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naughtycurls · 9 months ago

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NO ANGEL ∙ one-shot fem!harry

also available on ao3 and wattpad

DESCRIPTION: Harriet, a callow novice, is not a virgin. It's not something required of her, but it is something looked down upon. Therefore she's kept this secret bottled up and far from her own memory. For the past four years, she's been living under the grace of their Father, sheltered under the sanctified convent: Fontevraud. Much to her parents pleasure, the news of her dedicating the rest of her life to the church was a blessing.

However, old doors reopen when Father Brun invites her to a means of catharsis. The evening doesn't go as planned, to say the least.

Tags: Set in France, female Harry, 1970s, Catholicism, blasphemy, four year age difference, manipulation - so dubious consent, maybe? sorry guys i'm a virgin too, slight bondage, a little frottage, condom disuse

You're no angel either, baby.

†

Redemption, often referred to in Catholic faith is the forgiveness of our sins. In a simpler context, it is the liberation from a life of sin to a new life in Jesus.

Unfortunately, Harriet had fallen guilty of sin. For a long time, she was a good girl. She was the handbook daughter any father could ask for, she was meekly obedient, she had no objection to her father's rules. At the time, she didn't fully understand who Jesus was, or why she and her family prayed to him so often. She was just a girl who wanted to do everything to please her hostile father. However, almost every child has a moment of weakness, a period where they're plagued by the desire for rebellion.

It started when she was thirteen. She had done enough after searching for 'Girls kissing' on the family computer, but she had done even worse after coming across pornography.

It was not her that night, she often told herself. It was the devil's afflict. And perhaps it was, but that didn't stop her from being curious, if not more, three years later. She had been in high school for two years, made a few friends and experienced her fair share of drama. It happened during one of her many nights of rebellion, when she had snuck out of the house, even stole a bottle of her father's finest wine, just to go to a party with her "friend" Valerie.

It's safe to say that Valerie ditched her only five minutes into the party, leaving her alone in the kitchen with a miserable cup of wine. She thought about walking back home, though it would take her at least an hour, but then she reconsidered when she remembered that it was dark and that she was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. She spent a good ten minutes staring at the red wine until she saw a familiar face.

He was a family friend, his mother and her father were great acquaintances, and she had good encounters with him the few times she accompanied her father to retreats, or to Guinevere's house. He holding a foam cup, eyeballing her from across the room with the same piercing blues. He had grown significantly since the last time she saw him, with tattoos decorating his biceps, the muscle marked beneath the tight sleeves of his shirt. He looked older, more mature with the stubble darkening his jaw.

She could not fathom the fact that Louis, the boy who used to be just about her height, had grown significantly. And more specifically, had become a man. Louis started to approach her, and she thought the little sip of wine she took caused her to hallucinate--- but he was in front of her within seconds, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

The dialogue was short, as there was so little to say between them. Louis simply mentioned how she had grown as well, to which she agreed. Then she had made the mistake squeezing her cup too hard, her wine jumping out the rim and splashing onto her ruffled shirt. The entire encounter was so cliche, but she only wanted to remember it this way. She had no change of clothes, yet she still found her upstairs with him. There was no concrete plan, but they were in an empty room together, no lights, no ceiling fan – just the two of them breathing – and her shirt soaking on her skin.

That night, sin had swallowed her up and spat her back out, leaving a foul aftertaste. She remembers waking up the next morning with her panties still wrapped around her ankles, a sock on her left foot and the other nowhere to be found, and an empty bed. She thinks that following morning was Jesus' harsh slap on the wrist, though it felt like her heart had been stomped on.

Valerie didn't stay for her --- of course she didn't. Valerie left her first and didn't even bother looking for her. She had to dress herself back up, and forget the sock altogether because she had no idea where it went, and walk herself back home. Her feet were throbbing by the time she entered the neighborhood. She pushed the front door open, her father was waiting right at the bottom of the stairs for her, but she couldn't hold it in her anymore to not cry. She broke down right at the entrance, and her father pulled her in his arms and forgave her right there.

It wasn't what drove her to embrace the Holy Spirit, even if, admittedly, that week was terrible. She chose God because God chose her, because she wouldn't have been here if God didn't see her in his plan. And all along, he planned for her to be a Bride of Christ.

Fontevraud was a village of incredible architecture, the masonry buildings characterized by pointed arches and "gothic" lores. Inside of the homes, it was the antithetical to blasphemy. Religious tapestries, scriptures, and icons decorated the walls; parading the word of God.

Fontevraud, a house of peace. The place Harriet had the privilege of calling her home.

Life there was quite simple, especially when she was only completing her year of being a novitiate. She would start her day at 5:00 a.m. and pray for an hour and thirty minutes, and another thirty minutes studying her scriptures. She'd have breakfast in the dining hall with her colleagues, and then study again. Sometimes she'd have special duties to do, if Father Brun gives her any. The latter is unlikely, so she's often times studying or volunteering for something. She has her midday prayer around 11, lunch at 12, and then her own personal time --- which she frequently spends crocheting or talking to her parents. She then goes back to studying, does her evening prayer, has dinner, and every evening, they will all go out to read scriptures to villagers. Then they all go down for bed at 8.

If she were given such a schedule when she was thirteen, she would have hated it without even trying it. After living in the convent for six months, she wouldn't have it any other way. She believes God gave her the strength to easily acclimate to the lifestyle.

It's 8 a.m. and she has a full stomach after eating the regular cheese danish, with a special addition because Brother Benoît brought macarons from Le Petit Bistro. She had to ignore Reverend Mother's reprimanding gaze as she ate both foods, knowing they were meant to only eat their pastry and assortment of fruits. But Benoît offered the macarons, and God says that mercy is endless.

Harriet wipes the corners of her lips off and folds the cloth neatly after, never forgetting to mind her manners. The hall is full of women enjoying their breakfast and having conversation amongst another. Harriet would be talking Benoît's ear off if it weren't for all the food she had just eaten. She holds in a burp and washes it down with a gulp of water, furnishing her thirst.

"Did you enjoy it, Sister?" Benoît questions.

Harriet looks up, finally noticing that the man had been watching her. She offers a small smile and nods in acknowledgment. "I did. Thank you for bringing it to the church. I'm sure all the girls enjoyed something flavorful for once."

Benoît chuckles. "Are you insulting Mother's cooking?"

Harriet giggles, lowering her voice. "You do know Mother doesn't actually work in the kitchen."

Benoît's eyes widen, confirming her question. "Then what does she do?"

Harriet shrugs a shoulder, interrupted by her friend, Evangeline. Evangeline was one of the first girls Harriet ever spoke to, and the nicest out of all of them --- maybe even Harriet herself. Evangeline twists in her seat to face Harriet and furrows her eyebrows. "She's in charge of us, Harriet. Have you forgotten that already?"

Harriet waves her off. "I was only joking."

"You better hope Mother doesn't hear you."

"Hear what?"

Harriet bites her lip to hold in the boisterous laugh that threatened to spill past her lips. Across from her, Benoît wasn't much better. He looked hilarious, like a deer caught in headlights, brows shot nearly to his hairline. She takes a deep inhale and turns around to face Reverend Mother, plastering on a smile. "Good morning, Mother."

Mother raises her chin, her unusually wrinkled face pulling a grimace. "Sister Harriet and Evangeline, God bless you." She gazes at Benoît and purses her lips. "May God bless you."

Benoît smiles shortly, the tension between the two rising tremendously. Thankfully, Reverend Mother is the one to break it, redirecting her attention back to Harriet. "Father Brun would like to see you in his office."

Harriet raises an eyebrow at the revelation. She shares a look with her friends, stilled with shock. She thinks the last time she has spoken to Father Brun was when she enrolled for the convent. Father Brun was there, as much as he wasn't. He was like a whistle in the wind, heard but not seen. He preached for the church frequently, but his visits were limited. Reverend Mother says he's a busy man, making his request to see her even more unusual.

"For what?"

"Don't question the Lord, Harriet." Mother says harshly.

Harriet blinks, still processing the news. Mother barely lets Harriet breathe before she orders her to meet Father Brun. She slowly stands from the table and glances back at her friends. Benoît winks at her and Evangeline smiles softly. Their encouragement helps her gravel the strength to walk to Father Brun's. Of course, with Mother trailing right behind her.

Father Brun's office is anticipated. He has a large crucifix pinned to the wall behind his desk, the room sparsely decorated, with a simple wooden desk and a small bookshelf filled with religious texts. He's seated at his desk when Reverend Mother gently knocks on the door. Father lifts his eyes from the open Bible before him to meet hers. He is an aging man, dark hair beginning to thin at the top of his head and a gut.

Harriet stands with her hands clasped in front of her, teeth gnawing into her bottom lip as she waits for instructions.

Father flits his gaze to Reverend Mother, a silent conversation discussed amongst them before Mother leaves the room --- leaving a frightened Harriet behind.

"Sister Harriet," Father greets calmly. "Please, have a seat."

Harriet nods, lowering herself into the chair across from him. She keeps a considered distance away from the desk, afraid she'd lean too close and intimidate herself even more.

Father Brun doesn't smile, but his kindness is in his eyes, a soft flare opposite to his masculine features. "Thank you for coming. I understand you might be wondering why I've asked to see you."

Harriet bites her lip harder and shakes her head in response.

"First, I want to commend you on your dedication and service to the convent. Your devotion has not gone unnoticed." He says.

Harriet has a moment of pride before Father Brun continues. "You are very close to finishing your duty as a novitiate. I've witness your gift to see the world through a spiritual lens, a gift treasured by our community. I would like to inform you that I have been convened for a cleansing at a farmhouse in Brittany. It is my honor to invite you as an accomplice in this sacred mission."

Harriet's eyes widen slightly. An invitation to accompany Father Brun on a mission was unexpected and certainly out of the ordinary for a novice. She wasn't even a nun yet, Father could vouch for anyone, anyone more experienced. Harriet didn't understand.

"A family in Brittany has been struggling with what they believe to be a demonic presence. They have requested the church's intervention. Your faith is invaluable to experience." Father Brun says, reminding her that she was still in his office, and she still hadn't given a response.

Harriet swallows, finally finding the words to speak. "I will do it, Father. Thank you for inviting me to this journey."

Father Brun smiles, a rare and genuine expression. "Very well. We leave tomorrow at dawn. Prepare yourself spiritually and mentally. And of course, get a good nights rest."

Harriet smiles and rises from her chair. "Thank you, Father."

That night, Harriet finds herself in the chapel. She kneels before the altar, holding her hands together in prayer. "Lord, grant me the strength to face this trial. Give me the tenacity to help Father in the most sufficient way, though I am not experienced. I promise to give you my grace, my faith, and my unwavering devotion. Protect me, Lord, from any evil I may encounter." She feels resolved once she reaches the end of her prayer. Releasing a soft sigh, she completes it with a final whisper. "Amen."

The next morning, Harriet awoke before dawn. Unable to fall back asleep, she began packing a small bag. Their stay in Brittany was undetermined, but Father Brun suggested she pack essentials in case. She includes her Bible and rosary, and dressed in her plain novice habit. This would be her first time wearing her habit in public, resulting in the most surreal feeling ever.

Adjusting her veil on her head, she ensures not a single strand of hair has escaped her covering. Their wasn't seen as something crucial, but she has to make a good impression on Father Brun. Plus, she's not coming along with him to impress anybody.

Father Brun and Reverend Mother are waiting at the entrance of the convent. It's a windy morning, the crispy breeze whipping against her sleeves. Father greets her with a nod, his brief case and Bible in hand. Reverend Mother is there to bid them goodbye. She smiles for once, a subtle encouragement for the young novice. "God be with you, Harriet," she says. "Remember, you are never alone. The Lord walks with you always."

"Thank you, Mother. I will remember." Harriet responds.

The journey to Brittany was long and quiet, filled with the rhythmic clatter of the train and the occasional prayer she and Father Brun stop to do. She feels the stares of passengers, but she knows better to feel embarrassed. There's nothing ashaming about praising the Lord. When they're not praying, she silently recites scriptures to calm her nerves. As they approach their destination, the city gradually shift to the countryside, the fields stretching out like a patchwork quilt.

By the time they arrived at the farmhouse, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the fields. The house itself was old and weathered, a small cottage plotted on the field of gorgeous farmland.

An elderly couple greets them at the door. Guinevere, an older woman with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun, shows a tentative smile. "Father," she nods respectively. However, when she looks at Harriet, she holds her gaze a little longer. "Harr... Harriet."

Harriet stares at the woman with large eyes, holding her Bible tighter. "Mrs. Tomlinson." She says, barely above a whisper.

Father quirks an eyebrow as he looks between the two women, Guinevere with a wide smile stretched across her face. "Oh, Harriet ! Comme tu as grandi. Tu es vraiment une femme maintenant."

Harriet blinks blankly, peering over at Father Brun. Ironically, she isn't good at French, despite it being the national language. If we were pointing fingers, it was all her father's fault. He taught her and her sister English before their mother language because as a Reverend, they travelled a lot. Guinevere was a very old fashioned woman, she could speak English well, but she chose to speak French --- even when Harriet had no idea what she was saying.

Father Brun clears his throat, taking Guinevere's attention. "Oui, Harriet est novice au couvent. Elle est très bonne."

[Yes, Harriet is a novice at the convent. She's very good.]

Guinevere nods, smiling warmly. "Très bien, très bien." She repeats.

Pierre offers his hand to Father Brun. "Thank you for coming."

"It is my duty. And may I introduce you to Sister Harriet." Father Brun mentions, gesturing towards the woman.

Pierre nods, smiling briefly at her. "Yes, we've met."

"Ah, family friends?"

Pierre confirms with a nod and Father Brun hums. "Tell us what has been happening."

Guinevere shakes her head, as if reminded why they were here in the first place. She opens the door further, allowing them in. "Entrez."

Once they're seated at the dining table, Guinevere recounts their troubles, descriptions of disturbing noises she and her husband hear at late night. "C'est très inquiétant, mon Père. Nous ne pouvons pas dormir la nuit à cause des coups incessants. Et parfois, nous entendons des murmures d'horribles blasphèmes. Le diable est parmi nous." She says insistently.

[It's very disturbing, Father. We can't sleep at night because of the constant banging. And sometimes, we hear whispers of horrible profanities. The Devil is amongst us]

Pierre rubs his wife's shoulder, noticing that she was becoming worked up. "Our grandson is convinced that it isn't anything serious. But he doesn't understand, the energy in the house is doesn't feel right."

"Vile." Guinevere adds.

Harry frowns at the mention of their grandson. They only had one grandchild, and that man drove her to breaking the law of chastity. She hopes he isn't living with him, he should be too old. He should be about twenty-eight, with a wife and a baby. She's sure Guinevere must be perturbing him about the subject.

But if Louis is in this house, she could only expect the worst.

"Is your grandson here?" Father asks, and Harry clenches her fists, awaiting for the answer.

Guinevere shakes her head. "Oh, no. He's working at the local merchandise."

Harriet releases a breath of relief, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. Father nods his head in acknowledgement. "I would appreciate speaking to him when he returns. For now, Harriet and I will conduct a thorough blessing of the house. But first, I would like to see the areas where you feel the presence most strongly."

Pierre clears his throat. "The activity is strongest in the attic and the basement. We hear the banging from above and below us, and the whispers seem to come from the walls."

Father Brun nods, rising from his seat. "Then let us begin. Harriet, would you accompany me to the attic?"

Harriet stands, clutching her Bible tightly. "Of course, Father."

The narrow staircase follows into the dark attic. It's nothing like she expected. There's a few cobwebs, but expected dust has been cleared out, it almost looks lived in. There's a mattress on the floor, leftover bottles scattered on the floor and a stain on the sheets. Harry holds her rosary to her chest as she inspects the white splatter. "Father, what is this?"

Father Brun turns around before approaching the girl, following her gaze. He tightens his jaw and raises his chin. "I'm not sure, but we will bless this room." He sprinkles holy water around the room and keenly on the sheets, reciting a prayer.

Harriet steadily follows suit. "Lord, cleanse this space of any evil presence. Fill it with your divine light and protect those who dwell here."

After the attic, they descend to the basement. She's even more impressed by the area. There's a blue punching bag hanging from the wall, a large TV and a bean bag. It's as if someone stays here, and she began to consider the possibility that the couple were simply hearing the disturbances of their guest.

However, Father Brun seemed to not see it that way. He continued like earlier, sprinkling holy water. "By the power of Christ, we command any unholy spirit to leave this place. Be gone in the name of Jesus."

Harriet shares a look with Father before he declares the blessing complete. When they return to the first floor, Guinevere states that she'll show them to their rooms. They're two separate guest rooms, each with a simple bed and a crucifix hanging on the wall. Guinevere allows them time to settle into their rooms while she finishes the final dish for dinner.

When Harriet heads downstairs, the table is set with a simple meal. Roasted chicken, potatoes, and fresh vegetables from the farm. Guinevere gestures for her to take a seat and she does. She notices an empty space at the table, but before she could ask, the front door opens, and in walked a familiar face. Louis is more rugged than she remembers, a few additional tattoos visible on his forearms. He was wearing a loose grey tank, assuming he had just came back from the merchandise.

Guinevere smiles at her beloved grandson. "You're just in time. Come sit, we have some guests."

Louis gazes around the room until his eyes instantly find Harriet. He lingers on her for a moment before taking a seat, right across from her.

"Father Brun." Louis nods. He glances at Harriet, still dressed in her novice habit, a different image from the one she was four years ago. "Harriet, it's been a long time."

Harriet forces a calm smile. "It has."

They bow their heads for prayer led by Father Brun before eating. Harriet tries to focus on her food and the conversation surrounding them, but it was difficult with Louis so close.

Guinevere stands to collect the dishes after, but Harriet suggests she rest. She takes the plates for herself and enters the kitchen to wash them. She feels a presence behind her and sighs, knowing who it was.

"So, do you wear that all the time?"

Harriet thins her lips, shaking her head in denial.

"Hm. Is it comfortable?" Louis approaches behind her until he's nearly pressed against her back. Harriet swallows, squeezing the cloth in her hand so hard that soap expels from it. She would not fall for sin again, she has been successful and acquiescent to her vows. She wouldn't let the man that made her sin in the first place, ruin it for her.

Louis tilts his head so he can see her and she looks away, scrubbing a dish. "Are you upset about that night? I didn't mean to leave you."

Harriet clears her throat loudly. "I am not. And even if I was, I'd have to forgive you."

"But you don't truly forgive me, do you?"

Harriet bites the inside of her cheek and Louis hums. "I figured that much. But listen, if you want, I can make it up for it."

