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gogh-with-the-flow · 4 months

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Everyone always talks about John "share my wife" Price but what about Kyle "our girlfriend" Garrick???

18+

It starts with you and him on the couch together. You've got your hand in his pants and he's got his tongue down your throat. You're pumping his cock while he pants into your mouth when his phone rings- someone is video calling him. You glance at his phone sitting beside him, discarded on the couch cushion when you first crawled over to him to kiss his neck. The icon on the screen is a familiar one: a mischievous grin with a mohawk on top.

"Answer it," you say as you slide down the couch and onto your knees in front of him.

"What?" He asks, his eyes wide as saucers as you hand him the phone.

"Answer it," you say again with a devilish grin, still stroking him slowly. With a shaky breath to school his expression, he answers it.

Gaz tries his best to stay nonchalant, not even listening to Soap's chatter through the phone, but you have other plans. Gaz let's out a surprised grunt and jerks when you take his cockhead into your mouth.

"You alright mate?" Soap asks after a momentary pause.

"Yeah-yeah," Gaz answers too quickly. "Muscle spasm. Got a- ah- knot in my shoulder." You can't help but smile around his dick as you bob your head up and down his shaft. He glances down at you with a frustrated huff. Soap makes a noise on the phone.

"That's rough, mate. You should ask your girl to help you rub it out." You nearly choke at the unintended double entendre. "Where is she anyway? Wanna say hi."

"Uh... she's-" whatever half-baked excuse Gaz was about to spout off is cut off by the sudden sucking noise your lips made on "accident". Gaz freezes, looking past the phone at you, and Soap is silent on the other line. You continue to swirl your tongue around Gaz's tip.

"...Gaz?" Soap asks slowly. Gaz doesn't answer, his chest heaving in an effort to maintain his composure. "What's going on?" Gaz's eyes darted back and forth between you and the phone, silently willing you to stop so he wont get caught. Instead, you make yourself gag on his length, causing him to grunt involuntarily.

"Holy shite, Gaz... are you...?" Soap sounds suddenly breathless at the sounds he hears on his phone. They aren't unfamiliar to him, but usually they're accompanied by a little orange logo, not by his best mate on FaceTime. "Turn the camera around."

Gaz's jaw drops with a pant. Oh, he's so caught. He stares down at you, and you nod your head before sucking hard. With a shaky hand, he taps the screen, and you hear Soap groan over the speaker. You suck off Gaz's tip with a wet pop and smile.

"Hi Soap," you say conversationally, as if Gaz's cock wasn't there right in your face, as if you didn't have drool and precum dripping down your chin. You stare up into the camera phone as you stick your tongue out and lick up and down the shaft.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap says, and there's a rustling over the speaker. "Garrick, you dog," he growls. You put on a show for him, pumping Gaz in your hand while you mouth at his balls, making him moan out loud. He's already been caught, no use hiding it anymore.

Soap gets himself off to it. You can hear his groans of pleasure over the phone mixing with Gaz's, can hear the wet sounds of him stroking himself. When you finally get Gaz to cum on your face, you smile at the pleasured moan Soap let's out. Gaz smears his cum over your lips with his thumb and with a smirk he says,

"What are you doing tonight, Tav?"

"I'll be over in an hour," Soap replies.

The three of you go at it for hours, round after round, multiple positions, every combination. And while you were the center of their attention for most of it, it was also incredible hot to watch them together, making out above you, jerking each other's cocks. By the end of the night, when everyone's needs had been met and you all were exhausted, you all agree it was the best sex of any of your lives. And you all three agree: there's no going back after this.

Soap comes over more and more often for threesomes, but a couple times it was just you and him, or him and Gaz. The three of you find a rhythm and balance together, happy and very well satisfied.

Gaz is out of the country when Ghost finds out. And. He. Is. Livid.

He'd borrowed Soap's phone for something, he doesn't remember what he needed, because once he saw the video of you and Soap on his phone he swears he saw red.

Soap had never seen his LT so angry, especially not toward him. Ghost has him backed into the wall, face in his face, barking at him like a mad dog.

"Have you gone fucking mad? You've got a lot of fucking nerve, Sergeant! Showin' your face to Gaz while you're giving him the runaround! Fucking his girl behind his back! You should be ashamed! He's our teammate, he's our BROTHER!" And in a blind panic, Soap shouts out:

"He knows!" It's enough to make Ghost pause his tirade for a moment, giving the shorter man an incredulous look.

"Bullshit."

"He does! He knows, I can prove it!" Soap pleads, and slowly holds out his hand. Ghost pins him with a glare but hands him the phone anyway.

Soap opens up the group chat the three of you share and turns the phone to show to Ghost. There's a variety of messages, some casual, some flirtatious, but what really catches Ghost's eye are the videos.

The first is the one that sent him into a fit in the first place: you're bent over in front of a mirror while Soap rams into you from behind. The video is sent with a message reading "taking care of our girl while you're gone x" The next video is sent from your POV as you bounce on Gaz’s cock. Then a video sent from Gaz's number that seems to be in the barracks shower of all places, the phone propped up somehow capturing the two Sergeants wet and naked. Gaz steps back from the camera and embraces Soap with a heated kiss. They each wrap a hand around both their cocks together and jerk themselves off to a simultaneous finish.

As Ghost scrolls through the chat, Soap, still pinned to the wall, takes notice of the way Ghost's breathing steadily gets heavier and heavier. And he DEFINITELY notices the growing weight pressed against his stomach. He gives an experimental grind of his hips. Ghost's eyes snap back up to him. They're still full of fire, but for a completely different reason.

"You got me stuck between a rock and a hard place, here, LT." He jokes with a gravelly voice. "But you know what they say... the more the merrier." In a matter of minutes, Ghost had Soap turned around, and both their pants are down by their ankles.

Gaz gets a new message in the chat later that night. The video starts focused on your face, your mouth deepthroating Soap and your eyes rolled back in your head as your body gets jostled roughly by... someone else. The camera pans down your body, showing you on your hands and knees, and a thick, wide body fucking into you from behind. A familiar tattoo sleeve catches Gaz's eye, and finally the camera pans up to show that infamous skull mask that he knows so well. The video is captioned: "found a new playmate for us... don't tell the captain ;)"

The captain, of course, does find out sooner rather than later. The team is gathered at you and Gaz’s home to watch a football game. Most of the sports terminology goes over your head, but you're glad to have all your boys together... plus their captain.

You think you're being subtle about everything, but Price notices. His job is noticing things. Countless life-or-death situations have counted on Price noticing little things. So of course he notices your heated glances at Soap, the way you leave lingering touches on Ghost when you pass by him. You, nestled into your boyfriend's side with his arm around you while you make eyes at his teammates. It makes his blood boil.

He confronts you in the kitchen. You got up to fetch yourself a drink and he waits a moment before he follows you in. You turn around from the fridge to see him standing behind you. His face is impassive and unreadable. You linger there a moment in confusion. He's usually so friendly toward you. Finally he breaks the silence first.

"You know, Kyle really cares about you. Talks about you all the time, talks about how much he loves you. You've got that poor boy wrapped around your little finger, you know that?"

"Th-thank you...?" You stutter, completely caught off-guard. The cold tone of his voice doesn't match his kind words. There's an edge to it, a dangerous one. He shakes his head at you.

"He doesn't deserve this. He's a good man."

"Doesn't deserve what?" You ask, glancing down at the extra beer in your hand that you'd gotten for Gaz. He doesn't deserve beer?

"You think I don't know what's going on?" He accuses with a step forward. "You think I don't see it?"

"See what?" You ask, growing more and more worried with every passing second. Price scoffs.

"You know, I've seen this a lot. Men in the service go out and risk their lives, all the while back home their girl is running circles around them." He huffs, giving you a look you'd never seen before. It makes you feel... gross. "Thought you were different, though. Thought you could be trusted. And to do it with his teammates?" His eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles in disgust. You gasp in realization. He thinks you're cheating!

"John, you don't understand-"

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No!"

"What's going on?" Gaz asks from the doorway. He was wondering what was taking you both so long, but he didn't expect to find you close to tears cornered by his captain. Price turns his body toward him, but keeps his eyes on you.

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" He asks. You open and close your mouth but nothing comes out. Your brain is overworking trying to figure out an answer. You can't tell him the truth, you'd get your boys in trouble! Should you just admit to it? Take the blame to protect them? Before you can come up with the words, Soap and Ghost enter the room behind Gaz. Price turns his attention to them, and you breathe out in relief to have his glare off you.

"Or maybe you two would like to tell him?" He proposes, voice slightly raised. The tension in the room is suffocating. Price stares the other two down as Gaz looks from one person to the other, putting the pieces together.

"Price it's not what you think," he says with his hands out in a placating gesture. Price tilts his head.

"Kyle, I'm sorry to have to tell you-"

"They're not going round my back, Price. I know." Price shuffles his feet a bit.

"You... know?"

"The four of us have... an arrangement." Gaz walks over to you and wraps an arm around you. "She's done nothing wrong, don't be cross with her. Neither have Ghost or Soap. She's not just my girlfriend, she's our girlfriend." Gaz holds Price's eyes.

"And the four of you are..."

"Together. Is that a problem, Captain?" Price quirks an eyebrow at his sergeant's challenge, but after a moment shakes his head.

"No. No, not a problem. Just keep it tactical on the field. Copy?"

"Yes sir." Price turns to Soap and Ghost.

"Copy?"

"Yes sir," they answer in unison. Price looks at you again and his expression softens, dropping his Captain persona for your sake.

"I owe you an apology," he starts.

"It's alright," you interrupt, giving him a shy smile. "You were just looking out for Kyle."

"You should've seen Ghost when he found out. Nearly bit my head off," Soap says, lightening the mood. But Price's eyes still linger.

"Game's still on," Ghost says, "if you all are done being dramatic." The five of you file back into the living room to finish out the game with you still nestled into Gaz's side, this time openly joined by Soap on your other side. Throughout the game, as the men banter about whose team is better, Price kept glancing over at you.

The game ends and as everybody winds down, Price watches the affection you gave the other three.

"I have to wonder, though," he starts, "what it is that's got all three of my men so wrapped up in you..." Your eyes dart from one man to the other as each of them catch onto Price's meaning.

"Well... it'd be a shame not to include that captain, right boys?" Gaz teases.

"The more the merrier-"

"Shut up MacTavish, fucks sake," Ghost huffs, still with a smirk.

"I still owe you a proper apology, sweetheart," Price says, beckoning you to sit on his lap.

And apologize, he does, in the form of his face between your thighs, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. Eventually, the five of you wind up in the bedroom, tasting and teasing and fucking one another.

"We're going to need a bigger bed..."

#this was supposed to just be a short blurb but then it ended up taking me all day to qrite this #whoopsie daisy #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #you know i had to make it a little angsty #because its me #of course

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sugurusombereyes · 6 days

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sleepy mornings with suguru

“c’mon we have to get up.”

sunlight peeked through your half closed curtains, the liquid gold painting your exposed skin in the warmth geto gave you whenever you were in his presence. you attempted to cover your eyes from it since you already were going blind from your horrible eyesight that suguru would always tease you about.

(he would then later tell you in bed how it was a joke and he wasn’t making fun of you. you would then smile and tell him that you knew, his small doubts sending a flutter to your heart that was practically beating outside your chest)

shoko and gojo would constantly talk about how you and geto were complete opposites all the time. how he was the sunlight that everyone would be trying to get in pictures and how you were the night sky that he would disappear into.

(it was supposed to be somewhat of an insult to geto as he would always be teased about how he was so much softer around you. but he took it as a compliment as he truly felt like he could be himself around you)

“wake up.”

you groan for the fifth time in the past minute, you both had slept in for the past three days as you the two of you didn’t have work. but it got to a point where you most literally wouldn’t leave the bed, as much as you weren’t a morning person you had to take some control over your zombie body.

and zombie boyfriend.

“m’tired angel go back to sleep.” he groaned, turning over to your side and attempting to rest his head on your chest as you pushed him off. you rolled your eyes and tried to rub the tiredness out of them, “we all sing.” you referenced to that one video of victoria justice that would make geto cringe as you would cry out laughter which would make tears fall out of his eyes at your reaction to his facial expression. “close your eyes.” geto slapped his hands over your eyelids and attempted to close them as you giggled.

“i’m not sleepy sugu, we need to-.”

his big arms immediately wrapped you up in a giant bear hug, trapping you towards his body while your face met his chest and his chin meeting the top of your head. “getooo.” you groaned as he let out a laugh, his husky voice dripping like honey into your veins and slowing down your blood rushing as well as the moment. “i rarely get these with you so let’s just relax a bit, yeah?” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

(the same feeling heat that would make him blush rising up to your cheeks)

“you always have me.” you say quietly, relaxing your body into his. intertwining your legs and practically sewing together your hearts even though they were at very different placements geto still felt like his heart was stitched with the colour of your eyes.

“mm i know baby, just wanna love on you right now.” suguru rubs your back soothingly, slowly and gently as you sigh in content; your eyes drooping down as he snaked a hand underneath your t shirt and drew shapes that you were too tired to guess on the curves of your hips. “love you.” you sleepily mutter, your breathing slowing down as you couldn’t fight off the drowsiness. “don’t say you love me more or i’ll haunt you in your dreams.” suguru nods while fighting off a laugh. you yawn as his heartbeat fades out as you fall into a deep slumber.

“i love you most angel.”

#geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto x you #jjk #jjk fluff #fluff #jjk x reader #jjk suguru #suguru fluff #getou suguru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen suguru #blurb #short fiction #getou suguru x reader

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cupid-styles · 20 days

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call it fate, call it karma (olderry x alt!y/n)

in which harry's getting an unfortunate tattoo covered up at the shop y/n works at, they're 12 years apart, and they have big, fat crushes on each other. also, harry hates frappuccinos.

word count: 10.1k

content warnings: age gap (12 years), harry's kind of an idiot at first, angst (all is solved in the end), smut (daddy kink, p in v penetration, fingering, dirty talk, choking, slight size kink, crying)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

When Harry was 29, he made a mistake.

Well, maybe not a mistake. Perhaps… a series of poorly thought out decisions.

It started out when he met May. They were seniors in college and for years, Harry swore it was love at first sight — and with the enthusiasm and dopey, loved up grin he had when he told the story of how they met, May believed him for a long time. It always started the same: He didn’t want to go out that night but his friends begged him, telling him it was his last year in college to party before they went into the real world at full force. Finally, they wore him down enough to the point where Harry agreed, except he felt no desire to drink or smoke once they got to whoever’s house was throwing the get-together. He sat on the couch all night, nursing a warm beer from a plastic red solo cup, waiting for his buddies to decide when they’d had enough so Harry could ensure they got home safe — and then, May Wilkins walked in.

Harry always claimed that it seemed like the weed and cigarette smoke parted the second she entered the room, though he promised to revise the story when they told their future children. As soon as he laid eyes on the clean-cut brunette girl, he insisted that May would be his.

And, by the end of the night, May was his.

In fact, May continued to be his until he was 32 years old.

For the first few years, it was heaven. People doubted them — they said it was stupid to get into such a serious relationship when graduation was looming, just a few months away, but it only fueled them further. After they received their degrees, they moved in together. The following year, Harry proposed. By 25, they were married.

