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harryistheonlyoneforme · 1 year ago

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Grumpy*

a/n: trying something new so lmk what you think pls!😚

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding, oral, cum eating(munchrry returns), aftercare

pairing: nhl player harry x reader

summary: in which harry comes home to yn in a bad mood and makes all of those nasty feelings go away

masterlist | harry styles masterlist | taglist

“cmon, petal. y’know i wouldn’t just intentionally not answer your calls,” harry grumbles, placing his hands on her hips and rubbing his thumbs over them gently. the term of endearment as well as his soft touch are already breaking down her tough exterior, but she doesn’t want to give into him just yet. when she’d called him from bed after he’d left for work, wet and ready for him to quell her desire over the phone, he hadn’t answered because of ‘an important meeting with the team’s media management’.

his eyes flit across her face and body as he takes in all of the subconscious signals she’s sending him, and when he notices her dark eyes and her thighs squeezed together just a bit as she shifts from foot to foot, realization begins to set in.

“ah, i see,” he muses, finally understanding what’s going on. “why don’t y’tell me why you were calling me in the first place. what was goin’ on?” he questions as if he’s confused, but she can see right through him and knows she’s been caught. when she doesn’t answer, he takes it upon himself to go even further, moving even closer to her. close enough that her breaths begin to quicken from the close proximity.

“just insatiable. was waking you up this morning with m’tongue on you not enough? hmm?” he’s teasing her now, one hand that’d been resting on her hip moving down to the hem of her panties as he gives her a moment to recall the earlier events.

~earlier~

“please,” yn cries, her hands tangled deep into her husband’s hair as she tries to get him as close to her centre as possible, despite his face being literally buried in her warmth. their cries are mixing together as he groans against her from both the pain and the pleasure of her hands on him, still licking and sucking all over her like a starved man.

he knows she’s close by the way her thighs have closed in on his ears and her back has started to arch, her moans much louder and drawn out than when he’d first gotten his mouth on her.

so he does the only thing that will get her there; he changes absolutely nothing about what he’s doing with his mouth. and, to no one’s surprise, she’s cumming against his mouth with a cry of his name as the orgasm wracks her body, her legs shaking on either side of his head.

he doesn’t pull away from her until she’s whining and crying from the overstimulation, her hands pushing him off of her as she tries to catch her breath. aftershocks are still shaking her body every few seconds when he crawls up from between her thighs with swollen lips, his face drenched in the evidence of her orgasm.

~now~

a soft needy whimper can be heard even through her closed mouth as she remembers the experience very well, the thoughts of the morning doing nothing to help her current situation. “i’m starting to think i married someone very selfish,” he chides, but his dimpled grin and sparkling eyes go against his words. “i didn’t even cum this morning and here you are, complaining even after i had y’crying.”

she doesn’t respond to him still, but he knows how to get a reaction out of her. so he reaches up and grabs her neck with one hand just as he lets the other breach the hem of her panties and forces her to look at him. he looks her dead in the eyes as two of his fingers delve into her soaked folds and gather some wetness before landing on her clit and rubbing slow, torturous circles around the slick bud.

he presses his lips to hers right as she starts to get vocal, swallowing her moans as he picks up the pace. he can feel her legs start to give out, signalling her orgasm, but he isn’t having that, pulling her hand out of her panties and his mouth away from hers, leaving her near tears as she tries to catch her breath.

“cmon then. go get in bed and ready f’me. i’ll be up soon,” the moment she’s given the instruction she’s making her way to the bedroom before stripping her clothes off and lying in the bed as she waits for harry. he doesn’t keep her waiting for long, and when he comes in the bedroom with his shirt off, yn swears she can cum on the spot.

when he reaches the foot of the bed she’s practically drooling as he sheds his athletic shorts and boxers, leaving her completely bare and all for her. he’s hard and leaking, making it clear that he is just as desperate for her as she is him. climbing onto the bed, he spreads her legs and hooks them onto his hips before placing a hand next to her head and using the other to line himself up with her.

then he’s sinking inside of her, one smooth slow thrust as he bottoms out. she’s so warm and wet around him he feels like he won’t last at all, but his body just takes over as he starts to move. he pulls out of her a bit just to dive back inside of her with so much force that it knocks her up the bed a bit, but he just moves right along with her. he repeats the action, and the sharp thrust causes her to gasp in pleasure, but it breaks off into a moan as he changes the angle and pushes himself deeper into her.