Harriet narrows her eyes. "Who are you to suggest such a thing? I am a novitiate, I will be a nun soon. And I will not, under any circumstances, fall for such deviance. My path is set, and it doesn't include you."

Louis stares at her for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright. I respect that."

Harriet returns to washing the dishes and Louis finally leaves her alone. That night, she changes into a long night gown, covering the skin necessary. She kneels before her bed, rosary in hand, and prays to God for the resilience in the case that she needs any. She could feel the insurgence surrounding the room, and though God tells us to not be afraid, she was. She was supposed to have faith in herself, but she could feel that confidence wavering in this evil-spirited home.

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." She finishes, slowly reopening her eyes. She sighs softly and leaves her rosary on the bed to blow out her candle. Just as she's about to blow out the candle, she hears a faint creak outside her door. She freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. "Lord, give me strength." She whispers, gripping her rosary tightly.

A soft knock on the door startles her. She hesitates, then steps toward it. When she opens the door, Louis is standing there.

She grips the door handle tightly, glowering at the man before her. "You should not be here."

Louis observes her so closely, it feels as though he's undressing her with his eyes. Though she's wearing a gown, as modest as can be, she feels naked under the older man's gaze. "I forgot how beautiful your curls are." He comments.

Harriet shakes her head as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Louis, you have to go. I can not— you can't—"

"I couldn't sleep, Harry. All I can think about is you." Louis says, and her breath hitches at the old nickname. She wraps her arms around herself protectively as he moves closer, and she takes a step back, her back pressing against the wall.

Harriet knows she should push him away, but instead, she finds herself initiating their kiss, meeting his lips. It almost feels the same as the first time, only, she's completely sober. Louis holds her jaw gently as their lips move in sync, the soft, wet sounds of their kisses filling the quiet room.

She squeezes his shoulders while consciously pressing closer, her body betraying her. Their lips begin to move at a fervent pace and Louis slides his hands down her hips, feeling her up. Harriet feels herself dampen in her panties and that's when she pulls away, eyes large with despair.

"You need to go."

"Harr—"

"Go!"

Louis stares at her, bewildered by the sudden outburst, but he doesn't push it. He leaves the room and Harry slides down the wall, tugging on her hair in anguish. Her body is meant to be the Lord's temple. But no matter how many times she repeats the phrase, it makes her words sound even more false.

"Lord, please give me the strength to resist temptation. Guide me back to you."

†

Sleep came slowly that night. She loses so much of it that her eyes hurt when she's woken up by the loud alarm she placed on the dresser. She instantly regrets bringing the alarm, groaning in frustration as her eyes adjust to the sunlight with a horrific burn.

Harriet blindly stumbles out of bed, and she tries to dress herself as quickly as possible. She dresses herself in her habit and rings her rosary around her neck, knowing she'll need it today. Father Brun is sat in the kitchen when she makes her way down the stairs. He's watching Guinevere as she maneuvers through the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

She smiles softly at the woman, seating herself beside Father Brun. She notices Louis is missing, but supposes it's a good thing. Consciously, she snakes her hand up and grips her rosary.

"How did you sleep?" Father questions.

Harriet bites her lip. "Not so well." She admits.

Father nods his head, as if uncertain of his next response. "Well, we will pray once again and find the source of this evil. I presume we will be back home by tomorrow."

Harriet nods her head in acknowledgement and smiles when Guinevere slides a plate of tartine towards her.

†

The evil is still not found. Harriet feels the presence of it, but Father Brun says they need more time. They continue to bless the house and pray fervently, but nothing helps confront the spirit.

One evening, after another failed attempt at finding the source, Harriet finds herself alone in the basement. She felt a pull toward the cellar that couldn't be explained, she simply entered the room, clutching the end of her rosary as she made her way down the rickety stairs.

The room is in an agitated state. There are spills from soda cans and fumes from an inexplicable source.

Gnawing her bottom lip, Harriet advances through the room, observing every detail. There were posters of blasphemy on the wall, grotesque images that mocked her faith. She was so distracted by the sacrilege that she doesn't realize she was being watched.

"What are you doing down here, Harriet?"

Harriet gasps, quickly turning around to see Louis appeared at the doorway, a blunt smoldering between his fingers.

Louis stares at her wordlessly, his presence unsettling. The novitiate swallows tightly, frozen in her spot as Louis approaches her, the smell of marijuana becoming suffocating. He stands in front of her, dark eyes skipping over her face in an expression only he was capable of making.

"I.... I was just...."

"You're always so tense," Louis murmurs, and he gently strokes her cheek. "Let me help relax you."

His eyes are slightly red around the edges, hooded and languid. Harriet's pulse quickens, feeling similar guilt ferment inside her. Louis' touch is soft and insistent, a touch that belongs to an accessory to the devil. And though she wants to pull away, her feet remain rooted to her spot.

"Louis.." she begins, but the words die on her lips as he leans in closer, the warmth of his breath mingling with the smoke.

She watches as he brings the spliff to his thin lips, inhaling the smoke. His lips drown out her protests as he holds her jaw, coaxing her mouth open.

Her grip on her rosary tightens, the beads digging into her palms. He blows the smoke in her mouth, the tendrils of smoke weaving their way into her lungs. She coughs lightly, her eyes glossing over, and Louis' hands are still touching her, rubbing her hip and stroking her jaw - a touch wilted in the hands of sin.

Unwontedly, she can't pull away or break the distance between her and Louis. He molds their lips together and she responds, though inexpert. Louis' tongue slips past her lips, exploring her mouth with a sinful hunger that matches his wronging.

Harry digs her fingers into the front of his shirt and claws her nails down his abdomen. She feels the similar flutter in her privates as the last time and she pulls away as if she'd been shocked. "Louis, we can't-"

Louis' hand touches the exposed part of her neck, promptly shutting her up. His hand is a gentle but firm restraint, that silences her. He bites along her jaw, emitting a breathy gasp. "It's okay, Harriet. A little touching won't hurt you. It only matters if I go in you."

Harriet bites her lip as he continues to suck on her skin, and though she knows it's wrong, she can't find the strength to pull away. Her knees feel weak as he trails his hand down the dip of her spine until he finds her bottom, squeezing the flesh in his hands. "Do you want to know what it feels like to give in?"

She parts her lips in surprise, the words unable to fall as he presses his fingers through her habit, applying pressure to her intimacy. Harriet squeezes her thighs together, slipping further and further into sin.

When Louis pulls his body away, figuring that he won't get an answer, she unbuttons her habit. She responds by letting her habit fall to the ground, leaving her in her beige bra and panties. Louis stares at her in surprise, his gaze roving over her modestly exposed body.

Her skin seems to be paler than before, likely from hiding behind her habit all day. She looks beautiful, pure and innocent, and he tells her that much. Harry's cheeks flush in embarrassment and she wraps her arms around herself, only involuting her breasts.

Louis smiles and leans closer, lightly touching the coif that covered her hair. "And will you take this off?"

Harry bites her lip shyly, struggling to find the voice to speak. "I... I don't know." She murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's just us here, Harriet," Louis coaxes. "No need to hide anymore."

Harriet hesitates for a moment, torn between the teachings of her faith and the overwhelming desire for Louis.

Ultimately, she surrenders.

With trembling fingers, Harriet reaches up to unpin her coif, allowing her hair to cascade down in a dark wave around her shoulders.

Louis smiles victoriously, closing in on the girls space. His chest presses against her own, producing a soft gasp from the smaller girl. Caressing the back of her head, he pecks kisses down the length of her neck, softly nipping at the skin.

Harriet continues to make quiet noises, reveling in the older man's delicate touches. "A-Are you touch me?" She asks.

Louis pauses the kisses on her neck and slowly pulls away. Harriet peers up at him, anxiously biting her lip.

Fighting back a smirk, he responds. "Is that what you want?"

Harriet avoids his gaze, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I-If that's what you want."

Louis chuckles, finding that she won't admit it herself. He reaches up to softly stroke the mark he'd sucked on her neck, the corners of his lips lifting. "Get on your knees."

Harriet stares at him with round eyes that only largen in size when she realizes he was serious. She reluctantly kneels, peering up at the older man for the next instructions.

Louis smiles, taking another hit from his spliff before speaking. "Stay there. I'll be back."

Harriet watches him until he's out of her peripheral vision. She looks down at the ground, hands balled atop of her joined knees. The basement is eerily silent now, the only sound being her own breathing, which grows heavier with each passing second.

After a few minutes, Louis returns, carrying a small box. He sets it down beside her, kneeling to her level. "Look at me." He commands softly.

Harriet lifts her gaze, meeting his dark eyes. He opens the box, revealing a set of delicate silk scarves. "Do you trust me?" He asks.

She nods, unable to form words.

"Good." He says, taking a scarf and gently tying it around her eyes, blindfolding her.

Harriet can't see a thing behind the blindfold—she can only feel and hear. There's a sharp, low zip and a few shuffling, then the only sound in the room is her soft panting. She digs her nails into her thighs while she waits for what's next.

Louis tangles his fingers in her hair and she swallows, her head slightly pulled back. Something nudges her lips and she retracts, only to be pushed forward. "Just open your mouth." Louis tells her.

She obliges and he pushes something into her mouth, something warm and salty that weighs heavily on her tongue. The unfamiliarity the object in her mouth make her cheeks flush with confusion and embarrassment. She hesitates but then follows Louis's instruction, her mouth widening the further it enters her mouth until it prods at the back of her throat.

She sputters, but Louis just squeezes her hair tighter, groaning under his breath. "Just breathe through your nose."

Harriet huffs slightly and tries to understand, concentrating on her breathing. She messes up a few times because of the object filling her mouth, but the noises Louis makes above her distracts her. She doesn't know what's making him make all those noises, but he's moaning and groaning the more he pushes her head down the object.

It doesn't register to her until she feels his skin against her mouth, the thrusting of his hips into her face, what exactly is happening.

Louis' grip tightens as he maintains a steady rhythm, his breathing ragged and heavy. Harriet sporadically chokes around his cock, but otherwise keeps herself pliant, maintaining her composure. His cock glides wetly down her throat, audibly resonating through the basement at every thrust.

Harriet closes her lips around him, her jaw beginning to ache as she tries to keep up with the relentless intrusion.

Louis' breathing grows more labored, his groans louder with each thrust. His movements become more urgent and her eyes water. "Almost there." He warns.

Harriet runs her tongue along his shaft, her mouth feeling cramped, and that seemed to be enough for his release. She feels a warm, salty fluid fill her mouth, and she instinctively tries to pull away, but he holds her in place.

"Swallow."

Harriet hesitates, but Louis leaves her little choice. She swallows and Louis releases his grip on her hair. She pulls back and gasps for air, copious amounts of spit falling from her mouth. The sight just makes Louis stiffen again and he swiftly removes the blindfold, needing to see Harriet's angelic face again.

The second it's removed, she blinks up at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes watery - and Louis knows he can't hold himself back any longer. He helps her rise to her feet before he's pouncing on her again, kissing her lips while feeling the edges of her bra. She reluctantly raises her hands to hold onto the collar of his shirt, his own arm snaking around her slender waist.

His other hand grazes down her thigh, wrapping it around his own hip, thrusting his hips forward until his cock slides between the fabric of her panties and over her wetness. The friction elicits a gasp from Harriet, her body easily responding to him.

Louis teases her with kisses down her chest, sucking bruises into the knobs of her collarbones before pulling her bra down, exposing her breasts to the cool air. His mouth descends on them with fervor, sucking and biting her sensitive nipples.

Harriet's head lolls back, her breathing ragged as he continues to rut against her. He removes the arm around her waist and travels back up to her neck, exerting a gentle but firm pressure that makes her knees weak.

Louis returns to the hold on her waist and manages to push her panties aside, enough to trap his dick beneath the fabric. He grinds against her with deliberate pressure, his cock sliding wetly between the fabric of her panties and her slick heat. Harriet's legs quiver, struggling to hold her upright as Louis presses harder, rubbing against her most sensitive spot.

Louis' mouth continues its assault on her breasts, biting her nipples until they're swollen and tender. "You're so beautiful, Harry. Couldn't keep my eyes off you, even with that habit on."

Harriet's only response is a soft moan, moving her hips with him.

Just when she thinks she can't take any more, Louis lifts her effortlessly, carrying her the short distance to the bed. He lays her down gently, admiring her flushed, panting form. He licks his lips before grabbing the elastic of her panties, tugging them down her legs. Harriet catches them quickly, widening her eyes. "Wait, you can't touch me down there."

Louis rubs her thighs, swiftly finding an alternative. "Can I just rub myself on your pussy? Just a little."

Harriet blinks at him with glossy eyes, stroking her stomach nervously. "Only a little. You can't go inside."

Louis agrees and pulls her panties down again, tossing them to the side. He parts her legs, revealing her wet pussy, full, sticky lips soiled in lubricant. He trails his gaze down to her opening, tight and unscathed, likely untouched since that night. It takes a lot of willpower to not at least trace the pink skin surrounding her opening.

Louis squeezes his cock before nestles himself in her folds, smearing it in her wetness. He hisses, hips moving at a perfervid pace. He holds Harriet's legs apart to rut against her easily, the tip of his dick nudging her clit. She mewls quietly, her hands gripping the sheets lightly, but when Louis grabs the back of her knees and lifts her thighs, the head of his cock slips past her entrance.

Harry gasps, feeling the fat head of his cock enter her. "Louis!"

Louis hushes her, dragging his lips inches away from hers. The girl shivers, warm emerald eyes staring timidly at him. "I'll go in just a little, okay? It'll be fine."

Harriet shudders, his warm breath fanning her face. "Okay." She agrees, though the suction of her pussy pulsating around him takes him further.

Louis smiles and pushes her thighs against her chest, putting more of his length inside. The intrusion stings, but it feels equally good. Louis starts a pleasant, slow drag back and forth with the little bit in her, stroking her swollen clit with his thumb, easing himself further inside.

The more he strokes her, the more wetter she gets until he thrusts completely inside, her warmth wrapping around him like a velvet glove. Balls deep inside her, Louis can't help the venereal growl he makes, her pussy squeezing him in a vise grip. He continues to massage her sensitive nub, slowly moving inside her to help her adjust.

Harriet inhales sharply at each thrust, the tip of his penis touching her spot with careful precision. Her moans grow louder, her hips rising to meet his with each thrust, the sensation of him filling her completely, coupled with the pressure on her clit, sending her to oblivion.

Louis gradually intensifies his thrusts, balls slapping against her ass as he traps her beneath him, pressing her body into the mattress. Harriet cries out, her hands traveling from her breasts to the headboard knocking into the wall, like she was torn on what to grab.

And Louis revels in watching Harriet writhe beneath him, moaning so loud that it echoes through the basement— and as much as he loves hearing her moan, he doesn't need his grandparents thinking that there's actively an evil spirit in the room.

He covers her mouth with his palm and throws her leg over his shoulder before fucking her harder, punching out muffled grunts. She rolls her eyes with pleasure, teetering on the brink of her release every time he pounds into her.

She realizes she's close when she leaks around Louis profusely, eliciting wet slaps of skin and a meager puddle beneath her. She admits it under her breath and Louis groans, his orgasm surfacing as well just by looking at her wrecked state. Her curls stick to her sweaty cheeks, plastered to her pinkened skin. Her eyes keep rolling and unfocusing, glossy with desire.

Louis uncovers her mouth to replace it with his own, slipping his tongue past her lips, reducing his thrusts to leisure grinds, her body trembling beneath him as the pleasure continues to build. She can feel the tight coil of her orgasm winding tighter with each slow, deliberate movement.

Suddenly, they hear footsteps on the stairs. Harriet's heart skips a beat, and Louis quickly covers her mouth again, stilling his movements. He listens intently, recognizing the sound of Guinevere's voice calling down to him.

"Louis? Est-ce que ça va en bas? J'ai entendu beaucoup de bruit."

[Louis? Are you okay down there? I heard a lot of noise]

Harriet's eyes widen in panic, her breathing quickening against his hand. Louis keeps his gaze locked on hers, trying to silently reassure her as he continues to grind into her slowly, feeling her walls clench around him.

"Oui, je vais bien, grand-mère. Je fais juste un peu de travail. S'il te plaît, ne descends pas, c'est le bazar ici."

[Yeah, I'm fine, Grandma. Just doing some work. Please don't come down—it's a mess here.]

Harriet moans softly at the sound of his hoarse voice, unconsciously spreading her legs wider, making him shift deeper. Louis quirks a smile and holds her legs apart, going back to slow, hard thrusts.

"Où est Harriet?" Guinevere asks, her voice closer now, just at the top of the stairs.

[Where's Harriet?]

"Elle est dans les jardins." Louis replies quickly, hoping to divert her attention. "Je monte dans un instant."

[She's in the gardens. I'll be up in a bit.]

Harriet croons, and the second Guinevere's footsteps repeat, along with the door closing, he picks up the pace, hips slamming into hers. Harriet's panic slowly melts back to pleasure, and she pinches her nipples between her fingers, pursuing relief. She gets louder, despite his hand over her mouth.

The strength of his thrusts jolts her body up the bed, his cock stretching her in the most delicious way, reaching deep inside her, brushing against that spot that makes her see stars.

Louis watches her face contort with pleasure, her brows knitting together as she squeezes her nipples. Her body alone is enough material to come to, her swollen pussy clamping down on him. She spurts lubricant around him, making every thrust wet and smooth.

"Tu es tellement serrée," Louis groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Je ne vais pas tenir longtemps."

[You're so tight. I won't last long.]

Harriet hums a moan, reaching down her abdomen to furiously rub herself, spreading her legs impossibly wider. "I'm so close." She gasps desperately against his palm, pulsing uncontrollably.

Harriet cries out when she comes, her body convulsing around him, legs trembling in the air. Her walls clench and pulse, milking him, and it's all Louis needs to find his own release. He groans, hands finding her neck again to lightly squeeze, his hips jerking as he spills inside her, filling her with his warmth.

Spent and breathless, Harriet spreads her fingers in a 'V' around Louis's cock, her pussy burning with desire. She mindlessly traces the length of his cock, feeling him twitch slightly in response.

"That wasn't so bad, yeah?" Louis questions, tenderly brushing a strand from her face.

Harriet stares at him silently, and he pulls out, letting the rest of his come land on her stomach. She bites her lip and hesitantly touches the sticky substance on her skin, feeling the stickiness between her fingers.

Louis leans down to kiss her softly, gently caressing her thighs. "You did so well."