Within a year of marriage, the fighting started.

It seemed that they had a problem with everything the other did — if Harry stayed late at work, May was angry and accusing him of cheating on her. If May went out for a girls night with some friends, Harry was calling her at 1 a.m., demanding to know where she was. They didn’t trust one another, and the insecurities ate at them; first slowly, and then all-consumingly. Eventually, May couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Harry. He started getting tattoos and she hated every single one. Every time he came home with a new one, she rolled her eyes and asked why he couldn’t put that money towards their savings, so they could buy a house in the suburbs like they’d planned to five years prior.

Harry wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, though. After that, they tried couples counseling. When that ended in a screaming match, they decided to try sleeping in separate beds to put some space between one another. That worked for about three days before May got wine drunk one evening and crawled into his new bed that he purchased for the guest room. By the end of the week, they were back to sharing a mattress again.

And, believe it or not, it’s only then that he made his big mistake.

He thought maybe May despised his tattoos so much because he had so many for other people — his sister, his mum, his godchildren. Maybe if he got her name inked on his skin, she would see how much he really did love her, despite all the arguing and fighting.

Except, when he walked through the door to show her that evening, she was so angry that she stayed at her friend’s house that night.

A week later, May filed for a divorce.

He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure how they got there, but he knew it was time. There was nothing they could do to save their marriage.

The divorce was settled relatively quickly. Neither of them had much more fight left in them. They split all their assets down the middle and since they didn’t own a house together, Harry offered to move out of their shared apartment and let May live there until the lease was up. She didn’t, though. She broke their lease four months early with a mumbled explanation of not wanting to live there anymore.

When it was officially over, Harry’s friends took him out to celebrate. An evening of debauchery filled with enough alcohol and drugs to keep Harry satiated for the next decade.

But that’s when he realized that the hard part was just beginning.

Divorced life in your early 30s wasn’t easy. He threw himself into his job, but he felt lonely and empty without May by his side. It wasn’t even because he loved her anymore — he’d just spent so many formative years with her that he didn’t know who he was without her.

For five years, Harry focused on himself. He worked hard, he bought a house, he spent time with his family. He made himself the best son, brother, friend, uncle, and godfather he could be. And at 37, he was mildly content with that — he owned a beautiful home and was at the top of his company. Dating was so far down on his list of priorities that he didn’t even know how people met anymore. His friends encouraged him to join “the apps”, offering to help create a profile for him, but the only girls he dated had been from his years in school. He could admit that he was a little lonely, but the thought of starting over with someone completely new was intimidating and scary. Plus, there was one very big reminder of his past still inked on his arm.

So, that’s when he came up with his plan: He would cover up his tattoo of May’s name. He’d never gotten a coverup tattoo before but based on his research, they weren’t easy to do. It could take multiple sessions, which he was more than okay with — because, when her name was finally banished from his skin, he would officially throw himself back into the dating pool and try to find someone new.

A month later, he was walking into Jaded Tattoos for his first session.

. . .

Tuesdays are Y/N’s least favorite days.

When she comes into work on Monday, she at least has some sort of energy. She typically feels semi-refreshed from the weekend and always makes sure to stop for an iced latte on her way into the shop. Plus, Mondays are one of the calmer days at Jaded Tattoos — after all, there weren’t a ton of people coming in to get tattooed on the first day of the workweek.

But Tuesdays are just… icky. Y/N works as the makeshift secretary at the shop, so she manages everyone’s schedules and handles client booking — it would all be terribly boring if she didn’t work at Jaded, but she can get a new tattoo or piercing anytime one of the artists has some down time. Plus, no one ever judges her for the existing art on her skin, which she can’t say about other jobs she’s had in the past.

However, on Tuesdays, for some reason, the shop is always bustling. Clients are always canceling or showing up late (or, worst of all, missing their appointments altogether without saying a word), which in turn makes the artists annoyed. Y/N understands that — it’s annoying and rude, but then the energy in the shop gets all wonky and everyone feels tense and stressed out. Even her mid-afternoon break, when she takes a walk around the block to get herself a coffee and a pastry, isn’t enough to pull her out of the weird mindset.

She’s just settled into the last part of her day, using the iPad to look through the schedule when a fairly looking clean cut man walks through the door. At first, she assumes he’s lost, but only an idiot would come in without knowing it’s a tattoo shop. He has neatly groomed brunette hair and wears a navy blazer over a white tee-shirt, complete with matching trousers. It makes Y/N involuntarily quirk her eyebrows, a pesky wrinkle appearing between them as she accidentally stares at him. He offers a tight, awkward smile when he walks up to her desk, placing his elbows on the surface.

“Hi. I have an appointment at 3 with Jan.”

Y/N tries her best not to let her jaw drop. She knows she should really be less judgemental, but based on the slight crows feet wrinkles that creep at the edges of his eyes, this guy has to be nearing his 40s. Was he having some kind of midlife crisis? She supposes it’s possible, but why wouldn’t he just opt for buying a new car or house or something? He looks rich enough.

“Hello?”

Y/N realizes that she hasn’t said a single thing since he approached and parts her lips, mumbling out an embarrassed apology as she scrolls on the iPad to look at Jan’s schedule. Sure enough, she’s blocked off from 3 to 4:45 p.m.

“Um, is this your first tattoo?” Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes quickly roam over his body, but most of his skin is covered. There’s a spiel she says with people who are tattoo virgins — making sure they’ve eaten and they’re hydrated and if they’re not, she gives them snacks and water. It was one of the policies she implemented when she started a few years back, and it makes her happy to know that she helps newbies feel more comfortable before getting jabbed with a needle for an hour.

“No,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Jan’s helping me with a coverup.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, Jan is great with those.” she replies as she slides the iPad across to him. “I’m just gonna have you fill out this consent form and some other fun stuff. I’ll let her know you’re here, but my name is Y/N if you have any questions.”

He nods and flashes her a bright smile, and Y/N swears her heart skips a beat. She wonders what tattoo he’s getting covered up. She doesn’t often ask clients what they’re having done unless they decide to talk to her about it. It can be a rather personal experience for some — while she has some completely asinine, ridiculous tattoos herself, she also has a few with meaning, and she would certainly be taken back if someone randomly asked her about them.

Jan is busy getting some sketching done when Y/N gently knocks on her open door. She turns around in her wheely chair and smiles before asking her what’s up.

“Your 3 p.m. is here,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “He says you’re covering something up for him?”

“Yup, that’ll be Harry Styles.” Jan replies with an affirmative nod. “We chatted a decent amount through email. Took the guy like, a month before deciding to come in.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “What’s he getting done?”

Jan stands from her chair and stretches her back and arms out, revealing a sliver of her tattooed stomach. “Wants his ex-wife’s name covered up. You know how it goes. You can send him in whenever he’s ready, I just need to photocopy some stencils.”

Y/N nods and hopes Jan didn’t catch the way her eyes widened at the mention of an ex-wife. She supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised — she did figure he was on the older side, at least 10 years her age — but is still a bit shocked that someone who looks that wealthy and put together would tattoo his partner’s name on him. Y/N, despite having a plethora of permanent tattoos herself, didn’t believe in any of that. She felt like it was bad luck. Plus, she didn’t see herself ever loving anyone enough to do that. The thought itself made her shudder.

When she returns back to the front, Harry’s drumming his fingers along the surface of her desk and looking around the interior of the shop. He doesn’t look nervous, but she wonders if he is. She’d seen her fair share of grown men pass out or vomit from being under the needle.

“All done?” she asks, pointing to the tablet. He nods. “Cool. You ate before this right? Hydrated and everything?”

Again, Harry nods, but this time a crooked smirk appears on his face. “Yes. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she murmurs, plugging the iPad back in the charger, “Okay, you can follow me to Jan’s workstation.”

“Sure. Just one question — is there a place I can put this?”

Before Y/N has a chance to ask him what he’s talking about, he sheds the blazer he’s wearing to reveal two heavily tattooed, very muscular arms. She has to forcibly prevent her jaw from falling to the floor as her eyes roam over the myriad of black ink that swirls over his tanned skin. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme, but her tattoos lack coherence, too. She swallows like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character, and when she finally glances at Harry’s face, he has a stupid, cocky smirk on.

She narrows her eyes. “There’s some jacket hooks by the door.”

“Perfect,” he grins cheerfully. He turns, showcasing a few more scattered designs on the backs of his arms, and places his jacket on one of the hooks. “Now you can stop judging me like I’m some old man going through a midlife crisis.”

This time, Y/N’s jaw really does drop.

“I’m not!” she immediately scrambles, even though they both know it’s a complete lie. “I just— I didn’t see any tattoos and I wanted to make sure you were prepared—”

“Sure, sure,” he cuts her off, pointing to some of the workstations in the back. “Jan’s is back there?”

“Yes, but I really wasn’t judging you, I have a million stupid tattoos myself—”

“Right, but because you’re half my age, it’s fine, right?”

“That’s not what I thought at all—”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N’s left standing there, confusion and embarrassment seeping into her bones, as Harry walks over to Jan’s station.

. . .

Exactly one hour and 45 minutes later, Harry leaves the shop.

Y/N spent the entire time nervously straightening up, sweeping the floors and rearranging their supply closet, trying to decide on what she would say to him when he walked by. She wanted to apologize, especially because she hoped he didn’t say anything to Jan. A client had never complained about her — not once in her three years of working at Jaded, and it would ruin her to know that somebody had a poor experience because of her.

Instead, she chickened out and watched him grab his jacket off the hook. Like every tattoo client leaving, he had a clear piece of film wrap stuck to the inside of his left arm. She wished she could see Jan’s work.

A few minutes later, Jan is heading out, too.

“Don’t stay too late tonight, Y/N. The needles and ink can get sorted tomorrow.” she says, nudging her chin the direction of the closet she’s currently busying herself with. Y/N hums and peeks her head out.

“How was the coverup?” she tries her best to make her voice seem nonchalant, as if she’s sincerely curious in how it went as opposed to finding out if he made any mean comments about the nosy girl in the front.

“Fine,” Jan shrugs as she pulls her car keys from her tote bag, “We didn’t get too far. He’ll be coming in for the next three or four weeks. It’ll take some time to cover that shit up. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Y/N nods robotically and forces out a “get home safe!”.

Three to four weeks?

Harry Styles is going to be the death of her. She’s sure of it.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N has a plan.

When she arrives to work that day, she double checks the schedule to ensure she hasn’t been driving herself insane for a week over nothing (and maybe she has, considering her brain has been a hamster wheel of overthinking a man who uttered a few snarky sentences to her). Sure enough, Harry Styles is scheduled to come in for his second session of covering up his tattoo at 3 p.m. sharp.

Here’s what she decides to do: She’s going to dig her Doc Marten-clad heels into the (metaphorical) ground and politely but assertively tell this Harry Styles that it wasn’t very kind of him to assume she was judging him. After all, isn’t that more judgemental on his end? He had been acting like a classic, wealthy, powerful man, asserting his so-called power over a young woman who was simply trying to make his tattoo experience as seamless as possible. What a dick!

It goes without saying that when he shows up at Jaded at 2:45 p.m., her eyes automatically narrow his form. She’s slightly hopped up on caffeine (she’ll admit, she’s been waiting for this moment all day). She doesn’t even allow herself to to assess his outfit today, which consists of another white tank top, a dark gray blazer, and a pair of matching trousers. It’s similar to what he arrived in last week — all business and ridiculous and stupid, she thinks, especially in comparison to her cutoff denim shorts, vintage band tee-shirt, and platform shoes.

“Hi Harry,” she says, greeting him with a fake, rage-filled smile, “Do you have a moment to chat before your appointment?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, almost as if he’s surprised that she’s even speaking to him to begin with.

“Sure.”

Y/N nods and stands from the front desk, motioning for him to head outside. He does and she follows him, immediately crossing her arms over his chest the second they’re no longer within earshot distance of the shop.

Instantly, a stormy look comes over her face and she flares her nostrils. “Last week when you accused me of judging you for going through a midlife crisis? Yeah, that wasn’t cool. You can’t just do that to people. I get it, you’re a privileged guy who’s used to getting whatever you want in life, but I’m here to put my foot down and tell you that it wasn’t nice. It actually really hurt my feelings! And, you know what, why does it even matter what—”

“You’re right.”

Y/N’s head snaps up.

“What?”

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re completely right. The second I left, I felt awful. I wanted to say something when I was leaving, but I felt it was better to give you your distance.”

Confused, she fumbles over her words, forgetting where she was in her speech. She clears her throat and nods curtly.

“Yeah. You should feel awful.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “I do. I even brought you a cookie from my favorite bakery by my office building.”

“Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Harry nods and digs into the work bag on his shoulder. Sure enough, he produces a cookie that’s the size of Y/N’s face. She recognizes the sticker on the wrapping as a bakery that’s downtown — she’ll order pastries and snacks from there for the staff sometimes, but it’s usually too expensive and far away for her to treat them. She accepts it from him, but not before she peers up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What kind is it?” she questions, as if it’s a test.

“Raspberry white chocolate,” he answers. “I didn’t know what you like, obviously, so I went with my favorite. I hope that’s okay.”

She won’t tell him that that’s also her favorite, but she offers him a short nod of approval. She swallows tightly as she looks back up at the taller man. “Thank you for the apology cookie. Do you wanna share it with me?”

The edges of his lips curl up into a grin. “Sure. I have some time to spare before my session.”

Y/N digs into the bag and retrieves the cookie, breaking it in half. She hands a piece to Harry, who murmurs out a soft thank you. Together, they stand outside the shop in silence, each nibbling on their half of the cookie. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N sneaks a glance at his tattoo. Jan was right — they haven’t gotten very far in covering it up since she can still clearly read the three letters that spell out MAY.

Harry must have followed her gaze because he glimpses down at her. “Do you guys get a lot of people covering up dumb tattoos?”

She does her best not to choke on the bit of cookie in her mouth.

“Um, I mean, some people end up regretting… certain things they get,” she replies, stumbling over her words. “You’re, um, definitely not the first to… y’know. Get their partner’s name done.”

He chuckles, but it seems more humorless than anything. “Yeah. Stupid mistake for sure.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. “It can’t be that stupid if you learned something from it.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows the rest of her cookie and leans back against the cool, brick wall of the shop. It feels nice in comparison to the rising temperatures outside. Now that they’re slowly dipping into warmer climates, she finds herself appreciating small instances of cooling down, like an air conditioned coffee shop or the evening draft when the sun’s gone down.

“We all make mistakes or decisions that don’t end up working out. You’re certainly not the first person to get divorced or even get their significant other’s name tattooed,” she explains. “But did you get anything out of the process? Did you learn anything from it?”

Harry thinks for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that — not in the five years since he and May made their divorce official. It was a shitty experience from start to finish, that much was apparent. But when he ponders whether or not anything decent came out of it, he wonders if she has a point.

“I mean, I guess I did. I don’t think I would be where I am, standing here now, if it hadn’t happened.”

She hums. “It wasn’t a complete waste then.”

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

Y/N pulls her phone from the pocket of her shorts and glances at the time. 2:58 p.m.

“We should probably head back inside. Your appointment’s starting soon,” she says, straightening out her posture. “Thank you again for the cookie.”

