictions he’s creating. “Gonna fill you up, let your thighs be a sticky mess of me? Cum for me, bunny. Wanna hear you.” He encourages her and she squeezes her eyes shut and her toes curl, pleasure taking over every one of her senses. One flick of her thumb against her sensitive bundle of nerves again and she’s gone, moaning and crying out his name between them. He follows not long after her, his own release painting his hand and he leans against the wall to catch his breath, coming down from his high. Grace sighs into the phone, feeling a little hazy, not in the proper state of mind to continue a normal conversation with him.

“I love you.” She whispers, her eyes flutter closed, the pulses of pleasure still buzzing through her brain, clouding her better judgment. She doesn’t even realize the words have slipped past the barrier of her lips. He’s silent for a moment, mouth dropping open to speak but closing again.

“W-What?” He stutters, heartbeat quickening and nervous sweat forming on his brow. Her eyes fly open and her heart drops to the floor. Did she really just say that…out loud? “Grace…” He trails off, his vision blurring, his head feeling dizzy and he doesn’t know what to say.

The line goes dead, and he’s alone.

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