Harriet closes her eyes, the regret sinking in, but his affectionate touch grounds her in the present, rather than allowing her mind to wander.

She feels his stubble rub along her skin before he murmurs. "I won't leave you this time."

Letting out a dreamy sigh, she allows Louis to touch her however he pleases, inwardly enjoying his kisses. The devil might have coerced her into a chamber of sins, but she wouldn't mind accepting it if it meant she'd be locked in there with Louis.

#larrystylinson #louistomlinson #fanfic #harrystyles #cis female harry styles #fic rec #larry #ltops #hbottom #hpussy

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naughtycurls · 10 months ago

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naughtycurls · 10 months ago

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Venice Bitch • one shot fem!harry

Description: Harry is a venice fairy, a beautiful stick-in-the-mud. However, her sycophant behavior earns her a prank by her sisters that gets her temporarily suspended from school. Instead of sitting bored in her cabin, she misbehaves for once, and leaves outside of their forest.

She has heard of the rumors before, she knows plenty of fairies have snuck out and messed around with a certain vampire. She doesn’t expect to run into said infamous vampire on her evening out.

Tags: Vampire Louis, Fairy Harry, female harry, rough-ish sex, degradation

Oh, God, miss you on my lips

It’s me your little Venice bitch

you can also read the fic here and here

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

The nymph sits casually perched on top of a large tree branch, her slender legs dangling in the air, delicate-looking toes pointed downwards. Her soft curls lie graciously down her shoulders, adding an elegant touch to her doll features. She’s an ethereal beauty. If she were an angel, she’d be the purest. As a fairy, she was already a beacon of untainted grace.

Fairies were the untouchable creatures of the forest. Their presence are a whisper in the wind, always felt but rarely seen. Their magic was woven into the very fabric of the woods, defining the balance between reality and myth. Fairies’ only job was to preserve the harmony of the forest, behaving as beings cohesive to nature.

Harry was committed to fulfilling her duty, so much that it occasionally irritated her peers --- but she couldn’t help it, even if she really wanted to. She was raised to uphold the traditions and responsibilities of a fairy, just like her mother and Madam Loreena taught her.

Apparently, being diligent and obedient isn’t to her peers’ taste. She was only spectating the trolls’ dome, like she was assigned to do, when she was mysteriously called to the dean’s office. It was extremely unusual, because she was never called to see Loreena unless her mom was calling, and her mom always informed her beforehand.

Loreena wasn’t calling Harry for a special task or anything positive, she was suspending Harry. Harry was shocked to hear it, she still feels that dull ache in her stomach when she remembers the words. She’s never even gotten a C on her work, being suspended was the worst thing to happen to her. It was not only a suspension from school, but their haven in the forest, too. Loreena gave her shelter in a cabin that’s commonly used for suspended students, and left her to her own sources.

Harry wondered for a while why she was so suddenly suspended, but then she saw the repentant expression on one of her classmates face, and assumed they must’ve lied to the dean. So, Harry was suspended and now living to her own devices in a remote forest. There was nothing enchanted about this part of the forest, only long, flowing rivers and a few flowers --- which wasn’t anything bad. However, she couldn’t use her magic here, and that’s what upset her.

Most evenings, she spends her time like she is right now, staring at the moving clouds. She sighs and slips off the branch, floating down until her feet gently touch the ground. Her dainty figure allowed her to have a smooth landing, as the other fairies did. As a collective species, they shared the same physique. Tall, thin bodies, and weight as light as a feather. A common myth about fairies were that they were invisible to the eye, which wasn’t true. They were just so swift and quiet that they were impossible to notice if they didn’t want to be recognized.

The grass peeks through the space between her toes, tickling her skin. She smiles slightly as she walks before her bare feet touch the stones surrounded by wandering water. She crouches down, knees digging into the cool, rough surfaces of the rocks. Dipping her fingers into the clear water, she watches the ripples spread outwards.

She was so distracted by the water and her reflection that she doesn’t notice someone watching her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?”

The chilling voice sends a wave of multiple pleasures up her spine. With trepidation, she slowly turns her head to see who the question belonged to. Her eyes land on a strikingly handsome being, and though his voice held emotion, his expression had no signs of it. His features were sharp and angular, cheekbones sculpted as if by the hands of a master artist.

She glances at the water and notices that his reflection was unseen. She understands the detail rather quickly --- the man is a vampire.

She has never ran into a vampire before, despite many years working with other beings of the forest. Vampires, though, are rare to find. They prefer sheltering in uncharted caves and secluded areas. But now she had a vampire in front of her, staring at her so expressionlessly that she almost thinks he’s dead, though he technically already is.

“I shouldn’t be here.” She mutters and turns her body from him, returning to her previous position over the rocks. It allowed for the vampire to see beneath her dress, to where she had nothing under.

The vampire licks his lips, blue eyes glued to her round, milky bum. He painfully tears his gaze away and kneels down beside the fairy. “Why are you, then?”

Harry swallows, eyes trained on a random tree. She refused to look at the vampire, she could tell just by his tone that he was the notorious vampire the fairies always talked about. Meaning he was insidious and cunning, and she was willing to ignore him by any means of protecting her peace.

“I was tricked.” She plays with a tuft of grass, twirling it between her fingers.

The vampire raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips lifting into an enticing smile. “You’re naive.”

Harry whips her head around to look at him and narrows her eyes. “I am not naive. I’ll have you know that I am one of the best students in my village.”

He only looks more amused, which frustrates the fairy. “I am, and I bet you, you’re nothing to this forest.” She continues on, brows turned into a cute furrow.

“Actually, I’ve got quite the reputation.” He says. Harry glares at him, his gaze is so strong that she has to look away again. And it only cloys her more that he’s so indifferent, while he can easily work her up. “I don’t care about your reputation.”

“But it has something to do with you.” The vampire whispers, reaching out to twirl one of her silky ringlets around his finger.

Harry’s cheeks flush and she balls her hands into a fist. This man was trying to tempt her, and she wasn’t going to fall for it. Fairies weren’t angels, their purpose wasn’t to stay virtuous, that’s other creatures’ duty. Not to mention the fact that they had to get their hands dirty a few times in their line of work. However, Harry chose to stay the way that she was. She had a few experiences with her dorm mates, but she doesn’t plan on going all the way. Especially with a vampire like him.

“I know what it is, and I don’t want to speak to you.” The fairy stubbornly says.

The man isn’t wounded by her words, he even seems amused. Harry hardens her eyes at this notion, seeing that the vampire wasn’t taking her seriously. “I thought fairies were supposed to be benevolent.” He interjects.

Harry shakes her head. “You’re mistaking us with angels.”

“I could easily mistake you for one. You’re beautiful.” The vampire praises.

“I don’t want to speak to you.” She repeats.

“What’s your name? I’m Louis.” He introduces, flashing a smile that reveals his fangs. Harry glances at the nuisance, noticing more about him than the first time. His lips were velvet, thin and shaped in a way that allowed him to speak over his fangs. His teeth were white and impeccably straight, gleaming like polished ivory. The way he looks at her reminds her of a predator, and she doesn’t plan on being prey today, or ever.

She rises to her feet and pads away, a blatant sign of ignorance. She hears the birds chip and trickling water, but thankfully, no sign of the vampire.

She chooses to go to the river on the other side of the forest, intending to cleanse herself. Both from the dirt and after interacting with that dirty vampire. Her dress was flimsy, a delicate fabric worn mostly to cover herself up then for fashion. She had a ribbon tied into a bow at the yoke of her dress, keeping it closed together. On her ankle, she had a golden band wrapped around her talus.

She starts to undo the front of her dress, slipping it down her shoulders.

“Do all fairies have such beautiful bodies?”

Harry spins around, Louis standing a few feet away. “It’s inappropriate to watch someone without their permission.” She retaliates and glares at him harshly, starting to fasten her dress again.

“It’s also inappropriate to undress yourself in such an open space.” Louis says, encroaching on the nymph’s space. There was nothing untruthful about his conversation a few moments ago, Harry is really beautiful. Her green eyes stared round at him, like the orbs of a doe in the spring. If she wasn’t a fairy, he’s certain she’d be a doe in another universe.

“It’s my forest,” says the fairy, and Louis chuckles.

“Your forest? Is it your forest if I’ve touched your friends on these very grounds?”

Harry, ever so stubborn, nods her head. “As long as they get their job done.”

“Oh, they’re getting the job done. Just on my cock.”

“I don’t want to speak to you, so you can run along.” The fairy requests, waving her hand dismissively. Her obstinance intrigues Louis more, he doesn’t think he has ever desired someone like he does now.

“You know, I’ve felt and played with a lot of creatures, especially in your race,” Harry narrows her eyes at the mention of her species. Hearing him speak about her sisters in such a deceitful way was condemning. “But I would really love to taste you.”

“Well, you won’t have me.” Harry declares, raising her nose stubbornly. The movement makes her pearl drop earrings bounce, drawing Louis’ attention. It seemed every aspect of the fairy was delicate, from her milky skin to ears. Louis just couldn’t catch a break from this gorgeous being.

Louis dips his head to the side as he looks at the girl, urging her to see him as well. “Come on, don’t be like that. I can make you feel pleasure in ways you couldn’t imagine.”

“My sisters are just lonely and desperate. You prey on the weak.” Harry bitterly says.

“I prey on the vulnerable.” Louis corrects.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Then what’re you coming after me for?”

A growing smirk etches the corner of Louis’ lips. “You’re not as strong as you make yourself. I can smell your apprehension.”

Harry glares at him, but the color dusting her cheekbones says otherwise. The reaction only ebbs the vampire’s vainglorious ego. “At least just give me a taste, doll. I could smell you from the other side of the forest.”

“My smell isn’t an invitation.”

“No, but it is luring.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Find a siren to mess with. I can assure you that nothing will happen with me today.”

Louis smiles and leans forward, invading the fairy’s personal space. “Have you ever been curious?”

“Everyone has been curious.” Harry mutters with disinterest.

Louis chuckles, remaining close to the nymph, much to her dismay. “Have you been curious of humans?” Harry shifts her gaze to the vampire, and a menacing smile spreads across his face. “I’m given the approval of going to Earth. I drink humans’ blood, and they’re the best blood I’ve ever tasted --- but not the best thing.”

For once, Harry listens attentively, her interest plain to sight. “The best thing I’ve tasted are fairies. And I want to taste you, so badly right now.”

“Keep wanting. You won’t have me.”

“Do you seriously expect to stay in this forest for as long as you’re suspended, with nothing to entertain you?”

Harry shrugs simply. “I don’t need entertainment.” She declares, starting her walk back to the grassy lands.

Louis trails behind her. “At least let me keep you company.”

“I don’t need anything from you. Take your poisonous fucking fangs and shove them right up your behind.” She says haughtily.

Louis finds himself amused by the fairy’s irritation. He’s never chased so far for someone, but he could certainly allow Harry to be a first. With the way she smells and his endless curiosity of what she may taste like --- he couldn’t let her get away.

She was acting disdainful, but in truth, she was empathetic in nature. He knows all it would take is a mere trip and she would come running to ensure he was okay, even if she didn’t like him. And that’s exactly what Louis did, pretending to trip over a branch standing out. “Ow, damn it!” He exclaims, squeezing his throbbing ankle.

Harry turns around slowly, taking a hesitant step closer towards him. “Are you okay?

“Yeah, I just tripped.”

He sits on the ground, rocking on his bum “painfully” and Harry bites her lip thoughtfully. She crouches down beside him and reaches a delicate hand out to inspect his ankle. She was so close that her sweet scent was impossible to ignore, not that he ever considered ignoring something as sweet as her.

She smelt like all things natural; like the nectar swallowed by bees, a plain of peonies, and early morning dew.

The fairy was genuinely checking for injury, and little did she know, vampires couldn’t even get hurt. It was amusing to see how naive she was, despite her efforts in making herself broad. Realistically, it was against her nature to be unkind.

“I don’t see any bruising, but you should be more careful next time.” She says after a moment, raising her head. Louis stares right into her, an intensity that sends her skin crawling.

Harry sits up quickly and for the first time out of their entire encounter, she’s shy. Louis bites back a smirk and sits up as well. “I could teach you all about the things I’ve done.” He proposes, linking his finger around the ribbon tying her dress together. Her breath hitches and she blinks at him with a startled expression that he inwardly revels in.

“Let me kiss you.”

Harry swallows, her demeanor slipping. She peers at him and for a moment, he almost thinks he has her --- but then her expression hardens and he knows he’s back at square one. “You won’t get me as easily as the others.”

“So that you means you would let me kiss you?”

Harry scowls. “No.”

“So that means I have to treat you like you’re easy.” The fairy furrows her eyebrows then, unsure of what he means. He doesn’t offer much of an explanation easier, he reaches out and tugs the strings of her ribbon loose, making her gown fall open and expose the outline of her breasts. Harry catches it quick enough that it doesn’t show anything else. Her eyes widen. “Why would you do that?”

“To see you better.” Louis responds ‘obliviously.’

The fairy, sat on her calves, reaches out to flick the vampire’s nose, only to get her finger sucked into his mouth. She gasps and pulls away as if she had touched fire, gawking in disbelief.

“I could do that and much better.” Louis says, sliding his hand from her thigh to under her dress. He doesn’t reach her pussy, though it’s bare and he can smell it from here, which arouses him more, but he’s close. He caresses her inner thigh in a circular motion, knowing that it was giving her some sort of inner turmoil.

Harry shudders, and he doesn’t think she noticed that she spread her legs wider. Louis smirks inwardly, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. He doesn’t want to work her up too much to where she refuses him altogether.

“Let me kiss you.” Louis requests again, gently kissing the corner of her mouth. Harry’s lips were already parted and so inviting, if Louis didn’t want to taste her so badly, he definitely would’ve convinced her to give him a blowjob.

Harry’s pride is too fragile to answer, but she grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him closer. Their lips touch gently with a delicacy adjacent to her. Her kiss is hesitant at first, she does as good as any other inexperienced person would. However, she seems to catch on quickly. She’s clumsy at first, trying to fall into a rhythm, but when she does, it’s perfect. Their lips fit like they were made for each other, her lips like warm pillows.

Her lips part in a soft sigh when his thumb touches dangerously close to her folds. Louis slips his tongue into her mouth and her fingers tighten their grip on the back of his neck. She kisses him for a moment more before pulling away. “I won’t be like the other fairies you’ve touched.”

Louis smiles. “So you’ll let me?”

Harry puffs out her cheeks, thin brows drawing together. “Don’t get too excited.”

“I won’t. But I am excited to taste you.” Louis drawls, pushing her dress off her shoulders. One simple action revealed her entirely, displaying her ostentatious beauty. Her boobs sat perfectly, a precise shape that he could fit in his hands, not too big or small. All fairies had the same physique, but she appeared to be crafted into her own tour de force.

She captivated him in a way he never knew was possible. The enrapture intensified when he looked at the area between her legs, her chubby pussy marked and wet. Louis doesn’t waste a second, touching the hood of her clit with his index finger. Harry bites her lip, and he continues to provide gentle, tentative caresses.

For now, at least. Inside, he was holding a lot of self control to not shove his finger inside her. He rolls her clit around, applying some pressure on her pleasure point. The sensation is foreign to the fairy, she feels her wings flutter slightly, and her own stomach does a flip.

Louis opens her legs wider and lays his face down between her legs. Her legs twitch as he pulls her pussy lips to the sides to expose more of her. Her clit stands proudly above her urethra, looking appetizing as ever. Louis doesn’t waste a second before diving forward, wrapping his lips around the delicate dot.

Harry inhales sharply, breath getting caught in her throat as Louis hollows his cheeks, creating a powerful suction. It was a pleasure she never felt before, and admittedly, better than the pleasure she felt when doing her work. This was a pleasure incomparable, anything else was inadmissible.

She leans back on her hands, squeezing the grass between her fingers, abdomen clenching as he focused on her clit. But then he kissed lower and lower, until he reached her tight hole. It was narrow, and obviously never touched before, which made him desire her more. But what he wanted most was to taste her, he just knew it would be good.

He darts his tongue out, testing the pearly liquid that escaped her. And his assumption was so right. Harry tasted like a mix of things, for one, nectar. He holds her open and sucks on her quivering hole, swallowing every drop her pussy offered.

Fresh cherries, maple sap. Louis savors the sugary fluid, closing his eyes in tranquility as he sips on her hole. He pulls away, face slick with her fluid, and Harry feels herself get wetter. “Lean back, it’ll feel better.” Louis encourages, pushing on her torso.

Harry easily complies, and her legs fall freer in the position. Louis licks between the petals of her cunt, collecting and spreading her slick before sucking her clit again.

Harry moans. It’s soft and quiet, but audible, and it encourages Louis further. Harry closes her eyes, lost in the satisfaction coursing through her body. Louis pulls away and dips the tip of his finger in the arousal seeping out of her soaked hole, the single digit splitting her open. Her hole swallows the rest of his finger and he slowly moves it, flicking the digit inside her before he returns his mouth back to her clit.

Her lower abdomen tightens and she feels the tip of Louis’ nose press against her pubic bone. She thought back to the way she disapproved of her sisters going out to mess with this cocky vampire --- but now she understood very well what they felt.

She could do this everyday. She would never admit that aloud, though.

Louis pushed his finger in harder, touching a part of her that made her squeal in her surprise. He stroked her for a moment longer before pulling his finger out, leaving her empty. She frowns in confusion, and Louis loves the desperate flush her cheeks have taken. Her eyes were dark with lust, pupils blown, nearly taking up her irises. Louis licks his lips, reveling in the numb feeling. “I knew you’d taste sweet.” He mumbles before capturing her lips in a hungry kiss, immediately licking inside her mouth.

Harry’s mouth falls open instinctively and she whines, tugging on the delicate hairs at the nape of his neck. He marvels in the pain, and Harry savors the taste of herself on the vampire’s tongue. She had thought Louis was exaggerating, but she truly was sweet, and that aroused her more.

Louis breaks away and starts undoing the front of his jeans. She watches him tug his pants down his legs and consciously slides her hand down her stomach, touching her core. She collects her fluid on two fingers, rubbing the sticky fluid together. She brings her hand up to view, curiously studying the creamy sap.

“You should try it.” Louis says knowingly.

Harry blinks at him, and then at the substance before languidly sucking on her fingers. She runs her tongue along her skin and hums. She did taste sweet, she never knew she had such a sugary essence inside her. Louis watches the fairy suck her fingers naively and it makes him grow stiffer in his trousers. He quickly pulls his clothes off until he’s in nothing, the tepid air hugging his skin.