“Sure,” Harry nods. “Thanks for the advice.”

She shoots him the smallest of bashful smiles in response.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N feels far less intimidated about seeing Harry.

In a weird way, she’s actually looking forward to his 3 p.m. appointment. He’s way more talkative than some of the other clients that come in, and she’d be lying if she said his little cookie stunt from last week hadn’t placed him in her good graces. She also felt as though it was a crime not to acknowledge how attractive he was — she’d noticed it from the first moment he stepped into the shop, but now that they were on better terms, she was more open to recognizing it. Beyond the plethora of tattoos that covered his skin, he didn’t look much like other people Y/N had gone after in the past — not that she was going after him in any way.

Her exes consisted of a rough roster of less than satisfactory partners: There was Declan, who she dated in college, but they broke up after he got kicked out for doing stick-and-poke tattoos in his dorm room. After that was Alice, but it turned out she was just using Y/N to figure out her sexuality and, after three months of dating, decided she didn’t like going down on girls. Lastly and most recently there was Jonathan, who had so many tattoos he lost count. He had big dreams of becoming either a professional skateboarder or a drummer in a punk band, but he didn’t own a bed frame so his mattress took permanent real estate on the dirty, hardwood floor of his loft, and he was constantly sending Y/N Venmo requests for money with captions like “pls babe haven’t eaten in 2 days.” (It’s safe to say that all of those relationships ended for good reasons.)

While she didn’t have any plans to approach Harry romantically, there was something about him that piqued her interest. Well, maybe it was multiple somethings. For one, he was 12 years older than her. She’d never thought about dating someone that much older, but she happened to sneak a glance at his consent form to see his date of birth just out of plain — and legal — curiosity. Harry seemed to have his life together. Every time he came to the shop, he was coming straight from work in what appeared to be a put-together, expensive suit. He always tipped Jan well (30% for each session — Y/N knows because she did the math) and he was kind to all the artists, even if he’d never spoken to them before. And, she had to admit that the communication and vulnerability he offered last week had been a stark change from the treatment she was used to.

Yeah, so maybe she had an eensy, tiny, miniscule crush on Harry. But she’s sure it’ll fade away once he’s finished with his coverup — he only has two sessions left, anyway. How much damage could be done in that small of a timeframe?

. . .

“Y/N, I need you to postpone Harry’s session today!”

Jan’s haphazardly running around and grabbing her things, mumbling out nonsense as she looks for her car keys. Confused, Y/N gets up from her seat at the front desk.

“Is everything okay?” she calls out as she walks over to the jacket closet, grabbing Jan’s keyring off the hook. Shutting the door behind her, she finds Jan scrambling through her office. When her eyes flit up to see the keys in Y/N’s hand, her eyebrows relax as she grabs them.

“Not really,” she mutters, yanking her phone out of her pocket, “You know that girl I’ve been seeing? Lizzy? She was at my place with my dogs today and apparently one of them must’ve eaten something bad because now they won’t stop throwing up. I’m meeting her at the vet downtown. Tell Harry I’m really sorry, okay?”

Jan is gone in a flash, running down the sidewalk to get in her car. Y/N can’t blame her — her dogs are her entire life, so her stomach sinks as she thinks about something bad happening to them. She makes a mental note to text her and check in with her later, but not before she messages Harry to let him know that his appointment is canceled.

When she heads back to her desk, she brings up Harry’s digital paperwork to retrieve his number. They don’t have a phone specifically for the shop, so she has to text him from her personal number, which makes her heart beat a little too quickly for her own good. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she types out a message: Hey Harry, this is Y/N from Jaded. I’m just texting to let you know that Jan had an emergency and can’t tattoo you this afternoon. She’s really sorry about the inconvenience.

She places her locked phone down on the dark mahogany of the desk and tries to ignore the pit of disappointment that settles in her stomach. Had she spent a few extra minutes primping her appearance this morning in preparation to see him? Maybe, and there’s a teensy, tiny part of her that despises herself for it. Harry doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s 12 years his junior and she’s nothing more than the nice receptionist at the tattoo shop he’s getting a piece done at.

With a self-deprecating sigh, she picks at her fingernails when her phone lights up. She reads Harry’s name across the screen and assumes he’s probably responded with something kind and unassuming; something that will make her heart beat embarrassingly fast in her chest.

That’s okay. Thanks for the heads up.

Are you still at the shop? Maybe we can get together instead.

Y/N’s eyes are the size of saucers as she quickly replies: okay! Where should we meet?

. . .

Harry chooses a coffee shop that’s within walking distance of Jaded. He’s never been there before but each week he noticed Y/N sipping on iced drinks with the name of the cafe sprawled across the cup, so he figured she must like it.

It’s been a long while since a girl has been Harry nervous, and he’s somewhat surprised that she comes wrapped up in a body with sprawling tattoos and piercings, always in cute skirts and platform Doc Martens. She’s sweet — he likes that her shoes are so heavy that he can hear her walking before he sees her and that she fiddles with her nose ring when she’s bored. He likes that her wardrobe is a rotation of baggy band tee-shirts and black jeans or plaid skirts, that her soft, smooth hands are covered in nonsensical designs that likely have stories similar to his — a friend with a tattoo gun, a boring Tuesday afternoon. She’s nothing that Harry has ever been attracted to and yet, she’s everything he wants.

He’s made careful efforts not to put her on a pedestal. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just horny and depraved — I mean, what kind of guy would walk into the shop and not drool over the pretty, young girl working the front? And while he’s not entirely proud of what he did next, he found it to be a necessary next step: He sorted through his rolodex of hookups, texted his most foolproof girl (a tall, leggy brunette who modeled on the side), and invited her over.

It turns out, Harry could only come when he pretended she was Y/N.

In hindsight, it made him feel gross and icky; lusting over a girl who’s certainly at least 10 years younger. It’s why he forces himself to try — if she rejects him, he can move on with his life and find someone more age-appropriate.

But she doesn’t. In fact, she replies within a minute and asks where she should meet him.

It’s how Harry ends up clutching a small Americano in his hand, sitting in a back booth at Buzzybee Cafe.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, nervous and jumpy, keeping his eyes glued on the front entrance. Every now and then, he’ll glimpse down at his phone on the table to check the time. He halfway expects her to text and let him know that she’s not coming — an understandable and believable excuse about getting busy at work or, Harry doesn’t know, maybe not wanting to meet up with someone who’s older. Why would she? She’s capable of getting nearly anyone she wants in this world, she’s pretty and funny and smart and stands up for herself and—

“Hey, Harry.”

His spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he glances up to see the object of his affection standing over him with a small, timid smile on her lips. He blinks, somewhat surprised that she’s there.

In front of him.

And he hasn’t said a thing yet.

“Hey,” Harry finally forces out, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously, “You made it.”

“Of course!” her eyes light up and he feels his heart thump noisily in his chest, “What’d you get to drink? Do you need anything?”

“Just an Americano,” he answers, trying not to feel lame about his boring drink choice. Y/N wrinkles her face in response.

“You would be one of those manly ‘I-only-drink-espresso-and-black-coffee’ kind of guys, wouldn’t you?”

She says it with a teasing smile and it offers him permission for a small scoff to leave his throat followed by a joking roll of the eyes.

“What, was I supposed to get one of those sugary drinks you always seem to get?” he fires back, making Y/N’s eyes widen.

“They’re not that bad!” she exclaims through plush, lipstick-stained lips, “Here, now I’m gonna order one and make you try it. You’ve dug your grave, Styles!”

She’s turning on her Doc Marten-clad foot to order before Harry has the chance to offer to pay for her order. That had been the plan, but like most things about Y/N, he realizes, those pre-decided upon strategies get tossed out the window the second she pops up. It makes Harry jiggle his leg beneath the table, both as an expression of unfamiliar excitement and nervousness.

She returns to their table with some sort of coffee-hued concoction with whipped cream piled high. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, and he doesn’t notice that Y/N smiles at the way his skin ripples underneath the cute expression.

“Okay, since you were kind of a dick to me the day we met, you have no choice but to try it.”

Harry’s eyes instantly form into rounded saucers, apologies quick to make it to the tip of his tongue. Before he can start, she puts her hand up.

“I don’t care about it now, you’ve already apologized for it. But the only way for us to move on is if you try my white mocha frappé.”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs. He scoots his elbows forward and peers up at her. “What the fuck is a frappé?”

She giggles before wrapping her lips around the straw, taking a hearty sip of the drink, “It’s like a blended coffee. It’s my go-to when I’m having a shit day.”

“You drink this when you’re having a bad day?” Harry asks as she pushes the cup in his direction. “You don’t think this will fuck your stomach up enough to absolutely ruin your day?”

“No, because it’s a fun treat. And a little treat will brighten up anyone’s day.”

Y/N answers his question like it’s plain and simple science. He wants to continue on about the sugar content, how this is likely a heart attack neatly compiled into a 16-ounce cup, but he can’t — not when he looks at her and she stares back with an expectant expression, waiting for him to take a sip.

“Fine,” he mumbles, flexing his fingers to wrap them around the cold plastic cup, “But promise you won’t bring up my… shortcomings anymore?”

Y/N grins. “Scout’s honor.”

It tastes exactly how Harry expected — sugary, way too sweet, and slightly nauseating. But when he sees that puppy-like look of excitement painted over her face, he can’t help but let out a quiet laugh and shake his head.

“See? That wasn’t too bad.” Y/N replies as she takes her drink back.

“No,” not when you look at me like that, “Not at all.”

. . .

Harry and Y/N sit tucked away in their booth at Buzzybee for far too long.

It’s easy to talk to her, Harry finds. She’s receptive and kind and lets him finish his stories without interrupting. She doesn’t judge him for his divorce, not even when he tells her that he played just as much of a part in ruining his marriage as May did. He tells her about his job as a museum curator, his affinity for playing tennis on the weekends, his six year-long trek with veganism, and his secret passion for hunting down vintage band tee-shirts from the 1970s and ‘80s.

Y/N isn’t ashamed to reveal just as much which, if she’s being honest, is quite uncharacteristic for her. It typically takes weeks, if not months for her to completely warm up to a person and start telling them about her hobbies, family dynamic, and the time her grandma cried when she realized she got her nose pierced. She tells him about how much she loves playing cozy video games on her Nintendo Switch, the myriad of plants and greenery that decorate her loft apartment, and how she actually started working at Jaded to become a tattoo apprentice, but ended up falling in love with working the front instead.

By the time the cafe is closing up and the nice employees are now glaring at them, silently pleading that they leave, Harry feels like he’s known Y/N for a million years. In some weird way, he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without her bright smile and saccharine laughter in his life. It’s all he can think about as they throw their empty cups away and slowly stroll down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the tattoo shop. He doesn’t mean to be lost in his thoughts as

Y/N chatters on about the latest game she’s been playing in her down time, but he can’t ignore the small shining pit of happiness that’s glowing deep in his belly right now. He’s missed this — this hopeful feeling with the promise of someone special on the other end.

It’s all he can think about as they approach Y/N’s car and, when she turns to face him to say goodbye, he’s already blurting the words out without a second thought.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

She blinks, parting her plush lips as her tongue peeks over the ridges of her two front teeth. “Oh… I thought— this wasn’t a date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Oh! I mean— it could if you wanted it to be. I just— I didn’t ask you beforehand and I’d want to do that. And pay for you and all that.”

“I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I just thought— I don’t know what I thought—”

“No, you were right, I was just being dumb—”

“No, no!” Y/N shakes her head and the smile that edges at her lips makes Harry’s chest pulse with relief. “We’re both being silly, I think. I would love to go on a date with you, though.”

“Yeah?” he asks, the slight disbelief apparent in his voice, “Are you free this weekend?”

She nods with a small smile.

“How about Saturday? You can come over and I’ll cook you dinner?”

She has to bite her lip to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He watches as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb to make sure she’s safe on her way home.

. . .

On Saturday evening, Y/N shows up to Harry’s house. She wears her favorite black midi dress and matches them with a pair of clunky boots. When she arrives, the smile that encompasses Harry’s face makes her chest glow.

He’d texted her earlier that day to make sure she didn’t have any dietary restrictions and made them a delicious pasta dinner. Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Y/N’s heart thrumming quickly in her chest at the close proximity. When it’s finally time for her to go home, Harry seals the deal by smearing his lips against hers. It’s warm and soft and his large palms splay over her hips as she wraps her arms around him, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

By the time she gets home that evening (texting Harry to let him know she got back safely, per his request), they both know they’re head over heels for one another.

. . .

Perhaps quite predictably, Harry and Y/N start seeing each other more regularly after that first afternoon at Buzzybee Cafe. It’s slow at first — Harry’s nervous about scaring her away, so he sets boundaries with himself, only pledging to text her a few times a week. She’s receptive, though, and he’s thrilled that her messages start coming in more often: Sometimes pictures of dogs that come in with clients to the shop, other times it’s memes that remind her of him. (She’ll sometimes have to explain them to him because he, embarrassingly enough, doesn’t always understand.) Weeks of casual texting complimented by his weekly appointments with Jan tumble into daily good morning texts accompanied by selfies and outfit shots. When his tattoo of his ex-wife’s name is finally covered up by a detailed illustration of a sailing ship, he’s anxious in his realization that he’ll have to come up with new ways to regularly see her, but she’s already two steps ahead of him with an invitation to their second (official, third unofficial) date for the upcoming weekend.

The rest is somewhat history.

Well, sort of.

It’s a month and a half in when Harry asks Y/N to accompany him to a work event at some smarmy art museum in the city. His office had had a huge hand in sourcing the pieces and there were a ton of donors involved, so the museum’s director was throwing some type of soiree to celebrate the opening. Inviting Y/N as his plus one was a no-brainer — call him old fashioned, but he had plans to ask her to be his girlfriend sometime soon. He wanted to make it special, though, maybe with a candlelit dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant or a well thought-out picnic in the park they loved to walk through on the weekends.

“This isn’t, like, on the level of the Met Gala or something, is it?” Y/N asks that evening as she swipes a q-tip beneath the sharp cat eye of her eyeliner. Harry snorts and shakes his head from his spot in the doorway, where he watches as she diligently finishes up her eye makeup. He’d picked her up from work and eaten an early dinner together before they planned to head out to the museum.

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s just a small event with a bunch of snooty art people,” Harry replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a fashionable set tonight, consisting of a powder blue undershirt and a navy blazer with matching trousers. As usual, his fingers don their usual jewelry. When Y/N saw what he was wearing, she’d wanted to match him, but she didn’t have any dresses in her closet that weren’t black. He insisted that it was fine, but there was a teensy sliver of her that felt bad about it.

“How snooty?”

He thinks for a moment. “I mean, no one will be mean to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never let that happen anyway.”

She ignores the way her cheeks warm as she sweeps some bronzer over the structure of her face.

“It’ll be fine, baby,” he murmurs, coming up from behind her. He knows better than to disturb her while she’s doing her makeup, so he waits for her movements to still before he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart stutters at the pet name. “Almost done, yeah? We gotta leave soon.”

“Mhmm,” she nods, picking up her freshly sharpened lip liner, “Just gotta do my lips and put my dress on and we’re good.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting lipstick on when I’m not gonna be able to keep my mouth off yours all night.” he instantly fires back as he issues a squeeze to her waistline. Y/N squeals and bats him away, eager for some peace from Harry’s playful teasing. He chuckles, presses a kiss to her temple, and murmurs out something about calling the Uber as he leaves the bathroom.

Y/N has to force the smile off her face so she can finish applying her lip liner.

. . .

Apparently, when Harry meant “snooty”, he really meant to say, “the most annoying, judgemental, snobby people on planet Earth”.

From the second Harry and Y/N had stepped into the museum that evening, she was on the receiving end of horrified stares. From the colorful ink that decorated her arms to her arm being threaded through Harry’s, it seemed like everyone had something to gawk at. Truthfully, she was used to people looking at her — not in an arrogant, “pick me” kind of way, but in the way where she understood she had tons of tattoos that some people liked and others hated.

But the snide eyes weren’t just because of her ink, and she knows that. It’s because she’s here with Harry.

Harry, who knows nearly everyone at this event.

Harry, who’s apparently one of the most high up curators at his job and Y/N had no idea.

Harry, who’s capable of rubbing elbows with even the rudest of people while Y/N just stands there, unsure of what to say, because when the first person asked her what she does for work and she said “I work at a tattoo shop”, they replied with a simple, disgusted, “oh.”

She feels like an idiot.

She feels small.

She feels judged.

And the person she came here with is doing nothing, aside from the occasional grimace when the conversation finally ends.

Y/N’s last straw comes in the form of one of the museum’s assistant directors, who comes over to thank Harry once again for all of his hard work. When her eyes dart to Y/N, who has one hand curled around yet another glass of fizzy champagne, they widen and pingpong back to Harry.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” she exclaims as her lips stretch into a huge grin. Immediately, Y/N’s arm drops from Harry’s and she swallows as bile begins to build in her throat.

“Oh— Gwen, no, this isn’t— t-this isn’t my daughter,” Harry stutters nervously, blinking as he watches the horrified look in Y/N’s eyes. “Um, this is Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, my mistake. Apologies to you both. I just assumed Harry would spend his time with someone a bit more… savory.” her gaze flits back to Harry. “You must understand.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to hear Harry’s response. She knows he’s too kind and professional to chew her up and spit her out the way she wants him to. Instead, she simply slams her glass down on the nearest waiter’s tray, turns around, and rushes out of the building.

The words continue to replay in her head as tears flood her vision. All she wants to do is go home. She never should have entertained this relationship — who does she think she is? Someone a bit more… savory.

You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!

You must understand.

Fat, salty slip down her cheeks as she walks outside, her platform heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. She doesn’t know where she’s going, instead just picking a direction and walking in it as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away.

You must understand.

Because everyone, including Y/N now, gets it — she doesn’t fit in to Harry’s world. She never has and she never will, and it was pathetic for either of them to think she ever would.

Gripping her silky dress in her hands, she continues walking as far as she can get from the museum. As her vision begins to clear, she makes half-baked decisions: She’ll order an Uber when the distance from Harry is decent enough to feel comfortable. She’ll block his number. She won’t even care to pick up any of the clothing she’s left at his house, and she’ll simply throw away the few tee-shirts and sweatshirts he’s left at hers.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking but she’s ripped from her thoughts when she hears loud calls of her name. She recognizes the voice — how couldn’t she, not when he’s the only person that’s seeped through her psyche and into cotton candy tufts of her dreamland — and tries to quicken her pace. She mentally curses the heels on her feet, sniffling as she begins to limp from the pain of the high platforms.

“Y/N, please! Stop!”

The sound of his shouts only makes her eyes blur with tears once again and suddenly, the tall figure is beside her, panting and breathing loudly. He wraps a careful arm around her shoulders as he matches her slow pace and shushes her, caroling them over to the side in front of a business that’s already closed for the night. Through weepy eyes, she can hardly make out his face, but she can tell it’s Harry just from his touch and scent alone.

“Baby, please,” he says, slowly smoothing his hand down her back. It’s comforting and she wishes it wasn’t. “You have to breathe, honey. C’mon, inhale and exhale.”

Y/N’s brain is a wash of noisy static so she welcomes the direction, quickly abandoning her plans to remove herself from Harry’s life. It helps that he’s reminding her of how to do the most basic of human functions, guiding her in slow, deep breaths that start to regulate her speeding heart.

“There you go, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

When she finally manages a glimpse up at him, his eyes are bleary and red-rimmed. She finds it difficult to believe that he would’ve been crying over her, too, so she quickly blinks and looks away.

“What happened back there?” Harry asks, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “I know that was weird, but why did you run? Why couldn’t you have talked to me?”

Y/N can’t fight the scoff that forces itself free from her chest. “All night, people were staring at me like I was some kind of alien. As if my tattoos weren’t enough of a reason to gawk, they were looking at me like I didn’t even deserve to be standing next to you. I felt pathetic, Harry. I just— I don’t fit in with this lifestyle and I think it’s better if we just… just leave it.”

“What lifestyle?” Harry demands as his eyebrows thicken with anger, “I’m not like them, you know that—”

“I don’t want to go places and have people think I’m your daughter, Harry!” she yells with wide eyes, “I don’t want to be looked down upon if we go to a work thing for you! People acted like I was your fucking sugar baby. Do you know how demeaning that is?”

“And do you realize how disgusting that makes me feel?” he seethes. “Bringing someone 12 years younger than me? Being in love with someone who wasn’t even around for the first part of my life?”

“You don’t mean that,” Y/N breathes, shaking her head in angry dismissal. “You’re just saying that.”

Harry takes a hesitant step closer and reaches out to cradle her elbow. “Yes, I do. I would never lie to you, Y/N. But I love you— I love you so much that it’s killing me that you would ever think you don’t have a place in my life.”

“I don’t, Harry—”

“You do,” he cuts her off and reaches to take her hands in his palms, squishing her cheeks together. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. I don’t care what they think of us. I love you, Y/N. I want you in my life.”

Y/N swallows harshly. She can’t escape his locked-in gaze, but she doesn’t want to. It’s all she needed, even if she didn’t realize it until now — the verbalization that he wants her there. And that’s enough.

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding her head in his grasp. His eyes widen. “Okay. I want to be in your life, too.”

“You promise?”

A small smile curls at the edges of her lips. “I promise,” she says, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “Take me home now, please.”

. . .

The second Harry and Y/N walk through the doorway of his place, it’s a blurry scene of spit swollen lips, wet kisses, and sprawling touches.

Harry imagined their first time being far more romantic than this, but he doesn’t care. Neither of them do. Now, more than ever, they need each other.

The air is thick with tension when Harry momentarily breaks their kiss only to shed Y/N of the straps on her shoulders. He gently tugs them down to her shoulders before slowly traveling down her body, sliding his large palms over the silky fabric of her dress to meet her platform heels, where he diligently unbuckles them and slips them off her feet.

“Thank you,” she breathes, watching as he gets back up from his knees. He hums and cups her chin with his fingers, bringing her closer to lightly kiss her lips.

“I want to show you that you’re not making a mistake,” he whispers as he gently leans his forehead up against hers. “That giving me a chance is something you won’t regret.”

Immediately she shakes her head. Despite the close view of her face, Harry can tell her eyebrows knit together; a familiar furrow whenever she’s particularly determined.

“I know it’s not. You don’t have to show me anything.”

He notices that her fingers shake as she brings them up to his neck, winding them around to the back of his head. He swallows, allowing her the space to experiment, both verbally and physically.

And then: “I love you, Harry.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything. His heart races and his chest feels warm as he blinks, repeating the words in his brain.

Finally, raspberry lips part.

“You don’t have to say that just because I said it,” he murmurs, thumbing over the apple of her cheek. “We can go slow. There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” she nods, “I know. But I do. I love you so much.”

A pause.

“I love you,” Harry says, sliding his hands down the curves of her sides and to her waist. “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop saying it.” she whispers. His fingers dip below the material of her dress and she swallows when he finds the bare skin of her hips. Exhaling shakily, she allows him to pull her lacey underwear down over the bend of her bum, letting them pool uselessly at her feet.

“I love you.” he says again, his hands suddenly at her wrists. He uses his gentle grasp to lift her arms up so he can push the dress up and over her body, leaving her in just the strapless bra she’d fit herself into for the evening. Just as quickly, his skilled fingers pop the clasp open, and they’re in a futile pool of Y/N’s clothes while Harry stands before her, still in his navy blue ensemble.

It’s a vulnerable place to be but she doesn’t hate it — not when he stares at her with soft eyes, dragging his gaze up and down the expanse of her form. She wants to cover herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward and thumbs open the button of his blazer before sliding the fabric off his torso. Just as he did to her, he watches as she slowly sheds him of his shirt, then his trousers, and finally, his briefs.

His cock is thick and long and Y/N’s hand immediately loops around it the second it slaps up against his lower belly. He hisses and grabs her hips, pressing blunt fingernails into the soft skin as he pushes her back against the couch. All too flawlessly, he’s now given himself the upper hand, hovering over her naked body, his biceps bulging as he keeps himself up.

“Please,” she says breathily, “I want you. No teasing.”

Harry huffs out a guttural chuckle as he begins to plant kisses along her collarbones and down to her chest, landing just above her belly button.

“I’m big,” he murmurs into her skin. “‘M not trying to tease. Just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” Y/N insists, her voice growing whiney with need. “Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

"You're cute when you beg." Harry mumbles out in response as his lips curve into a smirk. Her jaw drops a smidge, prepared to respond, but he quickly stretches over her body to press his lips to hers again. Just as it was the moment they came home, the kiss is frantic and driven with energy, filled with tension and electricity. Harry catches each of her noisy whimpers with his lips, a groan of his own on the verge of tumbling out. He feels her squeeze her thighs together and assumes it’s an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in her core, making his cock continue to swell between their bodies. If he wanted to, he knows he could get them off just like this — him grinding against the soft skin of her stomach while he dips a few fingers into her sopping pussy. But they both need more than that.

Again, he breaks this kiss, this time resulting in a rather frustrated Y/N. Her lips are slicked with spit and swollen from the frenzied kissing, his likely appearing the same.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," she breathes, nodding her head like a bobblehead, "Yes, I want you. Please."

"You want me?" he teases, and she has to resist rolling her eyes at the sudden uptick of arrogance. "That's awfully forward of you. What happened to my sweet good girl?"

"I'm still here," she whines, "Harry, please, you're— you're being mean, you know what I want."

He ducks under her jaw to press soft kisses along her neck, gently sucking at spots of skin. Light splotches appear from the welcomed assault, ensuring that they remember this long after it’s over. She instantly weaves her painted fingernails into his curly hair.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demands, placing his hands on either side of her head. He keeps his palms flush against the throw pillow, caging her in. Her face begins to flush and her lips flutter over the words, so he leans down to brush his nose against hers; a reminder that she’s safe. "Go ahead, bun."

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles, her bottom lip nearly quivering with need. She looks like she could cry all over again — only this time, for good reasons.

He reaches his hand up to her mouth, jutting his thumb out to pull at her lip. Immediately responsive, she parts her lips, making him smile as he pushes his finger inside. She sucks at it lightly.

"You're so good. So cute, so good," he says softly, watching her. "I want you just as bad, sweet girl. Y'sure you're ready for my cock? I haven't even seen your pretty pussy yet—"

"Shut up," she mutters out, his thumb laying heavy on her tongue. "I can take it. Promise.” He lets out a laugh at her sudden boldness. He removes his finger from her mouth, mumbling out a greedy girl as he leans down to wrap his lips around a nipple, moving his hand down to her mound.

At risk of her snapping at him again, he presses a thumb to her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He begins to circle his thumb tightly, her muscles suddenly tightening underneath his grasp. Selfishly, he takes joy in watching her slowly crumble underneath him, her soft whimpers growing into moans when he dips his finger further down, circling her hole once, twice, before dipping in.

"H," she whined, her eyes screwed shut."What, bunny?"

"I— please, need your cock, no more teasing."

He stills his fingers inside of her, gently pulling them out. On any other day, maybe he would have persisted with the slow burn of pleasure, but he’s feeling just as desperate as her. He wraps his fist around the head of his cock, using strings of her arousal to slowly pump, relieving some of the built up pressure.

"Y'still good, baby?" he asks, resisting the groan at the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, daddy."

His head snaps up to see an arrogant smirk painted on her features. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

This time, he finally does let out a moan.

Shuffling his knees forward, he rubs his cock against her core, painting the tip from her clit to her hole, up and down, until she wiggles her hips down. He smirks as she lets out a pathetic whine. Slowly, he pushes forward, the tip of my cock instantly encased by her tight walls. He hisses at the feeling and reaches down to grab her hip, his hand gripping her skin tightly.

"More," she chokes, nodding her head eagerly, "Please, more, daddy."

Once he knows that she’s not in any pain from the intrusion, he keeps going until his hips are flush against her warm skin, his cock buried deep inside of her. Her plush lips form a soft 'o' as she reaches forward to rake her nails down my chest, a silent plea to move.

"You feel so fucking good, bunny," he mutters out as he begins to snap my hips, slowly building a steady pace. He’s careful not to push her too quickly, but the fear of coming too fast is consistent in his brain. Despite sleeping with his fair share of people, he’s never felt so complete inside of someone. The way her pussy is so snug and tight around his cock makes him feel like an addict.

She’s a moaning mess beneath him, her fingernails pressing harshly into his back. Her eyes are wide and teary now, making him smirk as he lifts a finger to wipe the liquid away.

"Don' need to cry, babe, you're doing so good for me." he says, leaning down to pepper kisses over the surface of her face.

"Yeah?" She gasped, her hand snaking down the length of her body. Her fingertips quickly find her clit and he looks down to watch her make tight little circles into the skin.

"So fuckin' good," he mumbles, entranced by the sight of her touching herself, "y'gonna cum all over daddy's cock, angel girl?" She nods eagerly and he speeds up his thrusts, desperate to make her finish before he manages to explode. He can feel his muscles clenching, her pussy somehow getting even tighter with every movement.

"What do you need?" he grits out with a clenched jaw.

She’s moments away from finishing now; he can feel and see it, but he’s determined to push her over the edge. Swallowing harshly, her jaw drops as she mumbles out, "c-choke me, please."

Groaning, he wraps his hand around the column of her throat, pressing gently against her windpipe. He watches as her eyes roll back and feels the way her muscles instantly contract around his cock, triggering his own orgasm to approach. At the sounds of her moans, he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock twice before finishing all over her stomach and chest, a splatter of come painting itself on her soft skin. They’re both breathless and Harry resists the urge to completely collapse against the girl beneath him. He would have, if not for Y/N’s closed eyes as she catches her breath. In the silence of the moment, he takes in the appearance of her naked body covered in his come. Grimacing slightly at his softening prick, he grabs his boxers and shuffles them over his hips. He stands from the couch and straightens his posture when he hears a sleepy mumble from below. "Where are y'going?" "Gonna clean you up," Harry says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "be right back, 'kay, bunny?” Y/N asleep before he returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He sits at the edge of the couch and gently runs it over her body, wiping away the remnants of their intimacy. Her eyes blink open when she realizes he’s returned, granting him a small, lazy smile. He returns it. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs, tossing the dirty cloth on the floor. He’ll throw it in the washing machine later, but right now, taking care of this sleepy, fucked out lump is the top priority. “Do you wanna go upstairs and change? Go to sleep in my bed?” She shakes her head. “Let’s sleep down here. Too tired to move.” And yeah, maybe Harry hasn’t slept on a couch since he was in his 20s because he has back problems. Yes, his hips will surely ache from sharing the space with the girl he’s been crushing on for months. Surely, they’ll shift positions multiple times throughout the night as they attempt to find something that’s semi-comfortable for the both of them. But he’ll do anything to see Y/N smile. “Sure, baby,” he replies, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the end of the couch. He wiggles himself into her side so he’s holding her from behind, tossing the cozy material over their bodies. “G’night. Lemme know if you need anything.”