He would’ve loved to see her cum, but he wanted to feel and see her cum on his dick, instead. And with the way she seemed to be inexperienced, he knew she’d have the best orgasm ever --- and that wasn’t just his ego talking.

Louis holds his length in a firm grip, thumbing the wet slit of his cock as he prepared to enter the nymph. Lying on a blanket of peonies and grass, she looked ethereal, beyond any beauty compared. He guides himself to her hole and rubs the head of his penis on her wet entrance, stimulating it as much as possible until he could milk enough lubricant where the slide would be effortless.

Harry peers up at him with curiosity as the vampire leans over her body, hands between his legs. She feels him nudging against her entrance, but he doesn’t enter her, and it’s beginning to drive her crazy. She groans vociferously and shifts, lifting her bum off the ground to encourage him. Louis understands what she wants, but he wasn’t going to comply so quickly. He does, however, push in a little bit, until she catches around his tip.

Harry sighs and starts to calm down, but her heartbeat accelerates when he grabs her wrists, pinning them to the ground. “Be patient, and then I’ll give you everything you want.”

Harry softly huffs and turns her head, the grass tickling her skin. She tries to wait, but she isn’t one to be patient. She bends her knees and the motion makes him slide in deeper. Louis moans for the first time, and it’s beautiful and hot, his breath whispering in her ear, down her neck.

Louis looks down at where they connect, admiring the way her pink skin stretched around his cock, attempting to adjust to his girth. Louis felt immense attraction to the fairy, to her innocent beauty and sexuality. She was vulgar, as much as she was demure.

Louis pushes further into her, watching as she expanded around him, her pussy taking in as much as it could. Harry hissed, but she didn’t express too much pain. Her wetness allowed for him to ease in a little gentler, preventing her from any serious pain. He fills her up until he’s pressed to the pelvis, and she, filled to the hilt.

Harry exhales shakily, squeezing the poor grass as she adjusts to him. She could feel the swell inside her, and when he started to move his hips, she couldn’t hold in her moans any longer. Louis didn’t think Harry would be so vocal, being as though she seemed timid before, but she was loud. Not in an obnoxious way, in a way that encouraged him to fuck into her harder.

Their skin and groans reverberate throughout the forest, a beauteous symphony of their passion. Harry tells him how fast and slow she wants it, demands for him to thrust this way, or hold and grab her this hard, and he lets her believe that she has that control. Even during sex, she was cocky.

Louis withdraws from inside her so suddenly, she almost doesn’t realize, until her throbbing hole clenches around nothing. She frowns and looks at him in confusion, but he doesn’t offer a response. He wordlessly flips her over, which was effortless, due to how light she is, and pulls her hips up until her ass was raised. Her lips part in surprise and she plants her hands on the grass, turning her head slightly, but Louis grabs her by the back of her neck and pushes her down, leaving only her behind up.

His grip is so strong that she can’t move at all. She waits, pushed onto the ground with only her behind exposed until he pushes into her again. In the position, he slides in easier and deeper, touching her in a place she never knew existed. In so deep, she didn’t even know he could get that far. She mewls, prolonged and aching as he enters her. He keeps her pressed into the grass, even when he’s fully inside, reaching the depths of her cunt.

She leaks out more in the position as well, profusely creamy in and around. Harry croons, completely immobile due to his grip. Louis holds her down and starts to move again, slow at first. Every time he withdrew, the removal made a wet noise, squelching whenever he entered again. He continues the motion slowly, gradually building a quick, balanced rhythm. Harry’s body rocks with the power of his thrusts, as much as her lower half would allow her, as she was still pressed to the ground.

Louis strongly drives into her, chasing after that addicting nectar that had him yearning for more. There was a spot that he kept hitting, stimulating and pushing choked ‘yes’ s and ‘uh’s out of the fairy. Noises that she didn’t know she was capable of making, he made her swear, when she never cursed in her life. Louis releases his hold from her neck and wraps her hair around his hand, tugging on it sharply. The pull sends a tingling sensation down her spine, along with the throb in her scalp.

Her curls were starting to become looser due to the sweat she was producing, and she doesn’t think she’s ever sweated this much in her life. Louis was making her feel things she never experienced before, it was refreshing, and consuming at the same time. Louis releases her hair and lets her fall back onto her shoulders, now attracted to the dip of her spine, the way her ass perked up from how she arched. He rests his hand on her lower back, right where her arch was and thrusts harder, sliding deeper.

Harry cries out when one of his thrusts makes her choke up, her muscles tensing. It felt like a fire growing in her stomach, all of her senses running wild as something bubbled inside her. She didn’t know what it was, but Louis did, and he couldn’t wait for it to happen. He leans forward until he was pressed against her back, hands rested at each side of her head. “Are you gonna let me fuck you like this whenever I see you?” He whispers, kissing the side of her ear.

Harry whimpers, burying her face in the grass. “Yes.”

“Gonna let me fuck you hard, mark you up?” He questions, quickening his pace.

Harry’s eyes roll behind her lids, her bundle of nerves being punched repeatedly. It felt like getting a beating, but in a great way.

"Yes.” She screams, mouth falling agape until she couldn’t make a sound anymore. Louis snaps his hips against her ass, their skin slapping carnally, echoing through the forest. Her breasts rubbed against the dirt, stimulating her nipples in a strange way, and the pleasure was overwhelming.

“I saw you sitting up on that tree branch, with your doll face and milky thighs. Do you have any idea how sinful you look?” Louis says, and as he teases her, he keeps up with a constant pace, fucking her raw and rough.

Harry moans, shaking her head persistently. “No.” She whines.

“I wish you could you look like taking my cock. Bet you’d like it even more if it was in your mouth, huh?”

She gasps at the vulgarity, curling her fingers in the tufts of grass so harshly that she tears it out of the ground. She'll feel bad about it later, but right now she could feel that she was so wet that it was leaking down Louis' balls. "I-It feels so weird." She admits, her pussy clenching sporadically.

"Mhm, that's because I'm making you feel good. I'm gonna make you feel better than any magic could ever make you feel." Louis mutters and his thrusts begin to slow, a deliberate pace, but a hard slam of his hips that jolts her body.

Harry starts to grow desperate, her little toes curling from the sensitivity of her pussy. "And can I tell you something, love?" Louis adds, grinding against her body.

She nods her head in despair, unable to get enough of the vampire's inducing voice. "You're the best fairy I've ever had," He admits. "Best smelling," he pushes into her harshly. Harry moans, a clipped "uh." "Best tasting," he repeats the same force, pushing out another moan. Her blood starts to thrum, and she could feel the hairs on her body rising, something indescribable building up.

"Best pussy."

Like a dam bursting out of a burrow, her orgasm hits her harshly, and it feels so good that she doesn't even notice the creatures lingering in the shadows, watching her be defiled so publicly. It feels so good that her wings unfurl from her back, shimmering and fluttering erratically with every quiver of her body.

Louis never made a fairy reveal their wings while fucking them, it momentarily stuns him when he sees it. His initial reaction was shock, but it slowly wears off when he sees the pixies out of the corner of his eye, trying to 'discretely' watch the two's public affair. His cock throbs from inside her pussy and he groans, pulling out of her.

He couldn't flip her while her wings were still fluttering, he'd risk hurting her wings, and he didn't want to do that. They were so beautiful, translucent with a hint of color that glistened in the dimming evening.

"Calm down for me, love. Just for a second." Louis whispers, kissing the back of her neck. Harry groans into the grass, more thick beads of fluid leaking out of her. The sight makes Louis' cock twitch and he strokes her thigh, trying to make her relax.

It takes her a second, but her wings eventually lower and he flips her onto her back. She looks utterly spent, her entire face flushed, grass sticking to her wet cheeks and the corner of her mouth where she had drooled. And her eyes, still a lustful gaze --- but her irises had taken on a hue of gold. Her lashes were moist, a darker shade of black, now that it was wet. She was a sight for sore eyes, and Louis had contained himself long enough.

He takes ahold of the back of her thighs and wraps her legs around his waist, keeping a hand on her spine to keep her lower half off the ground. The angle is a little uncomfortable, but all that discomfort dissipates when he enters her again, instantly striking deep into her core.

Harry's cherry lips fall open in a silent moan and she stares at the man as he fills her up. This time, she doesn't break eye contact, and it makes the moment more intimate. He enters her fully and immediately falls into a hurried rhythm, chasing after his climax.

He doesn't fail to meet her spot every thrust, urging more fluid out of her until she starts dripping onto the grass.

The grass was lucky to have such natural nectar like her.

Louis uses her body like a rag doll, holding her hips harshly, pulling her to meet his thrusts, and her pussy throbs, achingly sore.

Harry never liked pain, but the soreness she felt right now was unrecognizably good. She looks at Louis through half-lidded eyes, wet lips formed in the perfect 'o' and Louis couldn't ignore her lips anymore.

He leans down and kisses her feverishly, fucking her roughly. Their teeth clash from how vehemently they kissed and he pulls away, needing to hear her speak again. "Will this pussy be mines forever?"

Harry nods quickly, her body tensing up.

"Say it."

"It's yours." She cries, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

"What was that?"

"I'm yours, Louis! I'm yours, I'm-" Louis grunts, his hips starting to take the erratic pace, only a vampire could be capable of, and it pleases her as much as it hurts.

They come to their release at the same time, she lets out a long, guttural moan, and Louis pushes as far as he could go, releasing inside her. Her back curves again, and Louis keeps a firm hold on her, staying pressed inside her while he comes.

Harry breathes shallowly as she comes down from her high, her vision slowly returning until she can see the vampire clearly again. He grins, satisfied by the orgasms he'd given, and this time, she smiles back. Dimples sink into her cheeks, and Louis doesn't think she could get any prettier than that.

"My name is Harry." She eventually says, answering the question from what felt like ages could.

Louis chuckles and leans forward, kissing her delicately, like the doll she is. "My little venice bitch."

#cis female harry styles #larrystylinson #louistomlinson #fanfic #harrystyles #fic rec #larry #ltops #cis girl harry #hpussy #larry smut

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naughtycurls · 10 months ago

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I 💘 ⚽️

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naughtycurls · 10 months ago

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when you don't have to think about it, love me at the ungodly hour (14299 words) by wreckingstyles Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: One Direction (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik, Minor Harry Styles/Original Male Character Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Female Harry Styles, Male Louis Tomlinson, Cis Female Harry Styles, Side Ziall, Alternate Universe - High School, Reckless teens, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Harry Styles, Fuck Boy Louis Tomlinson, Skater Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, Female Niall Horan, American AU, Private School, Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Crush, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Dork Harry Styles Series: Part 1 of ungodly hour series Summary:

Harry's the epitome of every father's dream. She's acquiescent, docile, and intelligent. At school, she was pretty, a seemingly popular student, and a walking ray of sunshine. She's also committed herself to being abstinent, with very little interest in any of her classmates.

That all changes when she meets Jaxton Carty. She's sure she's in love with Jaxton-- even willing to give him her virginity. However, Jaxton goes by a strict policy that he "doesn't do virgins," much less, date them. A little bummed, but still set on dating Jaxton, Harry soughs out for her best friend.

—Cue for the school's "fuck boy," Louis Tomlinson.

OR the one where Harry loses her virginity in the boy's bathroom stall.

#larrystylinson #louistomlinson #fanfic #harrystyles #cis female harry styles #fic rec #larry

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naughtycurls · 1 year ago

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I'm electrified, I'll be up all night

I'm electrified, I'll be up all night (21383 words) by wreckingstyles Chapters: 4/6 Fandom: One Direction (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Camila Cabello, Liam Payne Additional Tags: harry styles is lana del rey, Trans Harry Styles, References to Arctic Monkeys, louis is basically alex turner, country Harry styles, Kentucky, New York City, Long Island, Fluff and Smut, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Daddy Kink, coquette, Feminization, a lot of smoking, Deepthroating, Poetry, Singer-Songwriter Harry Styles, Rock Star Louis Tomlinson, Inspired by Real Events, Song: Born to Die (Lana Del Rey), Unreleased Lana Del Rey, Inspired by Lana Del Rey Songs Summary:

Harry's a transgender woman, singing in bars to hopefully get enough money for bottom surgery. She doesn't recognize her talent.

Louis' an upcoming rockstar, astounded by her singing. He knows she's talented, but she doesn't believe it. So, Louis puts up with the quest to help her get a career and bottom surgery. Falling in love just happens to be a bonus.

#transgender #hbottom #ltops #larry #fic rec #coquette #arctic monkeys #alex turner #lana del rey #harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry stylinson #fluff

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naughtycurls · 2 years ago

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you taught me how to love (i taught you how to stop) devilinmybrain rated e, 50k

“I was always better at hand to hand than you,” Harry growls, even as he leans his weight into the blade. It’s small, sharp, has a handle of gold roses.

“I don’t know about that.” Louis moves his arm forward, makes the presence of the barrel of the gun fit snugly to Harry’s hip. “I think we just play differently.”

“You going to shoot me?” Harry asks, those wild eyes tracking over Louis’ face. “Do it.”

“I think I’ve put enough scars on you,” Louis answers, means it about the stretch marks still lining the sides of Harry’s stomach, but it lands a little too raw. There are other scars on Harry’s body that Louis blames himself for, scars inside too.

written for the @momrryficfest

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naughtycurls · 2 years ago

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sex education ࿓ inter!harry

larry fic based on all your favorite teen movies ;) a little bit of regina, jessica, and an exaggerated dose of olive. in this WIP, harry is a sex addicted teen, who can bag almost anyone - except louis tomlinson.

THIS IS NOT COMPLETE, THIS IS ONLY A SNEAK PEEK.

"No, mom! I never ever in my life spoke to a Raphael. No, I don't know why the hell some chic named Royale came down to the house — that's not my problem because I don't know them. Just tell them to shut the hell up if they ever come back!" Harry said before hanging up the phone.

He checked himself in the mirror before heading down the stairs. His father Desmond sat at the table on his laptop, most likely answering a few business emails. "Hi, Daddy." Harry greeted, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Hi, princess. Why don't you drink a cup of OJ to get you started." He suggested. Harry scrunched up his face, grabbing his baker boy hat from the hook on the wall. "Nah, I prefer a chai latte better." Desmond chuckled. "Always a diva."

Harry smiled at his father before grabbing his purse too. "I'll talk to you later, love you!"

"Make sure you don't spend too much after school! Love you, honey!"

Harry shut the door behind him and excitedly headed towards his car. Recently, after his seventeenth birthday his parents finally bought him the convertible he's been wanting since he was a kid. It was nice and a light pink color — his absolute favorite. Nothing could describe the joy he felt when his eyes landed on that car. Harry climbed into the motor, starting the engine. He dug into his bag for his phone and opened it, going to his friend's contact.

"Hi, Melissa. I'm in the convertible right now, you need a ride?"

"Of course I do."

Harry smiled. "K. Pick you up in five." He pressed on the gas, making the car speed forward, something Desmond always scolded him for.

The schoolyard was filled with students either hanging around their cars, sitting on the steps, or lying in the grass. It was always like that before school started. Harry parked into the lot, clicking off the radio. "That was my song." Melissa complained.

"Yeah, well, if you want Sarah on our asses, I suggest we get a move on." Melissa rolled her eyes playfully and opened the car door, accidentally slamming it into someone else's. "Come on now!"

"You should've parked straight, you dufus!" She shouted back. Harry giggled, patting the girl's shoulder. "Don't put a scratch on my door."

Melissa Jefferson and Harry Styles, it was a popularized name around the school. They had been best friends since preschool, ever since Melissa got on Harry for trying to eat play doh, they'd been inseparable. Harry Styles was definitely a well known name around the school, he was rich, his father was a plastic surgeon and his mother was a sexologist. But, that wasn't what he was known for, yes, people knew he was rich as hell, but what they knew him for was quite... perplexive. Harry was.. in other teenager's words (specifically male) a slut. He liked sex, he had sex, a lot of it. He was basically known for it. If you had a dick, he'd take it. If you had a vagina, he played it, there was no in between, although he did prefer cock.

It all started after finding Anne's sex book in her office a year ago and getting a little curious, which resulted in him practicing on Melissa, which turned into the neighbor's son, to their cousin, to his classmate, to the football team, to the art club, and so forth. Harry felt like he couldn't stop — of course it wasn't an addiction, he could stop any time he pleased but sex was just amazing. And Anne always encouraged him to do what he liked.

Sex was what he liked.

"You know, the other day I saw Danielle." Melissa mentioned as the two walked together. "Campbell?" Harry asked. "Mhm. And guess who she was with? Eric Sanders." Harry gasped, staring at Melissa. "My Eric?"

"Yup."

"I swear it's like she's.... she's trying to tic me off. I swear the next time I see her I'm going to slap her across her slutty ass fa–"

"Hi, Harry!" Danielle exclaimed, walking towards to the duo. Harry smiled, holding Danielle's hands. "Hey, Dani! How are you? Oh my god your scarf is gorgeous."

"Thank you so much! Your hat is adorable!" Harry laughed and they shared a hug before walking away. Harry scoffed, wiping off his jacket. "Such a cunt." Melissa nodded in agreement. "I can't believe she walks around with that stupid smile on her face after what happened."

"Exactly! And I'm going to have a talk with Eric."

"Do it. I told you not to even fuck him, he's ugly anyways." Harry shrugged. "I know a good fuck when I see it."

+++

Lunch was a common thing to worry about, you had to sit at the right table and if you were to be at the wrong... it's over. It was essential to have friends, or at least a person you've talked to before so you didn't end up sitting at a table alone feeling like everyone's eyes were on you when in actuality everyone could care less.

Harry always had someone to sit with. Erika, Sarah, Ariel, and a bunch of other girls he couldn't remember the names of. "So, I was thinking of getting this dress for Taylor's party." Melissa said as she showed Harry a dress on her phone. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, chewing on his fries. "Taylor's having a party?"

"Yeah." Melissa answered. "I never heard about that." Harry mumbled thoughtfully. "Yeah, well enough about that, is this cute?"

"Anything that clings to your body is cute, Melissa."

"It has to be a pretty color and nice fabric." She argued. Harry sighed and placed his fry down. "Okay, we can just go to my cousin's store, I'm sure he has better dresses than that." Melissa hummed, putting her phone back. "Works for me."

Harry looked through the cafeteria distractedly until his eyes landed on a boy in a jumper. He squinted to see him better, noticing that he was talking to someone. "Hey," he elbowed

Melissa. "Who's that guy?"

"What guy?" Melissa asked. "Over there." He pointed. "I don't see anyone."

"You're not even looking!" Harry said, starting to shake her when he saw that the guy was getting ready to walk away. "Oh my god, what!"