She hums, and then it’s silent.

Harry allows his eyes to fall closed, sinking into the comfort of the warm girl beside him. It’s only then that he hears her inhale, followed by seven soft words: “I love you, Harry. I mean it.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder and hides the grin that stretches over his face.

“I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

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loveindefinitely · 4 months

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johnny 'what's mine is theirs' mactavish with an oblivious reader. task force 141 x reader.

-> polyamory, afab!fem!reader,

when you first meet your boyfriend's friends, you see them as a good group of men. hard workers, maybe slightly jaded, but respectfully and generally funny. you can see why johnny seems to rant about them so much, and why he holds the other three in such high regard.

gaz is the first to talk to you. he compliments your apartment, the design -- comments on your hair, too. makes you smile wide and engage in light conversation, feeling nothing if not comfortable.

ghost -- the one johnny has talked about the most -- looks you up and down and gives you a short nod. that's all the recognition you get, before the towering man turns to talk to your boyfriend with little regard. you feel oddly jealous at the dismissal, and how animated johnny seems to be with the lieutenant.

price brings you in for a hug, brushing his lips over your cheek. it's a familiar gesture, one that sparks heat in your cheeks as his hand falls to your waist. when you look to johnny -- still in conversation with ghost -- his eyes shine with something you can't quite comprehend.

it isn't until you're all seated around your dining table, that johnny smoothly asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear,

"feel like sharin', gorgeous?"

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rubiehart · 4 months

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jj thinking you look the prettiest when your stomach’s all big and swollen with his baby, laying out on the bow of the boat on a towel he’d lay down for you, sunglasses perched on your nose and bikini hugging your body perfectly, specifically showcasing your tits that seemed to be getting bigger every month into your pregnancy, which jj wasn’t complaining about.

he’s at your side whenever you call his name, “everythin’ okay mama?” ,giving you sips of lemonade or water whenever you ask, comin’ over every half an hour or so to make sure you’re all lathered up in sunscreen “gotta make sure my babies aren’t cookin’.” indicating to you and the child you were growing making you giggle and throw an arm over your eyes as he rubs the sunscreen into your plush thighs and up all over your stomach, just bein’ all gentle with you.

big smile on his face cuz he knows he’s gonna love this baby more than he’s loved anyone or anything before (not including you of course!!)

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strangersmunsons · 5 months

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you’re sleepy. Eddie can’t help but love on you. eddie munson x fem!reader, ~600 words

It’s been a long, long day, and you’re really feeling it. Your feet hurt, your back aches, your eyelids feel much heavier than you think they have a right to.

You’re curled up on top of the plush bed covers, nearly asleep. In the distance, there’s the click of the front door unlocking, and then footsteps in the hallway, and then the thud of heavy boots being kicked off and forgotten.

“Sweetheart?”

Eddie pads through the apartment, poking his head curiously into the bedroom. You generally try not to nap after work, so you won’t have trouble falling asleep later in the night. But there you are: just half-awake, too exhausted to even crawl beneath the blanket.

He softens. “Hey, pretty,” he says as he crosses the room, coming to a stop next to the bed. He stands over you, and reaches down to stroke a gentle finger across your cheek. “You okay?”

You yawn and nod. “M’tired.”

Eddie chuckles. “I can see that. Busy day?”

“Mmhmm.” You’re unwilling — or simply unable — to verbalize much more.

His hand slips around to the back of your head, cradling it sweetly in his palm. The tips of his ringed fingers work through your hair and rub gently at your scalp. You twist on the bed and try to push your head deeper into his hand, wanting more of his touch.

A rush of affection surges through his chest; pure love with a dash of amusement. He loves it when you get like this. Cuddly and needy and warm, eager to be loved on by him — him, Eddie Munson, of all people.

He crouches down beside the bed so you’re at eye-level and leans in to smother you with kisses. He leaves no feature untouched, pressing his lips to every square inch of your face: your forehead, your closed eyes, the tip of your nose. He smacks kisses to each cheek and to your chin, dots them all the way around your jawline, until he hits that sweet spot right underneath your ear.

“Mmm,” you sigh in quiet delight, hands grasping at his sturdy shoulders.

“Is that nice?” The words are muffled, his mouth still working against your skin.

You nod.

Eddie gathers you up in his arms, careful not to jostle you too roughly. He’s not really trying to get you riled up (although he’s not completely opposed to the idea); he just wants a moment with his girl.

You mumble against his lips. “Eddie?”

He gives you another peck. “Yeah?”

You play with a curly tendril of hair, twirling it around your finger. “I thought about you all day today,” you whisper.

At those words Eddie swears he can feel everything inside of him move.

If anyone ever asked him to describe what love feels like, he doesn’t think he could explain it any further than that.

“You did?” he whispers back.

“Uh-huh.”

“All day?” His face splits into a slow smile, one that’s syrupy-sweet, and his eyes glitter, brows raised. “Really?”

He’s teasing you, but only a little.

You laugh breathlessly. “All day,” you repeat.

He hums in response and pulls you in even closer, so he can give you a proper kiss, one that’s slow and precise.

Your body slumps against his, letting Eddie’s strong arms support your weight.

“Alright, sleepy girl.” He noses at your hairline. “Why don’t I at least make us dinner first, before you go passing out on me?”

“Mmkay.” You let yourself fall back down onto the pillows with a hazy smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When he reaches the doorway, he turns back and blows you another kiss.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #sorry this is short and kind of bad and sappy as hell <3

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roguelov · 1 year

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A little spicy scenario for Miguel O’Hara

In his office, you were riding his thigh as he worked - or he tried to act like it. A poor attempt given he had been staring at the same screen since you started.

“Come on, Miguel,” you groaned. You had been feeling needy all day, and after your mission, you needed a way to relax. “A quickie before anyone knows.”

“I said later,” he huffed, typing away at screens and looking over reports.

Later.

You huffed, crossing your arms. Now, what? You luckily did not have to dwell long before an idea struck. One to satisfy yourself, and get underneath his skin. A win win.

You quickly straddled his lap, completely unbothered by his minor protests. “If you won’t then I will.”

Those were the last thing either of you said before you started. His jaw tensed, teeth grinded, as he listened to you, to your heavy panting. He relented somewhat. One of his hands gripped your hip - his talons gently poked at you - as he very softly guided you. Your forehead rested into his shoulder, as you whined so closely to his ear.

God, how could he focus now?

Your soft moans and cries, your panting, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your obvious attempt to finish as you sped up but can’t quite get there, it all riled him up. It all went straight through him. The bulge in suit becoming more and more apparent with every agonizing second.

Fine.

He clenched his thigh.

You immediately whined, “Miguel.”

He instantly turned his head, burying his face into your neck. His hot breath made you shiver. His lips brushed over your skin, and began to place sloppy kisses up and down. Both hands now grabbed your hips as you continued to rock. He quickly yanked you harshly picking up your own pace. “I know, I know,” he whispered. “Let me help.”

#miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #Miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #smut #afab!reader #short blurb for fun

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astralnymphh · 5 months

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i've said this before, but ellie loves being straddled. esp jackson!ellie, when you prompt the position yourself, shifting weight onto your knees n' tossing a leg over right as two r cuddling, like the legit moment you do it her lids hastily peel back and you see her arm reach out for your hips like a reflex— bends at the knees behind you where her thighs press into ur' butt n' fuuckk she gives a faint squeeze to your hip bones, notably her thumb on the opposite side of the bone so you truly feel that dimpled push, and her other fingers inching the round of your butt— on the sly she eases you further on her hips/belly, skimp roll of her groin creasing the fabric under your bottom blehhhh AND THE BUTTON OF HER FLY POKING YOU DELICATELY AUGHH.

tries to keep the conversation ordinary— but her voice, her fucking voiceeee would be so nasally and lush with dry scoffs, "pshh— please, you probably don't know the first thing about 'the turning'." when all she wants to do is flip your body plumb to the mattress and bury you in it with soft, wanton nibbles weaving through the bare/revealing bits of your shirt, to have you giggling and bucking when she ruts her frame through the gap of your spread thighs n' envelop herself in the plush skin, to leave an impression with the tight jam of her fingers fondling said plush fat on your flesh, pretty little raw marks, lovely hidden traces of how fucking bad she needs to take you. ♡

sorry like. ellie x reader starting a relationship in jackson is literally my empire i need to write a whole fucking drabble book on it (or fucking finish tps LMAO) also this angelgbc pic AHHHHHH (dunno the direct source but pls lmk so i can credit)

also update on knight!ellie fic it's going smooth but because it's the prologue it's sooo lore heavy before the romance and tension actually begins to bloom BUTT LIKE heyy!! slowly leads up to some romantic n dirty smut scenes in other chapters!!

#ellie williams #⊱🦷.•aestra talks #this post was supposed to be short fml #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams concept #jackson!ellie

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janaem · 6 months

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you feel his every ab muscle tense under your touch as you softly trail your hands down his bare torso. his hands never leaving your rolling hips as you take all of him inside of you.

every move of your hips sent shock waves through your body as he hit and throbbed in all the right places, gripping your hips tighter creating nail marks as he shamelessly takes in the beautiful girl riding him. both of you faces flushed, skin glistening from sweat, and hair disheveled, pieces falling carelessly over your faces.

you throw your had back in ecstasy, “oh fuck” slurring from your half open lips, unaware that his eyes never left you. he’s in a trance, he’s never seen anyone as striking as you, and no one will ever come close. every authentic movement you make drives him more to the edge, from the way your hair bounces as your ride him flawlessly, to the gradual speed in your grinding. and your lips, good god those, lips he can’t ever bring himself to resist.

he lets out a deep moan as one of his hands leave your side and he takes hold of your jaw, pulling your face so that your lips collided with his. his other hand that was on your hip slyly snakes up to the curve of your waist. you let out a breathy moan as you feel the hand that was on your jaw trace down to your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb. you mindlessly tangle your fingers in his hair giving yourself to him fully.

more and more you both melt into each other’s bodies, molding perfectly into the evening climax after another, each round becoming more addictive than the last.

#crush x reader #crush series #crush imagines #crush scenarios #crush blurbs #short scenario #smut #crush smut

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1-900-venusluvs · 28 days

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You cannot tell me that man would eat pussy like it’s his first meal in years. He would slowly kiss up your thighs til he reaches to your inner thigh. When he does he kisses it before giving it a hickey just to fuck with you a bit.

“you have the body of a goddess, i swear darling.”

He says as he grips your thighs with his veiny hands, he definitely knows how to make a woman cum for sure. He licks your slit before actually eating you out. Whenever your legs close From stimulation, he spreads them back open with a smile, his thick cock has harden at the sight of your face scrunching and your eyes rolling back.

“Don’t you wanna cum amor? So let me show you.” He spoke again in a stern like tone, he shoves his fingers inside you before sucking on your clit. His tongue flicks on your bud as he goes faster. You feel a wave of ecstasy come over you as you’re gripping his brown curls. You cannot believe a Greek god like Miguel O’Hara himself is making you cum. You feel a feeling in your stomach indicating you’re gonna cum. You shut your thighs around his head and moan loudly. Your fluids get on his chin and mouth as he licks it up swiftly without you knowing a damn thing. You put your head back onto the soft pillows before hearing him get up. You make a comment about his abilities.

“Can’t believe one of the most cockiest gods made me cum.” you say with a faint chuckle. He licks his fingers before a grin plastering on his face. It wasn’t just a grin, it was that grin. His upper lip goes up and his sharp fangs poke out ever so slightly. Fuck he was hot. Your mind was clouded with thoughts of this god infront of you.

“I am the god of pleasure so, have to own up to my name.” He says before winking at you playfully.

Like the saying goes, you fell first but he fell harder ཐི♡ཋྀ.

And here is to my taglist🥂: @moon-rivr @monstera02 @lazyjellyfish300 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @yournextbimbogf @chiwhorei @blahblahblahbluesblog

#miguel o'hara #tumblr fyp #x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #foryopage #fypシ #greek god! Miguel #Mann back on my greek god timin👩‍💻#greek mythology #I wonder who is the god of pleasure #taglist #reblogging is appreciated #please let me know how this was in the comments I enjoy all of them #short blurb #miguel o’hara blurb #smut blurb

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

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Show Me*

Summary: The second part to Teach Me*

Class is in session, and this time, Harry needs a little help exploring his favorite kinks. Like...how to get somebody off underneath a table.

And you're more than happy to lend a helping...hand.

Word Count: 6k

“So…how did she like it?”

Harry laughs as he slips out of his car. “Wow, I think that’s a new record. Waited a whole thirty seconds to ask me.”

“Bite me,” you retort as he makes his way toward where you’re waiting on the sidewalk. “Well?”

He shrugs, hands shoving into his pockets. “Dunno. We never got to it.”

“So, just straight to the fucking, then, huh?” you question. “No foreplay at all? I mean, hey…if that’s what she’s into…great. But, personally, I think the foreplay is the best—”

“All right,” he interjects with a wicked yet amused grin. “That’s not what I meant. She got called into work before we could.”

“Oh.” You offer him a pitiful frown. “Sorry, bud.”

“Bite me,” he mimics as he brushes past you. “S’fine. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That’s the spirit,” you encourage as you fall in-line beside him. “Gives you more time to find your nerve.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, glancing down at the concrete. “Or more time to practice…other things.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah,” he says again, one brow raising as he looks back over. “You know, like…how to eat ass.”

Finally catching onto his joke, you groan and reach out to shove him away from you, watching as he stumbles with a laugh. “Fucking hilarious.”

“Listen, I was actually looking forward to it,” he continues, hand over his heart as if disappointed. “I bet you really know how to eat some ass.”

“Ha…ha.”

“What? You do, don’t you? Cause of…Eric?”

The familiar but dreaded name sends a shiver down your spine as you recoil away and scrunch your nose in horror. “Ew.”

He looks proud. “Well? Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” you huff before sighing. “…no. But he wasn’t that great of a teacher, anyhow.”

“No fucking kidding,” Harry snorts with a smile. “You’re much better.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he beams, reaching out for the door of the restaurant to swing it open. “After you.”

“As it should be,” you tease, winking to hint at the double entendre, and his eyes roll.

You find your large group of friends already gathered around a table near the back of the room, and quickly make your way over.

For the next few minutes, you all exchange pleasantries, catch-up, and tease Harry about his failed attempt at mating.

He’s a good sport about it, flipping everyone off with a smile before changing the subject.