"Who is he! Red and black jumper!" Melissa's eyes bulged out her sockets when she saw who Harry was referring to. "Louis Tomlinson?!"

"That's his name? God that sounds so hot." Harry murmured, resting his chin on his hand. "No it is not! He's literally fucking gross, he just gets stoned all day and is like.. an emo."

Harry bit his lip. "That's even more hot."

"No way!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes! Do you know how hot it would be to suck him off while he's smoking. A fucking dream." Melissa shook her head at her friend, watching him pull out his lip matte. "Please don't tell me.."

"Why haven't I seen him before?" She asked, applying the lipstick. "Probably because he's a stoner." Melissa said rudely. "Quit being so judgmental." Harry scolded.

"Says you."

Harry stood from the table, pulling down his shirt. "Watch my food, will you?"

"Whatever." Harry smiled before approaching the lunch line, where Louis was stood against the wall. He made sure to add an extra swing to his hips, tucking a curl behind his ear. He saw Louis' friend's eyes widen and smirked, straightening his posture. "Hi."

Louis turned around and Harry swears his breath was knocked right out his throat. Louis was hot. His body was lean, and Harry knew he just had to be fit underneath that loose jumper he wore. His pants were baggy but his face made up for it. His jaw was sharp, and Harry could see there was a little stubble coming in. His hair looked so soft, a nice caramel color with hair pushed to the side. His eyes were blue.. and it was so electric. It felt like they were pulling him in. Harry licked his lips and gave a small wave to Louis' friend.

Louis raised an eyebrow at the shorter boy. "Hi?"

"My name is Harry." Harry introduced, stretching out his arm. Louis slowly took his hand, and Harry shivered at how rough yet soft his hands were. "Louis."

"And I'm Niall." Louis' friend piped in. Harry grinned, nodding. "Hey, blondie."

Harry rested his eyes back on Louis. "Y'know I don't think I've ever seen you before." Louis pursed his lips, nodding. "You're really attractive, has anyone ever told you that?"

"No, I don't believe so." Harry didn't hear how raspy his voice was until now, and God if you were to hear it. They hadn't even gotten anywhere and Harry was already fantasizing about what an amazing afternoon they could have. "Your hair's really beautiful." Niall said. Harry laughed, touching the ends of his curls. "I think it'd look even better with Louis' hands in it, don't you think?"

Niall gaped, looking at Louis who was almost in the same state, but more subtle. It was no use for Harry though, he already figured out the body language most men had when he made comments like that. Harry grinned slyly and tilted his head. "So?"

"You're a really nice... boy, Harry."

Harry hummed. "But, no. Sorry." Louis pushed Niall forward before walking away. Harry watched the older boy in shock — he never got rejected before. Even worse, by a 'stoner'.

Niall stared at him with a frown. "I would definitely fuck you if you ask—"

"Shut up." Harry interrupted.

"Okay." Niall whispered before following Louis. Harry got back to his table and slumped in his seat, picking at his food. "What happened?"

"He said no! Can you believe that?!" Harry asked. Melissa's mouth fell open. "No way!"

"I'm... I don't even know what to say." Harry said sadly, hiding his face in his hands. "And I really liked him! He's actually really good looking, and now he doesn't want me. How can I make him want me?"

"Harry, you never go after people. Please don't make him a first."

"There's a first for everything." Harry said. "I'm so bummed."

"Don't be. He's just a piece of shit."

"A piece of meat is what he is." Harry corrected.

#larrystylinson #intersex harry styles #louis tomlinson #fanfic #fic rec #unfinished #interharry #mean girls #bottom harry styles #harry styles #high school #rich kids #spoiled harry styles #nymphomaniac

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naughtycurls · 2 years ago

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Tupelo Honey by superglass

“What,” Louis starts, always hating how silence like this drives him crazy, “what exactly are you gaining from all this? All this, following a mediocre band around. Why do you do that?”

Harry giggles around her cigarette, looking out at the alley. When she smiles, her teeth peek out behind her red lips, giving him the chills— right down to his core. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile so pretty. So enthralling he can’t take his eyes off of it. “I’ve got nothing better to do, Louis.”

Louis is a roadie for a rock band, and Harry is their groupie. 1970s au.

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naughtycurls · 2 years ago

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“I don’t, I don’t,

Don’t know what it is…”

(9.16.14)

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naughtycurls · 2 years ago

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— Milk Farm

É 1890, Harry Styles é filha do dono de uma das maiores fazendas da Inglaterra. Louis Tomlinson é o leiteiro da cidade. Harry não deveria sentir tanto desejo estar em estar perto de Louis, muito menos deveria odiar tanto a proximidade de sua irmã gêmea com ele.

Hpussy

Diferença de idade (17 e 19)

Porn with plot

Perda de virgindade

11 mil palavras

Na lenda de Ragnarök, o evento cataclísmico que marca o fim do mundo na mitologia nórdica, é dito que os sinos tocarão para alertar os deuses sobre a chegada iminente da batalha final. Os sinos são mencionados como parte dos sinais que anunciam o início do conflito entre os deuses e as forças do caos.

Vinculado à percepção dos sons e as vibrações sonoras, sinos também representam o critério da harmonia universal, simbolizando também o chamamento divino, e a comunicação entre o céu e a terra, além de seu contato com a vida subterrânea.

Para os moradores de Colchester, o sino representava um novo dia. Cinco batidas no som de uma música caseira vinham diretamente da igreja da cidade. O sol já apresentava-se tão bem nas ruas serenas, livrando-se do frio escomunal do outono rigoroso. Era possível ouvir as galinhas cacarejando, os bois sendo alimentados e os cavalos já correndo tão livremente fora de seus celeiros.

Entretanto, Harry não deveria ouvir isso. Ela não deveria estar ciente dos ventos das manhãs, dos empregados andando pela casa e, muito menos, da água gélida que caía das torneiras antes das 7 horas da manhã. Aliás, a regra era clara: os empregados usam a água gelada em seus banhos, enquanto seus patrões usam a água quente para um banho confortável. Era comum, na verdade, já que apenas as grandes fazendas, a alta sociedade e os donos de grandes dotes possuíam água quente em suas residências.

A ponta dos dedos não conseguiam evitar o ranger da madeira a cada passo da garota. Saía de seu banho em silêncio, mesmo que seus dentes se chocassem um contra os outros por conta do frio. Enrolada em um robe grosso vindo do Oriente, ela buscava não molhar o chão que escorregava por baixo de seus pés molhados, falhando ao que os cachos pingavam gotículas grossas. Tudo o que a cacheada precisava era de, no mínimo, uma frecha de luz. Todavia, nem sua lâmpada poderia ser acesa, muito menos as cortinas serem abertas.

Uma moça como Harry deveria estar dormindo a essa hora, era simples. Ela estara entrando na vida adulta com seus 17 anos, logo casaria-se e cuidaria de seus filhos, sendo assim, necessário que dormisse por, pelo menos, 8 horas diárias. Sua mãe a mataria se visse que, durante o último mês, ela acordara duas horas antes do que o esperado para ver de sua janela um ordinário empregado.

De fato, aquilo estava acabando com sua vida. O pó-de-arroz era seu melhor amigo indispensável para cobrir as marcas escuras e as bolsas inchadas abaixo de seus olhos. O chá estava sendo substituído por doses escondidas de café, e seu professor já não suportava mais a falta de atenção nas aulas.

Mas a parte crucial, ninguém jamais entenderia.

Louis William Tomlinson era conhecido na cidade. E, apesar dos desejos de Harry para que fosse conhecido como seu namorado, ele era apenas um galã entre as meninas de todas as classes, mas um sonho possível somente para as moças pobres.

Apesar dos olhos azuis encantadores, de suas roupas bem lavadas, do sorriso sempre grande e albescente, sua linhagem não era tão agradável para os pais das moças que o queriam.

Ser vista com o leiteiro da cidade seria uma elevação com os adolescentes e uma queda de reputação social ao mesmo tempo. Além do mais, com uma família de seis irmãos, morando no cortiço de cidade, misturando-se com o gueto e trabalhando para os grandes senhores de fazendas, sua reputação não poderia nem ao menos ser comprada, já que o faltava dinheiro até para sobreviver.

Harry não planejava ser vista com ele, mas isso não a impedia de ficar em sua janela vendo o dia amanhecer, enquanto de longe conseguia seguir os movimentos de Louis com os olhos verdes curiosos.

O trabalho do homem era apenas esperar que os leites estivessem engarrafados, sair para fazer suas entregas e voltar até que todas estivessem concluídas. Mas absolutamente tudo ficava melhor quando ele decidia ajudar os fazendeiros.

Mesmo com a temperatura baixa, Louis retirava sua camisa branca para não sujar, sentava-se no banco de madeira e retirava o leite das vacas que caiam diretamente no grande balde. Os músculos de seus braços contraíam, enquanto suspiros eram arrancados de Harry. Ela sentia-se esquentar sempre que a mão grossa e as veias saltadas se arrastavam pela testa com rastros do suor quente.

Quando chegava na escola contando para as meninas sua visão tão privilegiada, elas a odiavam mais, enquanto outras se juntavam para o chá da tarde apenas para ouvir mais detalhes, na esperança de que Louis aparecesse sempre.

Uma vez, quando Louis estara trabalhando nos celeiros e entrou completamente acabado do dia de trabalhado dentro da casa, uma das amigas de Harry pediu pateticamente para lamber seu suor.

Tomlinson apenas sorriu de lado enquanto soltava uma risada constrangida. Querendo ou não, ele sabia bem que todas as meninas queriam um pedaço de si. Todas elas tinham um boato para inventar, mas todas sabiam que Louis nunca havia ficado com alguém da cidade. Aquilo intrigava Harry, mais do que deveria.

Apesar do poder das histórias de Harry sob as outras garotas de sua idade, havia alguém que a fazia querer gritar por horas sem parar.

Harriet Styles era o empecilho de sua vida.

Nascida apenas dois minutos antes da cacheada, sua gêmea era tudo o que ela não era. Com os mesmos traços, o corpo igualmente esculpido, o cabelo um pouco mais do que o de Harry, ela era encantadora. E, para piorar, vivia na cola de Louis.

Louis a adorava, Harry a odiava.

Há cerca de um ano, Louis e Harriet começaram a se ver na fazenda. Então, tentando se vingar de sua irmã, Harry perdeu sua virgindade com o noivo dela, na cama dela.

Aquilo gerou brigas infinitas, dedos em seus rostos, gritos escandalosos, lágrimas raivosas. Mas tudo o que Harriet disse no final fora:

"Ainda bem que eu me livrei dele. Obrigada por todo o trabalho, irmãzinha."

Desse dia em diante, os encontros aumentaram. O pior de tudo era: Harry não fazia ideia do que tanto eles faziam juntos. E caso descobrisse, prometeu que deixaria sua irmã careca. Então, ela jamais seria uma dama boa o suficiente para casar com alguém.

Quando os olhos dispersos perderam Louis de vista e o sino anunciou 6 da manhã, Harry saiu da janela, voltando a fechar a cortina pesada.

Jogou-se em sua cama macia, abrindo o robe e respirando fundo. As mãos subiram por seus seios gordinhos, massagendo os mamilos. Com calma, tocou sua barriga, acariciou o começo de sua virilha e se frustrou. Suas mãos jamais seriam as mãos de Louis. Elas eram, aparentemente, tão boas, tão firmes, tão grossas. As suas eram sem graças, sem fundamento.

Quando estara prestes a tentar outra vez, acariciando o clitóris macio, sua porta fora aberta com prontidão, fazendo-a pular e se cobrir com o pano ainda pendente em seu corpo.

— Deus, Harry. Eu não acredito no que quase vi. — Era Harriet. Ela acendeu a luz do quarto, vendo a irmã tão corada e encolhida na cama.

— Você quer me matar? Eu pensei que era a mamãe. — Quase gritou, amarrando o robe novamente em seu corpo. Não falaria em voz alta, mas a sensação de ser pega a fez se molhar no mesmo instante.

— Papai e mamãe saíram de madrugada, farão uma viagens de longos dias até a França. Eles avisaram. — A mais velha disse, aproximado-se da irmã e deixando um beijo em sua bochecha.

Os olhos de Harry brilharam. Seus pais não estariam no país. Estariam tão distantes como não ficavam há tanto tempo. Sentia-se nas nuvens, com o coração acelerado e seu sorriso grande nos lábios. Afastou-se instantaneamente de Harriet.

— Eu preciso me arrumar para ir à escola. — Correu até o guarda-roupa. — Saia do meu quarto, Harriet.

— Isso não significa que você vai dar para o Louis, irmã. — Andou até a cama da irmã, sentando-se na mesma enquanto a observava, Harry se livrando do robe e procurando peças de roupa.

— Cala a boca. — Bufou.

— É óbvio que todos os homens da cidade já tiveram você. — Riu, analisando o corpo da outra. — Louis não vai querer uma prostituta. Por isso, se alguma de nós duas têm a oportunidade, sou eu.

Harry estava se vestindo, não dando ouvidos a outra. No final, Louis jamais resistiria a ela — pelo menos era o que esperava.

A camisola já estara vestida por baixo, sendo posto os espartilhos em sua cintura. Enquanto a maioria das mulheres reclamavam da peça de roupa, tudo o que Harry podia fazer era agradecer. Sentia-se uma verdadeira prostituta quando o usava sem a camisola por baixo, tendo os seios ainda mais fartos e seu corpo perfeitamente modelado.

— Vamos, Harriet, puxe pra mim. Aperte o quanto conseguir. — Virou-se de costas para a irmã, sentindo quando começou a entrelaçar o espartilho e puxar. Sua respiração se prendeu nos pulmões por breves segundos, antes que seu corpo se acostumasse com a ideia apertada.

Seu corpo parecia tão bonito, tão desejado por si mesma. Olhava-se no espelho encantada ao que sentiu um beijinho da irmã em seu ombro, terminando de amarrar a roupa. Ela estara prestes a deixar mais um selar quando, sem paciência, Harry a empurrou.

O vestido azul deslizou-se por seu corpo. Ele apertava seu torso, descia apertada até sua cintura e caia mais naturalmente sobre os quadris, ganhando volume. As mangas eram longas, mas não bufantes, dando a vez para que o pequeno casaco azul e dourado que alcançava o meio de sua silhueta fosse vestido. E, apesar de comportado, o decote expunha o volume de seus seios que o espartilho proporcionava.

— O que você ainda está fazendo aqui? Vá se arrumar. — A irmã se deu por vencido, saindo do quarto sem dizer mais nada.

A roupa fora finalizada com suas botas com saltinho, seu chapéu com fitas que cobriram o coque e suas luvas de renda branca.

No entanto, quando desceu as escadas para tomar seu café, descobriu por Harriet que Louis não estava mais lá. Nem mesmo acordando mais cedo ela conseguia o encontrar.

🥛

O humor ruim de Harry era tão evidente.

Na pequena escola de tijolos, concentrada no topo de uma pequena montanha, ocorria tudo consideravelmente bem. Apesar da expressão emburrada, dos lábios em um biquinho chateado e seus xingamentos à Rose, que buscava balançar o leque na velocidade perfeita, seu dia não estava sendo tão entendiante.

É claro, Sr. Frederic ensinando matemática em um dia de sexta-feira não era agradável a ninguém. Todos ansiavam para o término da aula, ansiavam por suas casas antes das uma da tarde. As barrigas revirando de fome, seus olhos revirando em tédio, seus lábios tremendo a cada bufar. Nem mesmo o professor parecia raciocinar.

Mas o almejo de Harry sob aquelas circunstâncias eram bem diferentes. Charles Lowell havia a chamado antes do sino da primeira aula tocar. O diálogo entre os dois foi breve, diferente do apertar em seu seio esquerdo que a fez gemer baixinho, com os olhos inocentes na direção das pupilas negras, enquanto seus dedos pressionavam a roupa perfeitamente passada do garoto, segurando-se em seu bíceps.

Ele a questionou de forma ofensiva, em busca do preço que cobraria para ter sua boca chupando a bucetinha da cacheada.

No entanto, ao invés de sentir-se ofendida, ela esfregou-se mais na mão alheia, sentindo o biquinho enrijecido de seu seio contra os dedos macios, mesmo com a roupa grossa. Um sorriso escroto, misturado com libidinosidade, surgiu nos lábios vermelhos, fazendo Charles ficar ainda mais encantado.

"Nos acertamos no final da aula, querido. Não se deve falar com uma dama dessa forma. Seus pais não o ensinaram algo extremamente básico?"

E, deixando-o para trás, ela saiu. Seus quadris largos balançavam em sua direção, soltando uma risadinha ao chegar perto das amigas, disfarçando todo o acontecimento anterior. Sendo, seu maior problema, sua apreciação por ser vista como uma prostituta de bordéis baratos.

A sensação de sentar-se a mesa com seus pais para o jantar, vestindo vestidos comportados, luvas novas, penteados com laços grandes, tendo sido, anteriormente, fodida em algum beco, era incrível.

Seus pais permaneciam pensando que Harry era a filha pura, enquanto ela permanecia com seu sorriso inocente sem contestar nenhum dos elogios.

Quando, naquele dia, o sino de lata fora balançado pelo professor, ecoando um alto som dentro da sala, todos saíram com rapidez, mas elegância. Sumiam na paisagem esverdeada, marcando chás da tarde para o sábado, passeios até a igreja no domingo e festas do pijama.

Harriet não havia aparecido, muito menos se arrumado para ir à escola. O que deixara Harry incomodada. Se a irmã não estivesse na escola, poderia estar com o que era seu.

Sentiu-se tola ao recusar o convite de Victoria para irem até a fazenda de Harry em sua carruagem. Queria chegar rápido, mas ao mesmo tempo queria aliviar aquilo que Louis fizera com seu corpo.

— Charles, precisamos ser rápidos. O Senhor Frederic fica por mais uma hora dentro da sala revisando os materiais. — O puxava para a lateral da pequena escola, dividida em apenas duas salas de aula.

— Você não tem com o que se preocupar, princesa. — Aproximou-se para beija-la, sendo afastado.

— Não. Sem beijos. Você disse que queria me chupar. Isso vai custar um espartilho de couro. Já que visita a cidade todos os fins de semana, não será problema para você. — Sorriu, encostando-se na parece. Não era o lugar ideal, mas servia.

Seus sapatos brancos sujavam na grama úmida, assim como a ponta do vestido longo. A cada mínimo movimento a expressão apavorante de Harry ficava pior. Pelo menos não teria que fazer muito esforço, diferente de Charles.