Because, despite the jokes, all of you know that Harry could have anybody he wanted. Maybe his experience in the bedroom is lacking but that’s only because it was a personal choice that he made. And everybody knows it. As far as charm and seduction go? Harry Styles is a king.

Perhaps even a God.

…no, that’s giving him too much credit.

You shake your head, clearing the thought away as you listen to your friends gossip about the newest celebrity drama and reality TV scandals.

And you try to care. Really, you do.

But your mind keeps…drifting.

To Eric.

God, you could just kill Harry for re-planting that seed in your subconscious and reminding you of the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

Because there was a time when Eric was everything to you. When you were closer to him than you were to Harry. When you trusted him—completely—with your mind, soul, and body.

And of course, he just had to shit all over the self-growth and progress you’d made.

You feel your phone vibrate from its place on your thigh, and you glance down to see Harry’s name flashing across the screen.

Sneaking a curious sideways peek his way, you swipe up to read his text.

So…Pete Davidson is Kim Kardashian’s stepfather now? Am I hearing that right?

Confused, your brows pull together as you look over at him.

His explanation is to nod at your friends across the table with a smirk, and you laugh.

I don’t know, you type. I wasn’t listening.

Oh? Why not? This is fascinating stuff.

Idk. Just wasn’t.

Harry’s expression seems to fall as he studies you before his fingers are flying across the screen. You were thinking about Eric, weren’t you?

…nooooooo.

His eyes narrow.

So what if I was?

Bee…you can do better than that. Even in your head.

See, you say that, and yet…here I am.

Because you’re not doing better. You can…you just aren’t.

Yeah? And how exactly would I do better?

You catch the way his lips pull back into a Cheshire-like grin as he begins to type.

Well, you kind of already did do better. With me. The other day.

Swallowing a scoff, you type, That was only because I felt bad for you.

Think you felt a lot of things that day, Bee. But bad wasn’t one of them.

You toss him a playful glare. Are you ever gonna let that go?

Not likely. After all, you did promise me another lesson.

You don’t need another lesson, you just need to stop being so goddamn annoying.

Come on, you can’t deprive me now. Not when I know I have so much to learn.

Google it.

Ouch.

You’ll live.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

This time, you do groan, and reach over to swat his arm. “Stop,” you hiss. “You really are fucking annoying.”

“Learned from the best,” he retorts, leaning closer to you in an attempt to conceal the conversation. “Learned a lot of things from you, actually.”

“Harry,” you huff again, but you’re smirking. “My god, you don’t really wanna learn how to eat ass do you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what I wanna learn. That’s why I need a teacher. To teach me what I want.”

You know he’s fucking with you. You can see it all over his face and yet, for some reason…your interest is piqued. “Thought that was a one-time deal.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But…the door to knowledge is never closed.”

He follows this up with a devious chuckle to let you know he’s teasing, and you nudge him again. “See? Annoying.”

For a moment, you both put the topic to bed and return to the conversation happening across the table.

But again, your mind wanders.

Wanders all the way back to your bedroom and the image of Harry’s curls wound around your knuckles.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about that afternoon quite a few times since it happened. After all, you’re only human. And Harry had done a rather excellent job. Sure, you’ve had a tad better. But for his first time…it wasn’t half bad.

And you’d waited to feel weird about it after the fact…but you never did. Which was strange. The two of you returned to your normal routine as if it had never happened.

And you were certainly glad for that. So why is it that now, as the opportunity for a relapse is placed so obviously in your lap, are you not repulsed by it?

Why is it that you haven’t immediately shut the idea down? Laughed it off? Why is it that you’re…considering it?

Again?

You almost want to shudder at the very thought, but as you look over to the chair beside you and take in Harry’s relaxed smile as he listens to your friends talk…something seems to shift.

You will admit, since your little…experiment…you’ve begun to equate those kinds of memories and feelings with Harry instead of Eric.

And that’s another thing you wouldn’t dare complain about. You like the idea of being able to associate pleasure with someone that makes you feel safe. Secure instead of unhinged.

And perhaps this is a huge mistake…but suddenly, you can’t seem to see the harm?

He gets to learn how to make a woman feel good and you get to erase Eric from your past permanently.

What could possibly be so wrong with that?

Subtly, you clear your throat as you turn your head to him, calling his attention away as he raises a brow.

“Okay, so…if I were to agree to another lesson…” you begin hesitantly as his eyes grow wide. “I’d need a little…information.”

He angles his body toward you as well, murmuring, “Yeah? Like what?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t know…what kinds of kinks do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats smugly, nodding his chin at you. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me find out?”

You quickly glance across the table to make sure nobody is listening as you lean in and whisper, “Well…I don’t even know where to start with you. You’re a virgin, it’s hard.”

“I’m not a virgin,” he corrects with a scoff. “I just…haven’t done it a lot since the first time.”

“Mhm,” you snort. “Doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t know what you like, there’s no way I’ll know.”

He studies you for a second, seeming to think. “Well…why don’t you tell me what you like? Maybe I’ll get some ideas.”

You hesitate. What do you like? “Uh…okay. I mean, I like pretty much everything, I guess.”

“Yeah? Like what? Name something.”

Well…shit. “Um…I don’t know. Have you ever heard of…exhibitionism?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought, brows lifting up with intrigue. “I’m 27, I’m not dead.”

“Hilarious.”

“Why? S’that something you’re into?”

You swallow but force a relaxed and nonchalant demeanor. “Kind of, yeah. Fun to play with what’s mine when anybody could see.”

He almost seems impressed, leaning back as he looks at you. Really looks at you. “You don’t fucking say.”

“Okay, don’t make it a whole thing,” you whisper urgently, already swatting at him in warning. “It was just an idea. We can always think of something—”

“Show me.”

You pause. “Show you…what?”

He nods his chin at you. “Show me how you’d play with what’s yours when anybody could see.”

Your expression falls. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He nods. “I’m a vessel. Show me. Teach me.”

And maybe it’s the glass of wine offering you an extra ounce of courage, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already done this once before, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Harry…

But whatever it is, you reach out, and smooth your palm along his upper thigh, just to watch his breath catch. “Are you sure?” you ask softly, careful to keep beneath the suspicion of the group across the table. “Because I need to know if you can…handle it.”

You feel him tense, his fingers flexing across the tablecloth as he regards you. “I’ll handle anything you want me to.”

Your hand drifts a little higher. “And you’ll sit here? And be a good student?”

He shoots you a coy smile. “The best.”

A little higher. “And you know your safe word?”

“‘Stop,’” he answers, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll need it, though.”

“You might.”

“Won’t.”

“Maybe.”

“No fucking way.”

You slow to a stop, centimeters away from the rather obvious dip in his pants. “Don’t say that. Just use it. If you need to.”

His expression softens. “I know, Bee. I will. Promise.”

“Good.” So, with that and a deep breath, you take the plunge, ghosting your touch over his covered cock.

And it’s different this time because it’s you touching him. It’s his body in your hands and this far exceeds your usual high-five.

You aren’t sure what you expected. You kind of already know he’s big from the few times you guys have gone swimming together. And he’s accidently brushed up against you before when scooting past you and worn sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to help him hide an erection (another reason why you’re never watching a Margot Robbie movie with him again).

But feeling it now…knowing exactly what this man is in possession of…feels forbidden.

You keep your expression stoic, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your awe as you watch the way his lashes flutter.

“Easy,” you warn in a delicate whisper. “Rule number one…make a sound and I stop.”

His teeth grit as he leans back against his seat. “Fine.”

“Good.” You bring your fingers together until you can cup your palm around him, adding just the slightest amount of pressure before glancing back at your friends.

They’re laughing about something, you don’t really know what, but you smile and nod along as if absolutely enthralled.

And as the seconds pass, you feel Harry grow harder in your hand. Needier. He shifts at least three times a minute, clearly struggling to keep from bucking up into your touch.

You’re being as easy on him as you can. A few squeezes, a bit of palming, and some light brushing just to tease him.

He’s gripping onto the edge of the table so tight, you’re surprised it’s not shaking. But he’s restraining himself, as best he can, and you feel oddly…proud.

You maneuver a little closer, head dipping until your lips are close to his ear. To anyone else, it might look like you're merely trying to be heard over the loud music.

But Harry knows better.

"This...is where the fun is," you tell him. "Knowing it would be so easy to have you coming in your pants. Right here, right now. In front of everybody."

You add a bit more pressure and watch the way the veins in his arms begin to strain against his skin. The way the muscles in his jaw constrict and the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmur as his fingers begin to scratch down the table, desperate to grab onto something. “Feel what it does to you…to be played with. Just like this…exactly like you wanted.”

He sucks in a quiet gasp for air as his head threatens to drop back, little curls falling across his forehead.

He’s not stopping you. And you know he won’t. He’ll happily let himself go right into his trousers, in front of the whole goddamn resturant. Right here, right now.

But that wasn’t apart of the lesson.

So, just when you can feel his resolve begin to crumble…you stop.

He exhales a long, deep breath, slumping into the chair as if completely drained of all energy, and you almost want to laugh.

“So…what did you learn?” you ask softly as you lean back in.

“That Eric’s a fucking ass,” he replies instantly, shooting you a lazy grin. “And that we’re definitely not kids in a tree house anymore.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “Anything else?”

He mulls this over, eyeing you closely. “That I think I’m more of a…hands-on learner.”

Your brow raises. “What does that mean?”

His answer comes in the form of his touch, hand outstretching for your leg, long fingers brushing across the hem of your dress. “It means…I need to see for myself.”

He pauses down by your knee in order to allow you the time to understand and either accept him or reject him.

But you simply blink, focus falling from his face down to your lap. “Ah…I suppose that makes sense.”

His lips roll into his mouth. “Mhm…what do you say, Teach?”

Your nose scrunches at the nickname but you smile. “I say practice makes perfect.”

And he wastes no more time in slipping beneath the fabric to travel up your thigh and toward your hips.

Now, you’re the one forced into restraint, a gasp immediately hitching in your throat as he brushes his thumb down the front of your underwear.

It instantly brings you back to the last time, and his touch, while familiar and oddly reassuring, makes your head spin.

You slowly look over at him, taking note of the way he’s so goddamn proud of your reaction, and the way he returns his attention to your friends.

Exactly like you had.

Because this is the lesson after all. The concept of teasing and torture and watching somebody come undone so easily.

The idea of getting caught.

You could tell from the moment you reached for him that this was something he was into. But even when he was trying not to thrust up into your hand, it was obvious that his interest lied with you and your pleasure.

With the idea of putting you under this sort of duress.

He really is a sadist.

Good to know.

"How's this for practice?" you hear him murmur as you become vaguely aware of the way he's scooted his chair closer to you.

You open your mouth, lips parted and ready to respond, but you can feel the beginning of a whimper threatening its escape.

So you swallow—thickly—and nod your head once.

"Good, then?" he asks, and you have to fight the urge to cross your legs over his hand. "Bee...I need you to speak."

But you can't fucking speak. The pressure of his touch has increased, and it feels so...so fucking good. "It's....yeah. Fine. It's fi—"

Suddenly, you gasp, and thankfully, it's lost beneath the jazz music still loudly playing through the restaurant.

But it's not lost on Harry, and you watch his smug smile expand as his teasing begins to slow. "Uh-uh," he tuts softly. "You know the rules. Make a sound...and I stop."

You exhale the singular word, "Har," and he hums.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What?"

You have to physically fight the urge to whimper with desperation. Truth be told, he’s hardly even doing anything, but his hands…

You’d fucked up by sneaking a glance down at the tattooed skin disappearing beneath your dress. Because it’s sinful to feel the cold, metal of his rings brush against your warm thighs. Sinful to know he’s pressing his thumb into you just to feel the way you’ve begun to soak the material he’s so effortlessly playing with.

He…is sinful.

And then suddenly…his touch disappears. Retreats from between your legs as your mouth just about drops open.

And you could cry at the loss of contact because it felt so safe and so exciting. Teasing or not, it was so fucking good, and you hate him for making you go without.

But then…you learn why.

His fingers move to wrap around the edge of your seat, getting a good grip on it…before he yanks.

Your chair is forced closer to his, squeaking against the floor as he begins to smirk victoriously.

“There,” he declares quietly before his hand is returning to your lap. “Much better, don’t you think?”

And it is better because now he’s so much closer, and has so much more room, and you’re so fucking close to just throwing in the towel and hurling yourself at him. Friends be damned.

“Speak, Bee,” he repriminds after a minute of your silence, and instantly, you begin to squirm.

“Har,” you whisper, both begging him for his mercy and for his cruelty.

“What?” he replies evenly. “What do you need, hm?”

You, you think. “Can’t…s’just…”

“Come on,” he tsks. “Think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

But you can’t.

“Please,” you try again, a faint request.

“Please…what?”

“Har…”

“Uh-uh. Tell me. What?”

Again, you swallow, willing yourself to stay silent. "Har—”

“No.”

“Harry—"

"...Harry?"

This time, it's Charlie calling his name, and immediately, you go deathly still as you turn back toward your friends.

However, Harry is calm as he raises a brow. "Yeah?"

For a moment, the three across from you simply stare, rather curiously before Charlie says, "Oh, I was just asking how Tina is?"

You could almost moan with relief.

“She’s good, yeah,” Harry answers cooly, pointer finger hooking around the edge of the material on your thighs to pull it aside. “Yeah, real good. Been working a lot, so I haven’t seen her much.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Jackie offers with a pout. “Is she nice? Will we like her?”

Harry laughs, head shaking with amusement as if he’s not dragging his thumb down your clit while you swallow a rather desperate whine. “She’s nice. I don’t know if we’ll ever make it that far, though.”

Caleb’s head tilts. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve hung out, like…twice. S’not really that serious yet.”

And you almost snort, because to you…he seemed pretty serious about her.

But you suppose eating pussy doesn’t exactly require an engagement ring, and maybe he just wants a fuck buddy.

“Well…she still needs to pass the approval test,” Jackie argues with a wink. “And the fact that she strung you along for two months is not doing her any favors.”

“She was just making him work for it,” Charlie teases. “And he needs to be humbled, so I say good for her.”

“Please. Look at him,” she snorts. “He’s too pretty to be this dumb. Okay, he can do better than Tammy—”

“Tina,” Harry corrects before slowly easing the tip of his finger in, and your entire body goes rigid.

“—yeah, whatever. The point is…you can do better,” Jackie finishes proudly, shooting a pointed look toward Charlie.

Harry begins to smirk, slowly stealing a glance at you. “Yeah. Maybe we can all do better.”

Now curious, Caleb nods at you, and you do your best to control your reactions as he says, “Yeah, speaking of which…have you heard from…him?”

You shake your head quickly, mentally damning Harry to hell as he pushes in a bit further just to make it harder for you to reply. “Uh…no. Nope. Not since that night.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jackie tells you. “No, really. I will. I’ll hit him with my car and drag his dead body out to the woods, and watch the bears eat him.”

You breathe out a laugh, but it’s outrageously forced, and Harry can tell. “It’s…it’s fine. He’s…you know, we all move on. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Harry says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Yeah, you seem fine.”

“Oh, I am,” you murmur through a tight-lipped smile. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Good,” he hums before you can feel him curl upward. “Hope it stays that way.”

Your hands drop to the chair beneath you, and you grip onto the sides for dear life in an attempt to keep from reeling. “Thanks for your…concern.”