Apesar da falta de beijos em sua boca, os lábios carnudos de Lowell umideciam seu pescoço frio, beijando-o adoradamente, como uma peça de porcela. As mãos grandes massageavam seus seios, fazendo sua cabeça pensar apenas em Louis.

Se fosse Tomlinson ali, deixaria-o engravida-la apenas para o alimentar dos leites de seus peitos. Permitiria que a boca chupasse cada gota, que ele se satifazesse apenas com o gosto doce dos mamilos vermelhos e do leitinho quente.

— Ajoelha, Charles. — Bateu em seus ombros. A xotinha pulsava de tesão só com o pensamento, molhando entre suas pernas, já que a calcinha era ausente naquele dia.

Harry poderia ser bem agressiva durante o sexo, apesar da intimidade delicada e do corpo esbelto que parecia jamais ter sido tocado. Ela amava ser controlada, apanhar em seu rosto ao que se contraia em um pau grosso, ou ser proibida de gozar, mas amava também ter o domínio de cavalgar forte, cuspir de forma humilhante no rosto do seu parceiro se não estiver saindo da forma que deseja e o ensinar como uma vagabunda merece ser tratada.

Afinal, aproveitava de um pouco dos dois mundos, tirando a inocência de virgens dentro de banheiros e sendo arrombada atrás de paredes de tijolos.

— Deus, Harry. Que bucetinha linda. — Ela sabia. Elogios como esse eram comuns.

O garoto estara ajoelhado na grama, enquanto Harry levantava seu vestido. Apreciando a intimidade molhadinha, ele sentia a ponta do salto da mulher por seu corpo, até que a coxa estivesse se apoiando no ombro alheio. Ela se abriu mais, sentindo-se tão exposta. Um sorriso cafajeste estara presente nos lábios molhados, as covinhas afundando nas bochechas, e Charles passando a se afundar entre suas pernas.

Soava meio inexperiente a atacar com tanta fome, tentando penetrar sua língua e apanhando no rosto sempre que se afastava. Ela rebolava em seu rosto, esfregando-se naquele rosto bonito, querendo seu gosto por ele todo.

— Isso, isso! — Gemia baixo. Seu chapéu já estara desvencilhando de sua cabeça, o penteado sendo desfeito sempre que não resistia a tombar-se para trás. Sua mão era bruta nos fios castanhos, forçando-o a pronto de o deixar sem ar.

O relinchar de um cavalo podia ser ouvido. Alguém, provavelmente, havia parado ao pé do morro.

— H, temos que ir. — Lowell parecia acabado. As bochechas coradas, os lábios e queixo sujos, o cabelo cacheado bagunçado.

— Temos, Charles? — Apesar da dificuldade para agarrar seu vestido com apenas um braço, ela o fez. Desatou a luva de sua outra mão e brincou com seu grelinho, passando a pontinha da unha para arranhar e seu dígito para massagear a dor.

Olhava tão profundamente naqueles olhos, sendo perseguida por um turbilhão de sentimentos. Um deles era a frustração de confiar em homens virgens. Eles tinham tanta confiança em si, mas tão pouca nela. Harry já havia se livrado que inúmeras situações apenas com o rostinho bonito e os cílios grandes fazendo sua parte de piscadela chorosas.

— Se você não voltar com essa boca agora, eu vou entrar dentro daquela sala, dar tão gostoso para o professor Frederic, e fazer todos os dias você ter a consciência de que jamais me tocará outra vez. — Estalou um tapa em sua bucetinha, gemendo alto. O melzinho em seus dedos foi saboreado por sua própria boca, enlouquecida no próprio gosto.

E, como sabia, a ameaça disfarçada de chantagem, funcionou.

Submersa nas emoções, atraia Louis com seu pensamento. Até que pensou estar delirando. Ele era um êxtase extremo para seu cérebro, e uma adrenalina para seu corpo. E de todas as vezes que se tocou pensando nos olhos azuis, jamais tivera algo tão realista em sua frente. Jamais se tocou para ele.

Louis estava ali, de costas para os dois. Recolhia as garrafas de vidro que seriam repostas na segunda-feira. Tão disperso, distraído e concentrado em suas atividades. Parecia tão diferente do que estara pela manhã. Seus cabelos desgrenhados, mas molhados — denunciando que havia saído do banho recentemente —, vestia calças desgastadas, uma blusa de botões, com os mesmos abertos, e suspensórios soltos nas laterais de seu corpo.

A pele macia de sua barriga era tão atrativa, coberta em um caminho de pelos ralos até que sumisse dentro da calça de alfaiataria, tão bonito e pecaminoso, como a tatuagem desenhada em sua clavícula. Inconsequentemente, Harry gemeu mais alto, gozando na boca de Charles, enquanto suas mãos apertavam fortemente seu vestido e o homem investia mais a língua dentro de si. Seus olhos estavam conectados aos azuis agora, seus dentinhos de coelho afundados em seu lábio inferior e a expressão melosa de Harry, olhando em sua direção como se implorasse por ele.

Louis a observou por alguns segundos, dando seu costumeiro sorriso de lado e o negar leve com sua cabeça. Desceu os olhos para Charles e depois para o vestido bagunçado, dando as costas.

Harry sentia-se tão rejeitada. Jamais fora tão humilhada apenas com um olhar. Seus olhos marejaram, o coração apertou, afastando Lowell no mesmo segundo.

— Eu preciso ir. — Arrumou o vestido, vendo o homem jogado no chão.

— Mas-

— Nos falamos depois. — Saiu andando, voltando apenas para sussurrar. — E se você ousar contar isso pra alguém, eu digo que seu pinto é tão pequeno que se parece com um clitóris. — Saiu marchando, ouvindo a risada atrás de si se tornando distante.

Correr nunca fora uma missão fácil para Harry, ainda mais quando os empecilhos contavam com seu salto afundando no solo macio, seu vestido embolando ao que dava as passadas apressadas e a insistência dos cachos volumosos caírem por seus ombros, fazendo-a segurar o chapéu azul bebê em sua cabeça.

Ela precisava de uma desculpa para encontrar Louis. Apesar de saber, lá no fundo, que Louis jamais se importaria realmente com os detalhes de sua vida. Talvez se importasse mais em saber qual era o café da manhã de Harriet, do que saber quantos prêmios a Styles mais nova pretendia ganhar.

Louis Tomlinson era terrível. Mesmo não fugindo de Harry, seus passos eram maiores, mais largos. Ela não entendia. Os dois compartilhavam do mesmo tamanho, mas as pernas femininas eram ainda mais longas que as dele. Elas deveriam ser mais ágeis, contando com o fato de que Styles dispunha de uma professora particular de ioga, vinda diretamente da Índia.

— Louis! Espere! — O homem já descia o morro, parecendo suspirar profundamente ao ouvir a voz. Aquilo fez com que Harry se encolhesse.

— Diga, senhorita. — Ainda que estivesse no meio na descida de barro, Louis voltou, subindo com a cesta de garrafas, carregada em um de seus braços. — Me parece com dificuldades para descer. — Ofereceu seu braço, tal que fora agarrado no meu segundo.

Harry jamais esteve tão perto de Louis, assim como jamais ouviu tanto de sua voz.

Ela soava tão calma, mesmo com o sotaque carregado do interior da Inglaterra. Era suave, rouca em certas palavras, mas macia. Se fosse tocavel, Harry imaginava que seria como deleitar-se em um campo de flores suaves e tenras.

Seu cheiro era tão bom, deixando notório o uso do sabão caseiro, tal como em suas roupas limpas. E mesmo com a imagem obviamente cansada e gasta, Louis ainda era o homem mais bonito que já conheceu. Desde a barba rala recentemente crescida, ao seus bíceps que a deixavam tão segura de que estara em boas mãos.

— Você está indo até a fazenda? — Louis concordou, concentrado em ajudá-la, até que finalmente estivesse em chão plano. — Pode me levar? Eu não tenho com quem ir. — Engoliu a seco. — E... Eu vim atrás de você também para pedir uma coisa.

— Eu não vou contar ao seu pai, senhorita. Não é da minha conta. — Ela sorriu pequeno. — Vamos, suba. Vou a levar em casa. — Estendeu sua mão, ajudando-a subir na parte de trás do carrinho conduzido pelo cavalo, sendo uma versão de entrega das carroças, só que mais fácil de ser pilotada.

Styles não se propiciava a tal humilhação de ser vista andando de forma tão miserável. Mas Louis estava ali, fazendo um lindo barulho com seus lábios em forma de um biquinho, permitindo que o cavalo começasse a andar. Era encantador, mesmo que trágico.

Permitiu-se tirar o chapéu que enfeitava sua cabeça, sentindo a aragem fresca em sua face. O caminho emanava paz, tornando o cintilar dos vidros e o cavalgar do cavalo os únicos sons possíveis de serem ouvidos durante toda a estrada.

Louis parecia ignorar sua presença, concentrado nas rédeas e em assobiar alguma canção. Harry o olhava desolado, os fios cacheados contra sua face a tornando ainda mais dramática. Era como se suplicasse por um oxigênio que se recusava a entrar em seus pulmões, deixando-a para morrer em uma constante injúria.

— O que tem feito, Louis? — Perguntou sorridente, o receio da rejeição atingindo suas linhas de expressão.

— O que eu faço quando você não está me observando?

As bochechas avermelhadas por conta do frio ganharam uma sensação tão quente de vergonha em sua derme. Louis sabia. Ele era um maldito homem com o ego inflado, não muito diferente de todos os outros que Harry já conheceu..

— Eu não o observo. — Falou rudemente.

— Então por que está sempre em sua janela ao amanhecer? — Ergueu a sobrancelha. Mas seu olhar era tão distante. Ele observava a tudo, menos ao que estara plantada ao seu lado.

— Ora, vendo o sol nascer. Não sou exibida com você, que fica tirando a camisa para moças inocentes. — O acusou, tocando com a pontinha do dedo o ombro alheio. Louis olhou para sua mão, rindo.

Ele amava rir, aquilo irritava Harry. Não pelo simples fato de ser feliz, mas pela risada que acompanhava o tom sarcástico.

— Não se preocupe com isso, quando tiro minha camisa, não há nenhuma moça que eu queira impressionar. — Seus lábios se ergueram em um sorriso. — Aliás, seu pai me vê como um filho. Então... Seríamos como irmãos, não acha? — Questionou retoricamente de forma tão calma.

Aquilo era muito para Harry.

— Ah, acho que uma de suas luvas se perdeu.

Era muito até para Harry. O seu carma tinha nome e sobrenome. O seu carma era o maldito Louis Tomlinson. Ele nem havia a tocado, mas já a oprimia como uma onça poderia fazer com um gatinho.

Os braços da cacheada se cruzaram em uma total birra, enquanto tentava inutilmente esconder sua mão sem a luva. Assim como Louis a ignorava, ela também o fazia. A diferença era que, ao invés de deixá-lo vencer, ela apertava os braços abaixo de seus seios, deixando-os ainda mais expostos para o outro. Sabendo bem que, uma hora ou outra, ele não se contentaria em apenas sentir a provocação.

🥛

O amor tem sido um tema essencial nas narrativas humanas ao longo da história. Embora os contos eróticos possam se deleitar na expressão da sexualidade e eroticismo, eles não são desprovidos de amor.

São deixados em livros, contos, cartas e em várias tradições literárias, incluindo a mitologia grega e romana, que o amor é retratado de diferentes formas, desde relacionamentos românticos, casos de desejo e paixão.

Afinal, como citava Platão em uma de suas obras mais famosas, todos estão destinados a essa busca constante e incansável por sua outra metade a fim de se restabelecer o original e primitivo “todo”. Não apenas sobre o sexual, mas incluindo-o em sua busca.

A manhã de sábado se estabelecia. O galo já havia cantado, os empregados já haviam posto e retirado a mesa de café, entrando na preparação do almoço. Entretanto, Harry permanecia em seu quarto.

Durante toda a madrugada, observando o céu de sua janela, pensando na imensidão do universo e questionando o vácuo que surgia em sua cabeça sempre que estara perto de Louis, tomou-se a conclusão de que, de alguma forma, talvez o desejo incansável pelo rapaz estivesse aflorando.

Harry e Louis não eram Piramo e Tisbe do século XIX, mas Harry ansiava por um final de história melhor.

Contanto que não acabasse mortos para inspirarem um novo conto de Romeu e Julieta, ela sentia-se em vantagem. De qualquer forma, Romeu amava Julieta, assim como Píramo amava Tisbe, diferente de Louis, que ao menos gostava de Harry.

A não ser como sua irmãzinha postiça, é claro. Soava sempre mais patético sempre que pensava sobre isso.

Fora perto do amanhecer que Harry se sentou em sua escrivaninha. A cadeira de madeira não era confortável, mas nem mesmo sua cama parecia aconchegante naquele instante. Tudo parecia tão confuso ao que se misturava com o calor de seu corpo e a corrente fria de ar adentrando a janela aberta.

Se pudesse listar um novo dicionário, adicionaria uma nova sensação: a sensação de Louis Tomlinson. Apelidaria de Louie para simplificar a palavra, sendo descrita como a sensação que parte do aconchego de olhos ternos, misturado com a confusão de um amor e envolvido em um tesão absurdo.

Daquele dia em diante, Harry decidiu que só se relacionaria com outros homens ou até mesmo mulheres, após descobrir o que sentia verdadeiramente por Louis. Caso fizesse com outra pessoa, uma parte de si estaria traindo-o — mesmo que ele não fosse seu.

Seus dedos estavam cansados, escrevia sem parar em diversos papéis, o tinteiro já chegando ao fim quando decidiu que seria aquela carta.

Escrevia uma carta à Louis. Não declarando seu amor, mas declarando seus desejos. Era vesgonhoso citar a forma que desejava suas mãos, ou confessar seus sonhos mais molhados. Apesar das palavras eróticas e da forma poética que as usava, torcia para que, depois de sua morte, ninguém a publicasse como uma lembrança.

Dobrou a carta, deixou um beijinho marcado de batom vermelho e usou o sinete para lacrar o papel, a marcação vermelha contendo um H em sua formação.

Quando terminou, levantando-se, o sino bateu nove vezes. Suas costas doíam, mas seu coração acelerado e ansioso fazia o suficiente para que a dor fosse esquecida e substituída.

Ela permitiu-se tomar um banho longo, escovar os dentes com um sorriso em seus lábios, pentear os fios até que estivessem repartidos no meio e enrolando em pequenos cachos conforme secavam.

Era sábado, sem seus pais e com poucos empregados na casa. Um dia preguiçoso que pedia por uma camisola de cetim. Havia sido presenteada em troca de um boquete no banheiro da igreja. Vestia-a muito bem, com a cor rosinha constatando tão bem em sua pele.

Calçou suas sandálias brancas, passou o batom vermelho e borrifou seu perfume francês. A carta estara em sua mão, tal como seu coração. Vivia em um impasse, mas decidindo rapidamente que seguiria em frente com a decisão.

O sol resplandecia ao lado de fora. A fazenda aparentava estar vazia, mas não em total silêncio. Era perceptível os cavalos correndo e uma risada ecoando, fazendo-a correr para perto do grande campo livre onde os cavalos costumavam treinar para as competições de equitação.

Eles valiam milhares de libras, vivendo até mesmo melhores que Harry. O que significava que apenas pessoas permitidas podiam cuidar ou cavalgar neles. Harriet não era uma, Harry tinha certeza, apesar da risada soar tão parecida com a dela.

Suas dúvidas foram sanadas ao que, de longe, um Louis sem camisa e uma Harriet de roupas íntimas, foram vistos. Harry ferveu de ódio, porque deveria ser ela ali. Ela deveria ter Louis atrás de seu corpo, rindo enquanto guiava o cavalo. Ela deveria estar encostada em seu peito úmido. Ela deveria rir de suas piadas e beija-lo escondido.

Uma lágrima raivosa escapou, secando-a tão rápido como a velocidade que os dois se aproximavam. Até que estavam bem em sua frente.

— O que você acha que está fazendo, Harriet? — Gritou com a irmã, vendo-a descer do cavalo com suas roupas molhadas.

— Bom dia para você! — Sorriu cínica. — Eu e Louis fomos nadar no lago. Aquele que íamos quando nossos primos estavam aqui.

Louis havia ido até o celeiro guardar o cavalo. Voltava bagunçando seus fios castanhos, sem se preocupar muito com o que acontecia entre as irmãs. Os pés descalços e a calça de algodão preta estavam molhados e, mesmo que tentasse não olhar, o peitoral escorria gotículas grossas.

— Bom dia, Harry. — A voz aveludada o cumprimentou com um sorriso grande.

— Vá para o inferno você também. — Falou irritada, voltando a olhar para Harriet. — Entra para dentro de casa e vai colocar uma roupa. Agora.

— Você normalmente é menos careta, sabia? — Pediu a ajuda de Louis para pular a cerca, com ele vindo logo atrás. — Se tivesse saído com os caras que costuma sair, não estaria de tanto mau humor hoje.

Harry respirou fundo, prestes a estapear aquele rosto e fazê-la entrar a força dentro de casa. Todavia, não perderia o controle.

Após ser convencida por Harriet, os três seguiam até o coreto da fazenda. Quando eram menores, costumavam fazer piquiniques ali. Ela parecia não ter perdido o costume, já que havia uma cesta e um pano estendido no chão de pedra. Era como uma traição de ambas as partes.

— O que trouxe, Lou? — A mais velha perguntou, se sentando. Suas pernas estavam abertas como um banquete para Louis, com seu corpo levemente jogado para trás, apoiada em suas mãos.

— Peguei sanduíches na cozinha... — Revirava a cesta. — Frutas, garrafas de leite e o que você mais gosta. — Sorriu para ela, deixando Harry em pé como uma vela ambulante. — Tequila!

— Deus, você me conhece mesmo.

Ele sorriu convencido. Harry chutaria sua irmã se Louis não estivesse ali. Depois, o entregaria a carta que, agora, está presa em sua calcinha.

— Senta aí, H. — A outra falou, fazendo-a apenas assentir e se sentar entre os dois. Era algo tão desconfortável.

— Tequila, Harry? — Era Louis perguntando, fazendo-a apenas assentir e ajeitar a camisola em seu corpo. Sentia-se virando uma velha conservadora.

Tomlinson derramou um pouco da bebida dentro da garrafa de leite, sacudindo para que misturasse. Deu um longo gole, passando para Harriet, que fez o mesmo. Harry pegou ao ser oferecido, cheirando a mistura e levando até os lábios, sentindo aqueles olhos em si.