“Anytime,” he beams as you feel him slip out. “Just want you to…do and feel the best that you can.”

The wet pad of his finger then returns to your clit as he presses into it just to push it in a teasing circle.

Your eyes just about roll back as you quickly turn your face toward your shoulder and fake a cough. “Fuck…sorry,” you apologize hoarsely as your friends look on.

“Are you all right?” Jackie asks softly. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have brought him up. We can change the subject.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” you sigh, hoping to sound casual, despite the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of a wail. “Really, he’s just…a guy. Just some…stupid…sadistic…evil fucking…guy.”

And while the group across the table snorts their agreement, you see that Harry knows that jab was aimed directly at him.

He winks.

“I, uh…I need to go to the bathroom,” you suddenly declare, grabbing onto his wrist to forcefully shove it away before standing to your feet. “Be right back.”

“Feeling all right?” Harry asks innocently as he watches you push your chair in.

“Just delightful,” you reply before brushing your hands down the front of your dress. “Seriously, keep eating. I won’t be long.”

You leave the table before Harry can make another quippy remark, quickly making your way for the extravagant restroom in the back of the restaurant.

Honestly, you thought you had a little more self-control. You thought it wouldn’t be so easy to get you so on edge, and yet here Harry is, making you clench so hard in your chair, you nearly burst a blood vessel.

You lock the door behind you and make a beeline for the sink. You flip on the cool water and gently trail it down your arms and chest to cool yourself down as you will the ache between your legs to subside.

It’ll be easy to take care of once you get home, but you’re rather impressed with Harry’s commitment to…education.

And something about looking your friends in the eye as he played with your cunt like a toy was oddly invigorating.

Far more invigorating than it ever had been with…Eric.

You’ve no sooner smirked at this thought when your phone begins to buzz from its place on the counter.

Glancing down, you aren’t surprised to see a text from Harry, but it does make you laugh.

How’s it going?

Good. Just getting myself off before I come back, you answer.

Yeah? Texting me while you touch yourself? Hot.

Well, it’s not the first time.

A good minute passes before he responds, and you can easily imagine the way his eyes went wide.

Seriously?

Seriously. Why, is that weird?

Are you fucking kidding? No, it’s…I mean, it’s hot. Very, very hot.

Your brow raises. Yeah?

Kind of rude you never told me, though. Clearly I would have been of great help.

In my defense, I was a little…busy. It’s already hard enough to type with one hand.

And even if you aren’t exactly touching yourself right now…you aren’t lying about having done it before. Not on purpose, of course. He just happened to text you right in the middle of your alone time and needed an answer ASAP.

So…you’d answered.

Yeah? Do you need an extra hand? he replies next, and you chuckle under your breath as you lean against the sink.

Why, do you know someone?

Funny.

Thank you, I thought so.

Is that a yes, then?

I think I’m managing just fine.

Yeah? So you’re pinching your clit nice and tight for me?

You feel your breath hitch. This certainly isn’t helping. Obviously.

And you’re clenching around your fingers for me? How many you using? One? Two? Maybe three? Know you like to feel stretched.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you glance off into the bathroom. He’s trying to kill you.

Can’t really clench around anything when I have to keep answering these texts. Go eat your food and leave me to it.

And what kind of student would I be if I did that?

An obedient one.

And does that sound like me?

“Nope,” you respond aloud, but type, You have been so far.

Think I’d be more obedient if I finished what I started.

I mean…maybe if you knew how.

You wait to watch the bubbles roll across your screen, but when they don’t come, your heart sinks.

And then…there’s a knock.

A rather fervent and determined knock that makes you jump as you look toward the door.

“Bee…let me in.”

Shit. “I…uh, I’m a little busy.”

“I know,” comes the deep, sultry reply. “So, let me in.”

“Har—”

“Open the goddamn door, Bee, before I break it down.”

Clearing your throat, you put your phone aside and cautiously tiptoe toward the door.

After sliding the lock over, you pull it back just a hair, and peek through the crack. “Uh, hi. Sorry, this bathroom is a little occupied at the moment—”

His large hand comes out to press against the wood as he forces it open and steps inside. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him before scrambling to push it closed and relock it. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

He strides a bit further into the bathroom before turning around to look at you, almost as if suspicious. “Honestly? I kind of thought you came in here to hide from me.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” His arms cross over his chest. “I know you didn’t actually come in here to fuck yourself, so I thought…maybe you just felt uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know I didn’t come in here to do that?” you retort.

He smirks. “’Cause you always use both hands. And if you were texting me…you weren’t fucking yourself.”

“And how do you know I use both hands?”

He shrugs. “You told me once.”

Oh…right. “Well…maybe I was multi-tasking.”

“You weren’t,” he rejects immediately. “No, I think you either came in here to hide from me…or because you were upset about what they said. You know, about…him.”

An invisible fist snaps closed around your heart as you stare at the man across from you. The devious intentions and teasing from before are long gone as the man you’ve known for years, your best friend…stands before you.

The concern is evident on his face as you take a step closer. “Har…honestly, I’m fine. I wasn’t hiding from you, and I really don’t care about Eric. I came in here to keep myself from coming all over your fucking hand.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the temptation to smile, but his gaze remains skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nod, taking another step. “Come on, I think it’s a little late to start questioning me now, don’t you?”

He sucks on his teeth. “Well…I can never tell with you.”

“I feel like I made my enjoyment quite clear.”

“I thought so, too. Until you made me stop.”

Now, only inches away from him, you come to a halt. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly feel like explaining why I moaned to our friends, you know?”

His thumb rubs across the skin of his arm as he peers down at you. “Thought that was the whole point of exhibitionism.”

You shrug, eyes falling across his features. “Yeah…or maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…like a secret.”

Instantly, he grins, exhaling a laugh at the reminder of the pact you two made when you were younger. “We are good at secrets.”

“The best,” you agree giddily before the laughter dies out, and something seems to shift within his expression.

“Then I think it’s only fair we finish the lesson,” he says quietly, leaning a bit closer as you begin to still. “After all…I still need to show my work.”

Your lashes flutter, the smell of his cologne beginning to overwhelm you. God, why does he always smell so good? “Guess…guess that’s only fair,” you agree faintly, and he seems pleased.

His head dips, nose brushing yours as he works to catch you off guard. “Then tell me what to do, Bee. And I’ll do it.”

It comes out before you can stop it. “Kiss me.”

He’s surprised by this request, going momentarily quiet but you don’t miss the way his focus falls to your lips, as if pondering.

“Kiss me,” you repeat, fingers itching to latch onto the back of his neck. “And this time…do it right.”

He seems impressed as he fights an arrogant smirk. “Right, huh?”

“Yeah.” You straighten up, bringing your mouths a tad closer, but still without contact. “Know you can. Know you know how to be gentle, don’t you?”

And almost as if in retaliation, his hands find your hips, squeezing rather harshly as he begins to back you up toward the wall.

When you collide with it, he grins. “Dunno about that.”

“Try,” you whisper, hands dancing up his chest. “Trust me, you’ll get a lot more points that way. The right kiss can do everything, and I promise…she’ll love it.”

He considers this for a moment, studying you closely before you feel his palm delicately cup your cheek.

He tilts your head back as he moves in, deliberately slow. “Everything, huh?”

You smile, nodding once. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Everything.”

He kisses you.

Soft, and careful, and sadistically tame. He kisses around your mouth, peppers kisses to your bottom lip, to your cheek, to the line of your jaw.

He keeps his tongue from you, and you almost huff because after everything, you think you at least deserve a taste.

And finally, once you’re moments away from wilting in his hands, he takes that taste for himself.

Your head spins and your mind goes blank and everything makes sense.

Because kissing him is fun, and it makes you want to laugh, and kiss him forever, and never leave this one spot.

And you’re so enchanted by this revelation that you don’t notice his hand traveling between your bodies to return to its home between your thighs.

But he slips underneath your dress without a moment's delay, fingers returning to their work of pulling your panties aside to finish what he started. And when you gasp into the kiss…he swallows the sound with ease.

“Is that right, hm?” he teases as he slides in. “That good?”

Your lashes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours, and you don’t offer a response because he already knows.

His precision just about kills you. In, out, in, curl, twist, pinch, pull. You can feel the drip down your thighs, can hear the sounds he’s making, can taste his desperation in each kiss he gives you.

And when you suddenly whine and squirm in his hold, he smiles. “There it is, yeah? Right there…s’what you needed, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s exactly what you’d needed, and he strokes the spot with fervor and just a touch of wonder.

It’s cruel and it’s wonderful and it feels so fucking good, and nothing else makes sense to you except him.

Just him and the way you’re about to come undone by his hand for a second time.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, lazily kissing under his ear, and he seems to sigh with contentment as he braces you both against the wall to continue.

“Come on, Bee…know it’s gotta hurt, doesn’t it?” he coos, but his voice is thick. “Know it hurts, so give it to me, yeah? Just give it to me. Let me make it better.”

And it overwhelms you, consumes you, controls you. His smell, his touch, his words. The past, the present, him. Just him. Only him. Right now. Everything.

The sound that rips from your throat feels foreign to you. It’s loud and desperate and eager, and he presses his lips to yours to be a part of it.

It goes for what feels like hours, but time doesn’t have a place here. It could have been ten seconds; it could have been ten minutes. You don’t know, you don’t care.

You just…let it.

And you don’t realize the way you’ve slumped into his embrace as he holds you up, keeps you steady.

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you, murmuring words of encouragement with just a hint of teasing.

You don’t realize he’s refusing to let go.

But once you do, you realize something else, too:

You don’t want him to let go.

"Think we might have a problem," he whispers after a moment, lips following the curve of your shoulder as he offers a few parting kisses.

Your head falls back against the wall and you take a few deep breaths. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Well...you kind of fucked up," he begins as he moves to the other side of your neck, sucking on the vein just below your ear. "You gave me a taste, showed me what I've been missing."

You can feel yourself smile through the haze as his hands continue to grope at your waist.

"I mean, just knowing..." he continues, nosing under your jaw, "...you've been keeping so much knowledge from me...this whole time."

Your laugh is airy as you reach up to comb through his curls. "Is that right?"

He hums as he nods, the palm of his hand slowly smoothing up your stomach, pushing the hem of your dress along with it. "And now I don't know if I can go without. Feel so fucking insatiable...just thinking about what else you might be hiding from me."

With this, his fingers delicately ghost under the curve of your tit, forcing you to arch into his touch as he smirks.

"And what is it...you want to know?" you manage to reply, voice soft and nearly inaudible.

He pulls back and meets your eye.

"Everything."

Shit.

"Everything?" you murmur, subtly tugging him closer.

"Everything," he repeats. "Anything. All of it. You. Me. Us. Every fucking second, every fucking way."

You know what he's proposing. Know exactly what this means, but you don't know if a friendship would survive.

And you don't know which is more important.

"So...what do you expect me to do?" you ask breathlessly, still squirming beneath his hold.

He smiles. "I expect you...to show me."

"Show you," you repeat, as if in a trance.

"Show me," he whispers, moving back in to lick at your bottom lip. "Teach me. How to be better. How to be right. How take care of you. Wanna give you everything you need."

"Everything," you breathe.

"Everything." His other hand gently comes up to cradle the back of your neck. "Whatever you want, whatever you need. Tell me and I'll give it to you. Promise."

But what do you need?

"Are you sure?" you ask, softly pushing on his chest to garner his attention. "It's not like teaching you to play pool, Har. Exploring kinks is...delicate. Sacred. It's not a game."

"I know," he replies, sobering ever-so-slightly. "That's why it can't be anybody else. It has to be you."

It has to be you.

"Why?" you challenge.

He simply offers you a knowing look. "Why wouldn't it be?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking for a reason to say no. Looking for the strength to know better.

But maybe you don't know better.

Maybe you just know him.

"Teach me," he says again, thumb stroking your jaw as those familiar eyes bleed right through to your heart. "Make me better."

Better.

Everything.

Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else feels right.

Just him.

"Okay," you agree quietly, and his entire face lights up. "For science."

"For science," he repeats, dipping down to press his lips to your cheek in thanks. "But only if you're sure. I'd never want you to agree just because of me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He leans back. Frowns. He's unconvinced. "I mean it, Bee. I'm not asking just because I can. I’m asking because…it feels like something we both want. But if it's not—"

You kiss him again, stealing the rest of his argument. "I know how to say no to you, Harry. Think you should know that by now."

He smiles against your mouth. "Guess so."

For the next minute or so, you don't speak. He simply takes hold of your face with both hands and paints his gratitude across your tongue.

"So...where do you wanna start?" you ask when he finally allows you a second of reprieve.

"You tell me," he reminds you, and you feel yourself smirk.

"All right," you agree before slipping your fingers through the loops on his pants.

His eyes go wide.

Then, you tug.

"Let's start...with everything."

You bet your ass there’s gonna be a part 3, because now that they’ve opened the door…there’s no closing it 😗 and Harry’s got a long list of new kinks to discover! And I’m strangely excited about it?? This is concerning?? Pray for me???

Next Part:

~ Hurt Me* (Pt. 3)

Previous Part:

~ Teach Me* (Pt. 1)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags:

@tiaamberxx @harrystylesfan2686

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demigods-posts · 3 months

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if i could have the show change anything, it'd be the kiss in tbotl. everything pretty much stays the same. he screams at her to get out because they don't have time to think of a plan. and she still kisses him. except this time around. he tries to kiss her back but she pulls away before he can. i think it would allow them to acknowledge the mutual desire for what could have been if they had time. but they can't ever be because time isn't on their side.

#i mean obviously however rick wants it to go is how i'll welcome it #bc i trust the guy obvi #but i would still love this very much #lowkey tempted to write a fanfic/short blurb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo text post #pjo #pjo headcanon #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percabeth headcanon #percabeth fluff #percabeth angst #fics i should probably write 👀

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lovings4turn · 10 months

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☆ page-turner (r.a.b.)

— trying to read your book whilst sat in regulus' lap proves a harder task than you first thought

+ contains: smut, fingering (f!recieving), edging, teasing, praise

+ nsfw — minors please dni

"that's it, darling," regulus coos, his chin resting on your shoulder. "keep going."

you're sat in his lap, your back flush to his chest with your legs spread wide as you clutch your book with white-knuckles. his fingers expertly slip in and out of you, his thumb deftly working at your clit in an intoxicating combination that makes your mind cloudy.

regulus has made the rules of this exchange pretty clear: you stop reading, he stops moving.

at first, you had thought he was merely teasing, wanting to see just how far he could push you. but when you had first dropped your book, head falling back against his shoulder to let out a shaky moan, he had pulled his fingers out instantly with a reprimanding tsk. it was only when you started up again, voice shaking and cracking around the words, that regulus resumed his prior motions.

every now and then, he curls his fingers up to press against your g-spot, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you stumble over the current piece of dialogue you're reading

"reg, please-" you breathe, eyes screwed shut as you feel your orgasm slowly build. the muscles in your stomach tighten, and in an effort to finish faster, you grind down onto his fingers.