Com goladas hesitantes, o leite branquinho escorria pelo canto de seus lábios de forma imperceptível para ela. Sentindo apenas quando as gotículas caminhavam por sua clavícula, até seus seios. Quando afastou a garrafa e deu ao homem, notou seus olhos vidrados, e Harriet mais perto de seu corpo.

A mais velha tocou a barra da camisola, levantando-a de seu corpo e retirando quando Harry permitiu. A boca rosada correu em sua clavícula, chupando o leite derramado até seu queixo, fazendo-a se arrepiar.

Harry olhou para Louis, sorrindo ladino. Ele parecia ver o paraíso com aquelas seios grandes expostos, os biquinhos duros e a pele se arrepiando. Os olhos verdes se fecharam com o beijo em seu pescoço, abrindo apenas para ter a visão maravilhosa do pau grosso delineado na calça do homem.

— Você não acha que ela está suja de leite, Lou? — Harriet questionou, se afastando para derramar mais um pouco pelos seios da irmã. No entanto, a única coisa que fez, fora beijar seus ombros e acariciar sua bochecha, deixando lambidinhas no canto de seus lábios.

— Vem me limpar, gatinho. — Harry falou extasiada, observando como era fofo a forma envergonhada que Louis se aproximava, lambendo as gotas na barriga branquinha e subindo até seu seio. A garota praticamente o esfregou em seu rosto, segurando nos fios lisos e passando o biquinho por seus lábios, até que ele estivesse mamando.

— Se ele mama tão bem assim no seu peito, imagina o que fará quando você o ensinar a mamar sua bucetinha, irmã. — Harriet sussurrou como diabo em seu ouvido, descendo os olhos pelo corpo da mais nova e puxando a carta que encontrou presa em sua calcinha.

Harry estava prestes a contestar, mas o leite sendo lambido em seu torso a fez se calar. Sua calcinha estara encharcada, aproveitando a excitação do momento com aquela boca chupando seu peitinho, enquanto apertava o outro, brincando com o biquinho.

Louis não era o mais experiente nisso, ficou óbvio para as duas. Mas só o fato de ser ele, e o detalhe que ela ensinaria do jeito que gosta, era maravilhoso. Praticamente um sonho.

— "Em meus devaneios mais desvairados, vejo-nos envoltos em lençóis de seda, unidos num abraço apaixonado, onde nossos corpos se fundem em um frenesi de desejo. Imagino suas mãos firmes explorando os lugares mais íntimos, despertando sensações indizíveis em meu ser. Ah, como anseio sentir seu pau pulsante, profanando a fronteira entre o prazer e a loucura." — Harriet recitava um trecho da carta, apoiada em suas panturrilhas, sentada ao lado dos dois. — Deus, Louis. Ela diz que quer sentar em seu rosto enquanto se fode em sua língua e se esfrega em seu nariz.

— P-para, Harriet! — Mandava, inebriada pelos estímulos em seus seios. Louis mamava faminto, segurando em sua cintura enquanto trazia o corpo mais para si. — A minha xotinha tá pulsando... Eu vou, merda... — Gemia desesperada, a cabeça tombada para trás ao que recebia as mordidas superficiais nos mamilos.

— Ele não vai tocar você, H. — Acariciou a barriga da irmã, deixando leves carícias. — Louis nunca tocou em uma, por que você seria especial? — Riu, negando com a cabeça. Louis parecia ter sentido raiva daquilo, já que maltratou mais os peitos, beliscando forte com seus dedos e deixando o outro bem molhado de sua saliva. — Você queria ser a primeira dele, não é? — Murmurou, fingindo tristeza.

— Harriet! Porra! — Gritou, seu braço enlaçando o pescoço de Louis enquanto sua outra mão descia até sua intimidade, tocando o clitóris por cima do pano fino da calcinha.

Ela se masturbava na mesma intensidade que seus peitos eram chupados. Seus olhos estavam fechados em total concentração, ouvindo o barulho molhado ao seu lado da irmã se tocando. Mas toda sua concentração estava na boca deliciosa não saindo de seus peitos gostosos e doloridos.

— Vem, H. — Louis surrussou contra seu pescoço, puxando Harry para cima de si, deixando-a sentar em sua coxa. Com seu indicador, afastou o pano encharcado da calcinha, concedendo o grelinho a se roçar em sua calça.

— Aperta meus peitinhos. — Mandou, pegando as mãos e as colocando em seus peitos, vendo o sorriso nos lábios finos ao que ela ia para frente e para trás com seu quadril, gemendo alto.

Ele brincava com os peitinhos, notando a ausência de Harriet ali. Todavia, sabia para onde ela deveria ter ido. Por isso, não se importou em continuar, beijando a bochecha de Harry enquanto os movimentos diminuíam, tornando-se mais lentos, mas mais intensos.

— Sabe, Louis. — Ela dizia baixo, sujando sua calça. — Eu já dei pra tantos caras pensando em você. — Louis riu baixinho. — E se caso um dia eu tiver a oportunidade... — Ela sorriu, olhando em seus olhos e selando seus lábios. — eu vou deixar você chupar todo o meu gozo. Você vai cuspir ele no meu cuzinho e vai me foder tão forte com a porra desse pau delicioso.

— Continua, princesa... — Pediu, sentindo o corpo tremer em sua perna.

— Eu não sei, Louis! Eu quero fazer tantas coisas com você. Deixar você foder meus peitos, mas também quero que encha minha buceta de porra. — Sua boca se abriu em um gemido mudo. O corpo se contorceu em excitação enquanto ela liberava seu gozo na calça alheia, agarrando-se ao corpo.

— Seu linguajar se assemelha ao de uma puta, sabia?

Harry riu, sentando direito em seu colo enquanto o abraçava, contando algumas pintinhas em suas costas. Pela proximidade, conseguia sentir o caralho grosso abaixo de si, dando uma leve rebolada, mas sendo impedida de continuar.

— Talvez eu seja uma. Você gosta de gozar em putinhas? — Sussurrou no pé de seu ouvido, beijando seu pescoço e deixando a marca vermelha de batom.

— O que você quer que eu admita, Harry? — Perguntou, brincando com seus cachinhos.

— Que eu fui a primeira que gozou em você, pra você e com você. — Bufou. Era óbvio. — E que você não vai comer a Harriet.

Ela colocaria um limite de "Você não vai comer ninguém", mas soaria tão possessiva. Deixaria para mostrar esse seu lado em algum outro momento. Por ora, era apenas aquilo.

— Você foi a primeira pessoa com quem eu já tive toda essa proximidade, Harry. — Riu, envergonhado. Harry tentou sair do abraço para olhar em seu rosto, mas ele não permitiu. — E eu não farei nada com a sua irmã. Jamais fiz, na verdade. — Garantiu.

Harry sorriu com aquela vitória. Era uma competição onde apenas ela jogava, mas já era seu prêmio no final.

Os dois ficaram por mais algum tempo ali, naquele abraço, naquele aconchego molhado. Harry beijava sua pele, Louis acariciava suas costas, tocando sua espinha dorsal com calma. Vez ou outra, Harry se esfregava como um gatinho, recebendo risadinhas de Louis.

— Me leve para o quarto. Eu estou cansada. — Bocejou fraquinho, enlaçando as pernas na cintura alheia e sentindo-o levantar.

Era ainda melhor do que nos seus sonhos. Porque Louis cuidava tão bem de seu corpo. Acariciava sua derme, beija-a molhado por seu corpo, sussurrava como seu cheiro era incrível.

Ela não poderia estar se sentindo melhor aquele dia, temendo que fosse um sonho, e que logo cairia de sua cama.

Presa naqueles pensamentos, não notou quando já situava-se em seu quarto. Louis encostou a porta, deixando-a deitada em sua cama. Era convidativo chama-lo pata deitar ao seu lado, dormir agarrada ao corpo, acordar em algumas horas e continuar naqueles braços. Mas Louis parecia apressado para ir embora.

Deixou um beijo terno em sua testa, puxando a coberta para que ela se cobrisse. No entanto, fora impedido. Ela sorriu, tirando a calcinha de seu corpo e o oferecendo.

— Leva pra você. Eu ainda tenho muitas. — Mordiscou o lábio inferior, contendo um sorrisinho. Ele beijou o pano e guardou em seu bolso, finalmente a cobrindo.

E, infelizmente, ele se foi naquela manhã.

🥛

Domingos chuvosos se tornam uma perdição, acompanhados do vento frio perfeito para deitar em cobertas quentes e limpas.

O cheiro de chocolate quente apoderava-se dos cômodos da casa, um aroma adocicado e caseiro de uma cozinha quente. Biscoitos no forno e o creme sendo batido para acompanhar.

Harry e Harriet chegavam da igreja naquele domingo. Após uma missa longa, bençãos do padre da cidade, a falta de Louis e uma forte chuva que as encharcou, a Styles mais nova se recuperava. Sua recuperação não se fazia apenas por esses fatos, mas pela obstinada dor em seus seios, também.

Como uma dama, herdeira de riquezas e fazendas pelo país, deveria trocar de roupa três vezes ao dia, sem contar com a camisola do fim de noite. Todavia, era impossível nessas circunstâncias. Todos seus vestidos eram muito apertados, e quaisquer panos eram muito incomodos ao que encostavam nos mamilos sensíveis.

Ela odiava Louis por fazê-la sentir dor. E odiava-o ainda mais por não dar as caras naquele domingo. Talvez, em sua presença, eles poderiam tomar chocolate quente enquanto ela o desenhava, trocando beijos quentes e toques secretos.

Mas seu final, durante todo aquele dia, fora trágico.

Em seu quarto, parada em frente ao espelho, ela desenhou-se. Dividia sua atenção em olhar o corpo parcialmente nu, coberto apenas por um roupão, em desenhar seus detalhes e beber da bebida quente acompanhada de biscoitos enquanto ouvia Harriet falar.

— Sabe, irmã... — Ela iniciava outro assunto, indo até o prato de biscoitos e pegando mais um. Vestia apenas sua camisola e meias rosas, tentando executar uma trança em seus cabelos.

— Sim? Diga. — A olhou sorridente, vendo o corpo descansar no chão, ao lado do seu, de bruços.

— Você se lembra de ontem, não é? — Harry assentiu, traçando suas pernas na folha. — Eu a deixei com Louis para ir atrás de alguém. — A cacheada franziu seu cenho.

— Pensei que o seu "alguém" fosse Louis.

— Não, por Deus! — Riu. — Ele é gostoso, mas eu sou fã de quem sabe pelo menos beijar. — Harry conteu uma gargalhada, não querendo soar maldosa.

— Louis sabe chupar peitos. Não descarte esse dom! — Rolou os olhos.

E então, a irmã contou sua história com a Senhorita Cross. Ela era um ou dois anos mais velha, cuidava da horta pessoal da fazenda. Havia sido contratada alguns meses atrás, em busca de qualquer emprego que a tirasse de casa. Senhor Styles, como um bom homem, a arranjou em minutos algum trabalho que não fosse pesado, mas que pagasse bem.

Emily Cross ocupava a casa de visitas atrás da fazenda, dividindo com mais duas das empregadas que trabalhavam na casa. Os sumiços de Harriet foram explicados, apesar delas não possuírem nada sério.

De fato, sua irmã não era mais uma preocupação.

Agora, o único impasse nisso tudo era Louis.

Elas terminaram o dia deitadas na cama de Harry, escutando Harriet cantar e permitindo que o vento casto e frio adentrasse o quarto enquanto dividiam um cigarro de palha. As vantagens de seus pais em outro país cresciam cada vez mais.

🥛

Segunda-feira destruía Harry. Não todas, mas aquela estava o tirando do sério.

As garotas contaram sobre o final de semana, em um papo infinito. Os garotos se gabaram da aposta de equitação. Harry apenas se gabou de seu estresse com tanto falatório. E claro, ganhou seu espartilho de couro.

Durante o intervalo, conseguia pensar apenas em Louis enquanto tomava sua garrafa de leite. Victoria também parecia pensar nele, já que comentou sobre a aparição do mesmo no pequeno comércio de sua mãe, naquela manhã.

Seus olhos quase reviraram ao ouvir sobre os olhos dele, sobre suas roupas e sobre o quão gentil ele era. Harry sabia disso tudo, não precisava de comentários obscenos disfarçados de elogios.

Para piorar, Charles o chamou no final da aula, dizendo que precisava de uma vagabunda para chupar seu pau. Harry apenas o chutou nas bolas e saiu de sua frente impacientemente. Sua falta de vergonha na cara tinha um limite.

Ou não, já que, no momento em que descia a colina, seus olhos brilharam em contentamento, correndo tão rapidamente até Louis.

Ele estava parado no pé da colina, um sorriso no rosto e encostado em seu carrinho. Parecia tão belo, tão fodidamente seu — por mais que ele ainda não soubesse disso.

— O que está fazendo aqui? — O beijou em sua bochecha, dando pulinhos de alegria.

— Vim entregar uma carta que chegou para você. Seus pais a mandaram. Tem até um cartão postal! — Disse tão surpreso, como se fosse algo de outro mundo.

— Hey! Eu posso te dar um cartão postal. Você gostaria de um? — E foi como se Harry tivesse o oferecido milhares de libras. Era algo tão genuíno aquele brilho feliz nos olhos azuis.

— Eu adoraria um. Obrigado, Harry. — Agradeceu gentilmente, ao menos aparentando ser o cara que o ignorava tão facilmente.

É possível que os acontecimentos de dias atrás fora essencial para aquela abertura entre os dois. A timidez de Louis poderia soar rude algumas vezes, mas era notável que não se passava de um medo. Medo de como agir, medo de falar errado, medo de estrapolar em suas conversas ou errar com quem tanto queria acertar.

Diferentemente de outros dias, Louis não parava de tagalerar. Eles conversaram durante todo o caminho. Harry o ajudou gentilmente a coletar as garrafas, mesmo sendo zombada por tropeçar algumas vezes em seu longo vestido lilás. O lado bom dos tropeços é que ganhava um selinho de recompensa.

Sua perspectiva estava no ponto de vista de Louis. Como ele era gentil com seus "clientes", como ganhava suas gorjetas que era colocadas em um saquinho de pano e como sempre segurava a ponta de sua boina cinza para cumprimentar as pessoas na rua.

Ao que pararam em uma fonte de água minada no meio da estrada, Louis prendeu o cavalo para que ele pudesse se hidratar. Ajudou Harry a saltar do carrinho e a levou para baixo de uma árvore, na intenção de se refrescarem um pouco.

— Você deve estar fervendo com esse vestido. — Ele riu, se encostando no tronco e estocando o braço nos galhos.

— Já estou acostumada, falando a verdade. — Aproximou-se do corpo. — Mas posso ficar sem, é só me pedir. — Abraçou o corpo de Louis, olhando em seus olhos. — Ou mandar. Eu gosto quando mandam.

— Acho melhor irmos embora, Harry. — Sorriu torto. Styles só desejava saber o que passava naquela mente.

— Desculpa. Eu não queria falar nada de mais. — Respirou fundo. — Eu só...

— Está tudo bem. Não quero que se sinta mal, princesa. — Agarrou seu rosto com as mãos, selando fracamente seus lábios.

Mas Harry mal conseguia sentir o gosto de seus lábios. Por isso, persistiu no selar, afundando seus lábios aos dele. Louis parecia inseguro, com seus dedos trêmulos segurando o rostinho macio, trazendo-a mais para si de forma hesitante.

Ali, com o sol esquentando seus corpos, com o sol da pequena mina vazando e do respirar ansioso de Louis, eles se beijaram intensamente pela primeira vez.

Todos os detalhes estavam gravados na cabeça cacheada. Cada mínimo som, cada mínimo toque. A textura e o gosto da língua de Louis contra a sua, os sorrisos bobos que escapavam dos dois, os sons molhados e um pouco desajeitados. Até mesmo a leve batida em seus dentes se tornou especial. Não fora dolorida, não fora vergonhosa. Eram apenas os dois, aproveitando de suas bocas, provando uma parte tão íntima, tão pessoal. Beijos eram significativos, ainda mais quando a oportunidade vinha com alguém tão especial.

No decurso da semana, Harry e Louis continuaram com aquela rotina.

Ele se beijavam encostados em árvores, andavam de cavalo por todo o pasto, deitavam no coreto e compartilhavam histórias.

Harry descobriu muitas coisas sobre Louis. Sobre seu aniversário de 20 anos que seria em dois meses, que ele amava ganhar os auto-desenhos de Harry, sua cor favorita era vermelho e seu pai havia morrido durante uma embarcação, onde limpava o fundo dos navios.

Foi por essa época que começou a trabalhar na fazenda para sustentar sua família junto com sua mãe. O que achou injusto por um tempo, já que sua vontade era trabalhar nas grandes embarcações, como seu pai. Todavia, com a maturidade, entendeu que deveria ficar por perto.

Harry também compartilhou com ele segredos, assim como compartilhou cartões postais, com e sem o seu rosto.

— Essa foi uma viagem que fizemos até a Espanha. Eu lembro de comer tantos pães que minha mãe tinha feito... — Sorriu boba, mostrando ao outro. Sentada em seu colo, usurfruia das lembranças do passado.

— Eu gostaria de ter uma fazenda na Espanha. Seria grande, com muitos cavalos e muitos filhos. — Acariciou o rosto bonito de Harry.

— E quem seria sua esposa? — Questionou, deixando os cartões postais de lado para enrolar os braços em seu pescoço e o beijar nos lábios.

— Tenho muitas opções. Deixe-me pensar. — Harry olhou ofendido para ele, deixando um tapinha em seu rosto. — Eu estou brincando, princesa! Por Deus, não seja tão agressiva.

— Não gosto de brincadeiras! — Emburrou o rosto. — Mas gosto da ideia de ser uma esposa. — Sorriu, puxando o lábio inferior de Louis, gemendo baixinho ao sentir as mãos em sua bunda.

Louis costumava a deixar louca, mesmo que inconsequentemente. Suas mãos apertavam sua bunda, seu pau raspava em sua intimidade e seus lábios costumavam beijar os lugares certos de seu pescoço. Mas ele nunca sabia quando começava, assim como nunca sabia como parar, antes que Harry estivesse prestes a tirar suas roupas.

— Eu cozinharia para você, lavaria suas roupas, cuidaria dos nossos filhos, serviria você sempre que estivesse ocupado... — Selou seu maxilar, até o pé de seu ouvido. — No fim da noite, quando eu estivesse bem cansada, você me comeria bem lento até que eu estivesse dormindo. — Gemeu com a ideia. — E eu deixaria você usar meu corpo da forma que quisesse. Você me comeria, foderia minha boca, dormiria latejando dentro de mim. — Levou a mão de Louis até sua intimidade, por cima da calcinha. — Quando eu acordasse pela manhã, estaria com seu leitinho quentinho guardado.

Tomlinson parecia tenso, sua mão cobria toda a bucetinha, onde Harry rebolava.

Era insana a forma que Louis a viu se contorcer durante toda a semana, e mesmo assim não a tocou de outras formas. Ela queria morrer, mas de tanto dar para ele.

— É muito cedo para nos casarmos, então? — Ele perguntou rindo, podendo sentir a umidade em seus dedos.

— Eu posso considerar o pedido com o seu pau dentro de mim. — Murmurou excitada, gemendo com o aperto dos dedos em seu clitóris.

Louis tossiu de forma forçada, tirando sua mão da intimidade quente. Ela estava fervendo, literalmente. Harry afastou-se frustrada, mas não querendo demonstrar. Ela se sentou ao seu lado e se recompos, mesmo com a merda de uma ereção que marcava a calça de Louis.

— Eu não entendo. — Ela falou após um silêncio doloroso.

— Eu gosto dos seus peitos.

— Eu sei, Louis. Mas não fala assim, é brochante. — Passou a mão por se próprio rosto. — Eu quero que você tenha prazer.

— Sim, sei disso.

— E eu quero ter também. Mas você precisa se soltar mais. — Olhou para ele. — Não quero forçar você a nada. — Louis a olhou ternamente.

Sem pensar muito, tirou a blusa que usava. Ela sabia que ele amava seus peitos. Mas ela queria conseguir amar aquele pau, o que não era difícil, mas jamais esteve tão perto de um Louis sem suas calças.

Se deitou na cama, observando Louis. Apertou seus seios, juntando um ao outro, cruzando as pernas quando começou a estimular eles.

— Tira sua calça. Você vai aproveitar dos meus peitos. Eu quero que se aproveite de mim. — Falou seriamente. — Quero que você aprenda a me usar até que eu esteja implorando pra você não me machucar mais. Entendeu?

Incerto, Tomlinson se livrava sua calça, assentindo para Harry sobre tudo. Não tinha muito o que fazer, apenas concordar. Ela o guiou até que estivesse com ele por cima de seu corpo, as duas pernas ao lado de sua barriga e sua mão apoiada na cabeceira.

— Eu nunca estive tão perto dessa pica, Deus...

— Harry! — Chamou sua atenção.

— Eu quero beijar essa divindade, Louis. Não fique com vergonha. Mas eu tô tão molhada. — Beijou a cabecinha rosada. — Você vai foder meus peitos, eu vou deixar eles bem apertadinhos e você vai comer, entendeu?

— Entendi, princesa.

— E você pode gozar onde quiser. Só, por favor, mete esse pau em mim de alguma forma que eu vou adorar. — Sorriu, espremendo os peitinhos quando ele encaixou o membro no meio deles, começando um vai e vem gostoso.

Louis ia fraco, com medo de machucar, mas aumentando a intensidade quando os lábios avermelhados contornavam a glande molhada.

Ele segurava na cabeceira, ofegante conforme Harry apertava mais e gemia, com as bolas pesadas batendo em sua pele e as veias grossas se arrastando em seus peitos. Harry se sentia suja por fazer aquilo com ele, mas estava amando ser apenas um brinquedinho para que ele pudesse se aliviar.

— Você é imunda, Harry. — Rosnou, fodendo tão forte que ficava cada vez mais avermelhada.

Em um impulso, uma de suas mãos apertou as bochechas gordinhas, fazendo-a parar para que pudesse cuspir em seu rosto. O que sabia que a excitaria mais, a fez tremer conforme gozava forte em sua calcinha. Sua boquinha estava mais aberta, pedindo por mais daquele pau que comia seus peitos como se fodesse uma xotinha.

Quando Louis gozou, ela engoliu, até mesmo os rastros brancos deixados em seu peito.

Naquela noite, Harry jamais esteve tão satisfeita.

🥛

Harry pensou que tudo mudaria desde a noite em que sentiu o gosto de Louis.

Mas nada mudou.

Na verdade, a única coisa que mudou fora a forma como Harry não gozava há 1 mês.

Ela não podia reclamar de como Louis era um bom quase-namorado. Ele a levava flores, entrava por sua janela de madrugada, escrevia bilhetes, beijava sua testa, a buscava na escola.

Ele a tratava como uma princesa. Até mesmo se ajoelhava para tirar seus sapatos ou corria até sua casa quando via algo que o lembrava ela. Realmente, sem reclamações. Seus passeios eram incríveis, seus beijos eram incríveis, sua pegada estava incrível. Só que tudo isso junto deixava Harry pegando fogo, mas Louis nunca apagava.

Era frustante quando ao menos queria a dizer o porquê. Sempre fugindo do assunto e dizendo que tem algo importante a fazer.

Todavia, Harry jamais se perdoaria se perdesse Louis. Porque, pela primeira vez, estava realmente gostando de alguém. Então suas vontades se tornaram passageiras e acumuladas.

Ela ainda desenhava sua intimidade, escrevia cartas quentes, andava rebolando para ele quando estavam pertos de alguém. E ele não parecia odiar, muito pelo contrário.

Tomlinson a chamava de gostosa, dizia como seu corpo era perfeito, como ela o excitava, contava de seus sonhos com Harry, e sussurrava em seu ouvido como sua bunda estava linda. Isso não ajudava em nada, na verdade, só piorava.

Foi então que, deitados na praia vazia, acariciando o peitoral de Louis, ela sentiu que precisava colocar algo para fora.

Haviam planejado aquele piquenique na praia algum tempo atrás. Harry levou algumas coisas, Louis também. Forraram um lençol nas pedras e passaram a tarde ali. A saudade era tanta, ao menos fazendo questão de se desagarrarem.

Senhor Styles havia o chamado atenção ao quase atirar em seu corpo ao ver a sombra subindo na janela de sua filha. Ele o ameaçou, disse que aquilo não iria para frente e que, apesar de ser um bom garoto, Harry já tinha outros pretendentes.

Proibidos de se encontrarem, mesmo com Louis trabalhando na fazenda, Harry fez um protesto contra seu pai. E como ele conseguiria resistir a sua mais nova chorando todas as noites de forma dramática em seu quarto?

Sentindo pena e remorso, Desmond chamou Louis aquela manhã, dizendo que se violasse sua filha, ele estaria morto. Deveriam estar juntos com algumas regras como: sem encontros todos os dias, sem beijos longos, sem pular a janela de madrugada e que toques ou qualquer coisa a mais só aconteceria depois do casamento. Aliás, aquele namoro só era garantido até que um pretendente melhor comprasse sua mão por libras, terras ou até mesmo uma caixa de suco.

Com seu rosto encostado no peitoral nu, sua coxa por cima da perna de Louis e a mão grossa do homem acariciando sua cintura, Harry não aguentava mais.

As primeiras lágrimas vieram de forma calma, apenas escorrendo sem que Harry percebesse. Tornou-se claro que era um choro quando soluções o acompanharam, fazendo Louis se assustar. Mas sua garota não o deixou ver seu rosto, chorando ainda mais intensamente.

— Princesa, o que aconteceu? — Penteou seus fios para trás com os dedos. — Você está bem?

— Eu só estou pensando. — Disse calma, mesmo que o choro tornasse tudo desesperador.

— Em algo triste?

— Não. Deveria ser feliz. — Se desfez do abraço, olhando no rosto de Louis.

— Então por que você me parece tão triste? — Acariciou seu rosto, vendo-a deitar em sua mão.

— Você não entende, Lou. Definitivamente não entende. — Louis se sentou, beijando a pele com as lágrimas salgadas. — Por favor... — Fechou os olhos ao sentir mais lágrimas caindo, junto aos seus narizes encostados.

— Você precisa me explicar, princesa.

— E eu preciso que você me coma, Louis. — Fora seu ápice para cair em soluços profundos e uma cachoeira de lágrimas.

Nem mesmo as ondas quebrando nas pedras abafavavam o choro. Nem mesmo Louis a colocando contra seu corpo abafava suas lágrimas. Eram incessantes, tal como a dor que sentia em seu peito.

O cenário era ideal para que pudesse desabafar, perfeito para que, daqui alguns minutos quando escuresse, Louis não visse mais seu rosto bobo e corado.

Normalmente, no mundo espiritual, o pôr do sol significa autoconhecimento, e uma internalização de energias irradias. No entanto, Harry jamais esteve tão perdido em seu autoconhecimento, jamais esteve tão perdido em outro alguém, com o desejo de sentir apenas suas energias.

Louis a beijou, trazendo seus lábios para perto, chupando seu inferior com destreza. Ele havia ficado tão bom em guiar o beijo, em devorar sua boca e chupar sua língua. Suas mãos puxavam Harry para si, agarrando-o grosseiramente.

— Eu tenho medo de fazer tudo errado, H. De machucar você e não ser bom o suficiente. — Confessou, deixando um leve carinho em sua cintura, olhando nos olhos verdes molhados.

— Tudo o que você fizer é certo, Lou. — Deixou um selinho em seus lábios, fungando. — Deixa eu te ensinar como me tocar. — Arrastou sua bochecha na barba rala de Louis. — Você foi tão perfeito nas vezes que brincou com os meus peitinhos. Eu nunca gozei tão bem. — Beijou seu pescoço, tirando a calcinha por baixo do vestido.

Louis entendeu, abrindo o zíper do vestido e o tirando de seu corpo. Harry deixou uma risadinha sapeca escapar.

— Então faça o que você quiser. — Ele se rendeu com um sorriso. — Mas me prometa que não vai mais chorar por isso. — Ela empurrava seu corpo para que ele se deitasse.

— Agora que eu tenho você pra brincar? Nunca mais. — Se sentou abertinha na barriga de Louis, virada de costas para seu rosto.

Ela abriu a calça alheia, se livrando enquanto esfregava todo seu melzinho pela barriga bronzeada. Louis tinha a porra da melhor visão de sua vida. A bunda empinada estava de frente para si, deixando a vista o cuzinho sempre que se empinava para trás. Louis a tocou, sabendo da permissão que tinha.

Quando as mãos grandes apertaram as carnes fartas, ela gemeu, terminando de tirar sua cueca.

— Língua pra fora, Lou. Você vai aprender a chupar a bucetinha que pertence a você. — Olhou para ele por cima do ombro. — E se pensar em usar essa língua com qualquer outra, eu corto ela no mesmo instante. — Bateu em sua barriga quando ele riu, fazendo-o engasgar.

Tomlinson estava com a língua para fora, quando, de repente, Harry estara sentando em seu rosto. Ela se esfregava no músculo quente, apoiada em sua barriga e encontrando seu prazer. Pensando que Louis ficaria esperando seus comandos, ficou surpresa quando a língua se arrastou por toda a intimidade, chupando seu grelinho.

Ele não teve pena, chupando-a de forma gostosa, não tendo receio em afundar seu rosto na xota gostosa. O nariz empinado estimulava a entrada molhada, enquanto seus lábios devoravam seu pontinho.

O corpo mole tombou para frente, caindo com a bochecha na coxa de Louis, aproveitando a cada momento que ele empinava sua bunda para chupa-la. As mãos grandes agarravam suas coxas, deixando-a sem ar a cara aperto e a cada chupada. Mamava como se tivesse fome, fazendo-a gemer tão alto que ela mal tinha tempo de abocanhar o pau pertinho de sua boca.

— Enfia seus dedos! — Gritou, tentando se recompor e masturbando Louis com prazer, chupando só sua glande e cuspindo na base para conseguir o tocar rápido e escorregadio.

Ao invés de cessar sua vontade fodendo sua buceta, Louis arrastou seus dedos pela entrada, levando para seu períneo e começando a estocar em seu cuzinho. A mistura de dor com prazer fora tão grande que o corpo caiu mais, fazendo-a engasgar no pau alheio.

Rebolava seu rabinho com gosto para Louis, sentindo as vibrações da boca dele quando começou a mamar seu pau tão obscenamente. Levava-o até o fim, encostando a pontinha de seu nariz na pélvis dele. Em um desses momentos, o sentiu estocar mais forte em sua boca, retribuindo com a sentada na língua molinha, o sufocando com o nariz dentro de sua intimidade.

— Chega, Louis! — Gritou desesperadamente quando três dedos estavam dentro de si, fodendo-a praticamente a seco. — Chega, porra! — Ele não parava, e por mais gostoso que fosse, ele precisava entender que não mandava ali. — Eu disse pra parar. — Apertou suas bolas fortemente, sentindo os dedos torcerem dentro de si.

Louis parou, saindo de dentro dela. Ambos estavam cansados, suando e ofegantes. Harry olhava para o mar sentada no peito de Tomlinson. Ponderava por que a ideia e a forma de foder com ele era boa demais.

— Você vai continuar aí depois de implorar pra ser comida ou vai parar de latejar no meu peito e cavalgar no meu pau como me prometeu diversas vezes? — Ele era tão abusado que a fez revirar os olhos, virando seu corpo para ele e se sentando em suas coxas.

— Vai ser do jeito que eu quiser que seja. — Se apoiou em apenas um joelho, encaixando a glande na grutinha e dobrando sua outra perna. Queria estar exposta para ele. — Quando você aprender a me bater como um homem, você pode escolher o que fazer. — Sentou-se de uma vez, fazendo ele gritar pela dor apertada.

Harry poderia fingir que não sentia dor, mas ela realmente não estava sentindo naquele dia. O pau de Louis era grande, grosso e a machucaria em qualquer ocasião, menos nessa, que ela pingava como tivesse gozando, apesar de ser apenas a lubrificação natural que escorria.

Começou a subir, tirar o pau de dentro dela e sentar de novo, em um ritmo gostoso e tão prazeroso. Queria que ele visse a forma que era engolido e descartado, se abrindo cada vez mais para que Louis a visse se contraindo no nada e gemendo, enquanto suas mãos se apoiavam nos joelhos alheios.

Tomlinson marcava seu quadril com os apertos, gemendo roucamente sempre que sentia o interior dela. Era quente, macio, apertado e molhado. Era melhor do que ele imaginou tantas vezes.

— Era bem assim que você imaginava sempre que me via? — Apertou um de seus peitos, fazendo-a rebolar com a outra mão. Ela descia em seu pai rebolando como uma maldita tentadora. — Amor, sempre que você está no meu colo eu sinto o quão encharcada você fica. Tudo isso pela ideia de me ter dentro de você?

— Sim, sim, sim. — Suas pernas estavam cansando, fazendo-a cair com os dois joelhos, deixando com que ele fosse fundo dentro de si. — Eu gozaria até mesmo pela bunda se fosse possível, sempre que você está perto de mim. — Rebolou gostoso na glande, se aproximando do rosto de Louis para o beijar. — Quando formos para casa, você irá me levar até o quarto e me comer no banho. — Beijou seus lábios. — Depois na minha cama. — Arrastou os peitos por ele. — Depois durante a madrugada e de manhã.

Ela sentiu os cabelos serem puxados, gemendo. Suas unhas arranharam o maxilar de Louis, machucando sua pele.

Um sorriso safado abriu-se em ambos os lábios, fazendo com que Harry se afastasse apenas para quicar rapidamente em Louis. Seu cabelo sendo jogado para o lado e suas mãos apoiadas no peitoral, seus peitos pulando a cada cavalgada que dava, sendo mais aberta ao que Louis a ajudou.

Ele estocou dentro dela, forte e grosseiramente, sentindo-a se contrair e sua expressão se contorcer em mais prazer, até que os dois estivessem gozando juntos, com Harry melando complemente seu pau enquanto preenchia ela de porra.

O corpinho esbelto caiu em cima do de Louis. Ele a agarrou com carinho, beijando sua bochecha.

— Você se lembra de quando eu mamei nos seus peitos? — Ela assentiu, quase dormindo. — Você disse algo que eu nunca vou esquecer.

Com cuidado, Louis virou o corpo no pano, saindo de dentro dela. O gozo escorreu por sua pele, descendo por seu períneo e bunda. Harry estava completamente melada, assim como Louis.

— O que eu disse? — Perguntou mais atenta.

— Que eu lamberia seu gozo, cuspiria no seu cuzinho e o comeria com meu "pau delicioso". — Mordeu seu lábio inferior, descendo o rosto até estar com a boca na intimidade quente, chupando todo o gozo e abrindo suas nádegas.

— Faz isso. Faz agora. — Se abriu mais pra ele. Louis riu, cuspindo dentro do buraquinho maltratado. — Não para, tá bom? — Pediu, olhando para os olhos azuis e para o horizonte alaranjado, sorrindo grande.

Louis enfiou todo o comprimento de uma vez. Harry agarrou as unhas em suas costas, machucando sua pele. Tomlinson estocou forte, fodendo com pressão, mesmo que estivesse sendo esmagado pelas paredes. A garota se livrava do pano abaixo de si, sentindo as pedras geladas em suas costas, constatando com o calor de sua pele.

— Você vai se machucar, princesa. — Agarrou em sua coxa, forçando mais para dentro.

— Eu quero. — Brincou com seus mamilos, apertando-os. — Bate em mim, Louis. — Se contraiu contra ele, sabendo que doeria.

Tomlinson passou a arrombar o buraquinho contraído, sendo doloroso para os dois, mas extremamente prazeroso quando ele conseguiu se mover rápido. Sua mão puxou Harry para si, deixando um beijo em seus lábios, e se afastando para surrar sua bochecha com as costas da mão. Ela gemeu querendo mais.

Então, ele a proporcionou uma marca de seus dedos na pele branca. Dois de seus dedos começaram a estimular o clitóris inchadinho, sem parar seus movimentos, sem hesitar em a comer forte.

Quando Harry juntou suas mãos, apertando os dedos de Louis tão forte, ela gozou. Saía como água de si, um orgasmo forte que sujou ambos, vindo de seus olhos se fechando calmante, gemendo apenas quando sentiu seu homem gozando forte.

— Obrigada por isso. — Sussurrou cansada, encolhendo o corpo.

— Você é a melhor namorada do mundo, princesa. — Se deitou atrás dela, beijando seus ombros e pescoço.

— Namorada?

— Minha namorada. — Riu, se aconchegando no corpo e sentindo seu cheirinho.

🥛

Voltei com mais uma one! Apesar de não estar dentro das minhas expectativas, eu gostei dela. Espero que tenham gostado também, e perdão por qualquer erro. Minha caixinha para ask está aberta 🩷🌷

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