"ah, ah," regulus hums, using his free hand to cup your cheek and redirect your face towards your now forgotten book. "told you, love. have to keep going. y'doing so well for me."

you're so close that if he stopped now, you're sure tears will escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks, a pathetic display of desperation. your only option is to continue reading.

the words become blurry as you fight to keep your eyes open, and you're only half sure that whatever you're saying is even comprehensible as you stumble through paragraph after paragraph.

all it takes is the pad of regulus' thumb swiping over your clit particularly roughly for you to see white. your book hits the floor with a thump, drowned out by the sounds of your moans and mumbled thanks. regulus holds your hips as you writhe in his lap, pressing kisses to your shoulder as you come down from your climax, all the while muttering praise and compliments.

"did so well, love," he hums, kissing your temple. "wanna see how well you can focus w'my cock in you, now."

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #its short but shh!#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black smut #regulus black blurb #regulus black drabble

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harrysonlylover · 18 days

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Too Sweet

Summary: A glimpse into Y/n and Harry’s life.

A Hot Wheels Extra (Yes based off Hozier’s song)

Trope: Mechanic! Harry

WC: 3.1k

No warnings! Reading the series before is a must!

A/n: I know it’s short! But it’ll pave the way for upcoming extras!

Hot Wheels Series

Sweetness.

A feeling, a sensation, a memory.

It has surrounded and invaded the lives of two human beings for the past few months. The boy and the girl that we’re interested in started on the wrong foot—just like any two-fated lovers.

A shy soft girl conjured from broken sea shells and a bold boy who’s tougher than steel. A match made in heaven.

After a few songs, teabags, books, necklaces, strawberries, and car rides— a confrontation arose which was the beginning of their happily ever after.

Harry has never wanted to fix something so badly in his life, and this time it was not a car—but the relationship between him and the sweetest girl, his girl.

After she visited him that fateful night, he vowed to never let her see him in that state. She only deserved the best scenery and memories.

It was exceptionally hard for him to figure out emotions and cues—he sometimes felt like a cat attempting to solve algebra, but cats know nothing about Maths and he knows nothing about feelings—only that his heart rate becomes weird around his shortcake.

He was lost between allowing her to contact him first or taking the first step. It was on the third day of pondering that he decided he could no longer wait.

His first step included: a basket of strawberries, a hydrangea pot, and Emily Dickinson’s selected poems.

The author of this story believes that’s quite the move.

He had fiddled with the rings on his finger till she opened the door for him, making his heart skip a beat with her gasp and giggle.

His first step didn’t go badly—not at all. It earned him a mature conversation with shortcake and a kiss on the cheek that he daydreamed about later on.

They had both agreed that they needed a fresh beginning full of honesty starting with the fact that they both like each other.

Harry was sure that his face turned red at some point, but if he wanted to win her, he’d have to get used to being vocal with his feelings.

Their first date was scheduled and proposed by Harry who cleared his throat a million times before.

Y/n agreed enthusiastically and suggested postponing it a bit due to an upcoming project at her job and for time to pass—but also for the awkwardness between them to dissipate.

Despite the conversation they had, the only factor left for their apologies to be complete was time, and Harry didn’t object at all.

Time was a funny little thing to him—he didn’t like the idea of wasting seconds, minutes, hours, and days without getting to hear, see and feel her.

And so they hung out now and then in the field near his house, at his garage, and sometimes the library. Their small meetings helped with the barrier that should’ve been broken long ago—in fact, by the time their date rolled on they could’ve already been mistaken for girlfriend and boyfriend.

Harry distracted himself with cars from the early morning. It was Spring after all, and there was no time to waste.

His date with Shortcake was around the corner and he's so fucking eager.

1 hour, 32 minutes, and 40 seconds.

That's how much time he had left. His curses filled the garage as he scrambled to his car which was parked near the hydrangeas. Trying to get her off his mind resulted in getting him distracted from his scheduled routine, and now he had to hurry up.

It had been months since they softened and began hanging out, and even more since she found him drunk, though he doesn't like to recall that night.

He thanked the heavens and every star in the sky that she gave him a second chance, and he'd spend the rest of his days trying to show her why it was the right choice.

Everyone around him (only Kitty, George, Niall, and his sister) had noticed the difference in his behavior.

He became softer than usual that even strangers in town dropped their jaws when they saw him walking around in town with a gooey smile on his face (Y/n had sent him a picture of her face in agony having been in a meeting for three hours).

Customers felt weirded out when he replied with a 'Welcome' instead of going back inside with a scowl.

Though he kept his boundaries and barriers up for strangers and town folks—Y/n saw a whole other side that not even he was acquainted with.

He recently quit street racing for her. He was called a madman and a fool, but he didn't blame them—because he was for her.

She didn't mention anything about her feeling unsettled but Harry could sense her discomfort once he brought up racing. Her face would scrunch and she'd avoid eye contact. He didn't tell her that he quit racing except for a few days after. It wasn't that she didn't want him to enjoy his hobbies but she worried too much.

He's one of the most skilled drivers she has ever seen but her thoughts get to her sometimes. That night was the first time they ever kissed properly, he had been keeping his space but it was her that sealed their lips together under the dim light of her apartment.

He had many things to say back then—to explain that he was addicted to car racing but found her more addictive, that he didn't want her to worry for a second about him.

All of these evaporated once he tasted her lips for he was in heaven and couldn't spare a thought. He had been patiently waiting like a starving man and the idea of kissing her every day made him dizzy.

Their first date begins in 30 minutes, and he manages to get himself inside his car after a quick shower at his house, a fashion consultation from Snow Bun, and preparing their picnic basket.

When he asked her what she wanted, she only replied with "not something fancy" which made him scan his brain for date ideas.

He hadn't been on a proper date in ages, and even back then he wasn't as serious. But for his shortcake, everything was planned from A to Z.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, his head bobbing to Stevie Nicks playing on the radio as he drove to her house. It was a short drive filled with anticipation and worry—he cannot fuck this up.

He parked and waited for her to come out of the building. His hand was itching for a cigarette, but he was trying to lessen consuming it.

It was a beautiful Spring Day in May and the smell of blooming flowers filled the air as soon as he stepped out of the car. He did so out of anxiety but also to be prepared to open the door for her.

He went for a simple yellow graphic tee with his usual Levi's and tinted yellow sunglasses. Yellow had grown on him thanks to Shortcake's yellow dresses. He secretly hoped that it was her choice of color for their date.

His train of thought was interrupted by her arrival in a short white dress with a bow at the chest, and pearl earrings. Her hair was pulled back in a French braid—the same one he styled yesterday, still intact.

She wore the sweetest smile on her pretty face. Harry placed his hand on his chest in awe of her beauty—she could wear a trash bag and he'd find her gorgeous.

"Trying to give me a stroke?" He laughed as he raked her body behind his sunglasses.

Blush instantly crept up her face as she stood in front of him while he inhaled her sweet strawberry scent carried by the spring breeze.

"Says you." She leaned in for a kiss without hesitation and Harry's knees buckled. He couldn't believe that she initiated most of their kisses—or that he can kiss her in the first place.

"Beautiful girl." He mumbled into the kiss, tasting the cherries she had earlier making him grin. They were full-on making out against his car as he cupped her ass above the thin sundress.

"We should get going." Her giggle halted their steamy session as Harry looked down on her face that's covered with sunlight before bowing like Princes in Disney movies.

He opened the door for her like he always did, observing her as she got comfortable in the passenger seat before closing the door and rushing to his side.

"Sooo what will we do?" She couldn't wait till they arrived at their destination.

"It's a picnic baby." The word rolled off his lips so easily—mainly because he got used to it. The engine roared to life as his car took the short road while Y/n expressed her excitement and chose a song.

Too Sweet by Hozier played through the speakers making Harry bite back a smirk knowing that this song was written for him and Y/n.

She was too sweet for him. A pure soul crafted in the Garden of Eden and sent down to earth to save him—he was one lucky bastard.

“You treat your mouth as if it’s heaven’s gate.” She sang along, allowing her hands to wander in the air as Harry sped a little down the empty road.

He adored the fact that she felt comfortable enough to sing and be carefree around him. She even danced as much as her position in the car allowed her—pointing fingers at Harry that he grabbed to kiss before she went on to another move.

Though his favorite thing had to be resting his hand on her thigh—a gesture that grew on him and sometimes kept him up at night. But now his shortcake was restless and he was too content in admiring her to let his hand wander.

After one ABBA song, Harry stopped his car and parked in the middle of an empty field—a lavender field. Y/n glanced around her, dumbstruck by the view that would forever be engraved in her brain.

The beauty of nature never failed to amaze her but it caught her off guard every single time. She stepped out of the car slowly, trying to catch up on every detail. It was a large field with no one to be seen but them—lavender was everywhere and the purple colour boosted the serotonin in her brain.

The smell though was something else—the scent of lavender that was kissed by the sun all day long mixed with the spring breeze freshened her lungs and planted an eager smile across her face.

“Harry, I—“ Her words were cut off by her shock and Harry’s body collided with her back. He wrapped his arms around, engulfing her easily before pressing a soft kiss to her head.

“Do you like it?” He whispered in her ear, relishing in the sight of goosebumps on her skin.

“I love it. This is so beautiful.” She turned around showing him the gleam in her eyes that he loved. He couldn’t resist stealing another kiss from her soft lips as the field of lavender surrounded them.

“Not as beautiful as my shortcake.” He pulled away fearing to get carried away.

She hid her face in his toned chest as the sun cast a warm ray on their love-filled bodies. Harry kept his bicep around her as he fetched the basket he prepared from the backseat.

“C’mon, honey.” He led her inside the field until they found a spot big enough for them to sit down.

Harry laid the plaid blanket on the ground and began unpacking the basket, refusing Y/n’s assistance.

First, he placed the charcuterie board filled with different types of cheese, olives, bread, meat, and crackers. Then delicious chicken avocado sandwiches followed along with a mini basket of strawberries and blueberries. An orange bottle was left inside the basket for Y/n to sip on in case she got thirsty.

“Are you hungry, darling?” She only nibbled on a few berries and crackers with her body resting sideways on the blanket.

“Not a lot. How was your day?” The smile never left her face as she accepted a cheese cube from his hand.

“Mhmm it was good but it’s excellent now.” Their noses touched before sharing more kisses like eager teenagers.

“We kiss a lot.” She pulled away, pressing a hand to her rosy lips that Harry likes to tire.

“Well…” He trailed off, replacing her fingers with his as he traced them over her jaw and lips. “If your lips aren’t sore then I’m not kissing you properly.” His whisper was low but echoed around her with the breeze.

“And if they’re not bruised…then I did not kiss you at all.” The red color of the blanket beneath didn’t stand a chance against Y/n’s cherry-red cheeks.

Her face fell hiding from Harry’s piercing gaze as she let out a chuckle. But she couldn’t really do that for long—Harry had a face that deserved staring at, especially since the sunlight was hugging it.

The subtle blonde scruff that scratched her every time he kissed her suited him so well. She didn’t mind the feeling it gave her—she even thought about how it would feel between her thighs.

They haven’t done anything sexual so far—he had been so respectful of her boundaries and waited for her to open the topic. She preferred waiting a bit longer—though she was craving simpler things—just like feeling him dip between her thighs.

“How’s Snowy?”

“He misses you. Almost brought him with me ‘cause Niall refused to babysit him but I eventually dropped him off at George’s.” He replied with an eye roll, remembering the rivalry between his pet and Niall.

“Well, I guess if he misses me then… I could spend the night?” She laid her head down on the blanket, observing as Harry’s face that hovered over hers brightened.

“Only coming for Snowy, eh?” He teased her, their faces inches apart.

“And you! Movie night?” Their movie nights grew popular as they picked a movie to watch every other night on his couch before ending up asleep with their limbs tangled.

“I’ll choose this time.” He caressed her soft hair, allowing his fingers to swipe through it—spreading the strawberry scent against his hand.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and his mind drifted to all the ways he could teach her not to roll her eyes at him.

They continued chatting, giggling, and kissing. They fed each other fruits and crumbs of the sandwiches while Harry insisted on wiping her mouth with a napkin. As the sun began to set, he jumped on his feet—running to the car, and coming back before Y/n could blink.

Whatever he held was hidden in his arms behind his back. She tried to steal a glance and failed.

“What do you have there?” He looked so much taller now that she was sitting.

A tall handsome man who kisses her every chance he gets—he surely escaped from one of the books she read.

“Give me your sweet smile shortcake.” He revealed a Polaroid camera and directed it at her, waiting for a cute pose with her wide smile before snapping a picture.

He kneeled next to her, waiting for the picture on the Polaroid to appear while she seemed more eager than him.

“Show me—I want it.” She giggled, attempting to see the picture that he was smiling at.

“No! It’s mine.” He hid it in his wallet while she climbed on his lap to persuade him with kisses.

He eventually folded and agreed to show her before immediately tucking it back in. Y/n only did what was fair and square—she used the camera to take a selfie of them that came out surprisingly successful and took it for herself.

“I’ll get back at you.” He threatened as they lay on the blanket hand in hand.

They sat in comfortable silence staring at the cloudless sky for what seemed like forever before Harry sat straight and handed her a book that she didn’t notice before.

“Read for me.” It was Emily Dickinson’s selected poems that he got her months ago—she had forgotten it at his garage and he brought it here to return it, and to hear her sweet voice telling the poems.

“Oh? You can’t read?” She teased, grabbing the book from his hand.

“Not when you can do it way better.” He rested his face in his palm waiting for her to begin as she flipped through the pages.

She cleared her throat before laying her fingers upon a nice poem while the Sun was setting behind her—casting a golden hue on her back making her appear as a sunlit angel.

“To see her is a Picture

To hear her is a tune—

To know her an intemperance—

As innocent as June—

To know her not— Affliction—

To own her for a friend

A warmth as near as if the Sun

Were shining in your hand”

Harry’s eyes couldn’t shift from her, and his ears blocked out the sounds of nature around him to fully indulge in her poem reading.

She read, poem after poem, blessing his ears with beautiful prose and her sweet voice. He wished he could record it and listen to it before he went to sleep.

They eventually packed up as the sun began to set, content with their first date and the memories they made.

They repeated the same routine as earlier: Harry opening the door for her, and driving to his house as they sang their hearts out to songs she chose.

Then he’ll make her feel at home, give her the Pyjamas she leaves at his sometimes or one of his oversized shirts. Dinner will be ready for her as he ends up folding and lets her choose a rom-com. Snow Bun will snuggle in with his strawberry sweater that she got for him and rest on their lap.

It was days like these that Harry looked up to. Any moment spent with his shortcake was more precious than anything else he could think of. Every detail about her was enough to have him dream of her at night lulling him into a blissful sleep.

He wasn’t too surprised though— for he felt that she would hold him captive.

She was his sweet girl—too sweet.

Taglist: @matildasatellite @xxrosebunny @novasblogofstuff @gem1712 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @tiaamberxx @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tbsloneely @prettythingsworld @st-ev-ie @slut4marvelmenn @missmielyhoran @a-strange-familiar @wandas-lawyer @blepskies @hslt-2809 @epidxte @kiwilikesmeow @harryssideboob @malwtilda @harrysficreblog @hsonlyangelxo @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @indierockgirrl @annesauriol @leenameh @hrryberry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @nysworld @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @rueluvsharry @lomlhstyles @infinatetatie

Divider from @dollywons

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