“that’s it, mama. taking me so well, made just for me and my cock, hm?” harry rasps, taking his time as he fucks his wife. small mewls of pleasure are now leaving her swollen lips as she attempts to catch her breath, and he’s going slow to ensure that he reaches as far inside of her as he can, but not so slow that the feeling is unenjoyable.

“so deep, please,” she’s whining now, tears welling on her waterline when he pulls out again just to slam into her once more, the slickness of their combined arousal making the whole process that much smoother. it’s as if each time he pulls out of her -just far out enough that his weepy tip is resting against her entrance- there’s some type of elastic band just pulling him back in.

“i know, angel. i know. bet you feel me right here in y’tummy, huh?” he coos, one hand moving to her stomach, right above where he thinks his cock is inside of her. he doesn’t wait for an answer as he presses down onto the soft skin, until he can feel where he’s penetrating her deeply. the concentrated furrow in his brow melts away as her soft little mewls start to morph into long, loud, and drawn out, sort of guttural moans, signalling to him that he’s done the right thing.

he keeps the firm pressure there as he picks up his pace, bringing her closer and closer to her orgasm with each thrust of his hips. not long after, he feels the all too familiar feeling of her walls beginning to flutter around him, but he’s given no time to react as she suddenly locks down on him tightly as her orgasm slams into her. the sheer force and intensity of her orgasm simultaneously triggers his, and his jaw is dropping as a choked moan leaves him from the unexpected climax.

“fuck, shit!” he gasps, feeling her cum coat his cock generously as he begins to fill her up.

spurt after spurt of his cum shoots from his cock and deep into yn, his head dropping into the crevice between her neck and shoulder as it absolutely wrecks him. his softening cock is still thrusting weakly into his wife as he floods her and a sob of pleasure falls from his lips when he feels her flutter around him again.

they ride the waves of pleasure for a little while, and the moment they’re finally down, harry gently pulls out of yn, but he makes the mistake of looking down to where they were previously connected. he can only watch in awe as his cum starts to drip out of her wrecked hole, and then she’s groaning as he holds her thighs back before lying on his stomach.

“just gonna have a little taste, angel,” he coaxes, but they both know it’s a lie because harry doesn’t ever just ‘have a little taste’ of his wife. the moment he gets his mouth on her he’s in a sort of trance until he knows she can’t take anymore. it doesn’t matter where they are or what they have planned for the day, if he gets a taste of her he can go for hours. “just fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers when he’s eye level with where she’s full of his cum and leaking.

he can’t wait any longer, and all of his resolve has flown out the window as he grips her hips and holds her down before running his tongue through her swollen messy folds. the taste instantly pulls a groan of satisfaction from his lips, the taste of their mixed arousal spurring him on. she’s already sensitive so he knows he should be quick but he just can’t, his eyes fluttering shut as his head gets floaty, he’s drunk on the taste of her. he continues for about 3 more minutes (which isn’t nearly long enough in his opinion but he’ll have to take care of that tomorrow) before she’s falling apart once more, this one rendering her silent and breathless.

she finds the energy to push him away when she can’t possibly take anymore, and he just props himself up on his elbows and watches her as she comes down, rubbing his thumbs on her hipbones to ground her. when he can see that she’s back down to earth, he presses a couple kisses to her inner thighs before speaking up.

“are you up for a bath or shower tonight or should i just clean you up and we can go to bed?” he whispers, but he has a feeling that her answer will be the latter. he’s proven correctly when she speaks up and confirms his thoughts. so he gets up and goes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to wet with warm water and cleans himself up before making his way back to where she still lies in the centre of the bed, fucked out and glowy. he gently spreads her legs before taking the towel to her swollen and sensitive skin, thoroughly but carefully cleaning her.

once she’s all clean, he helps her get tucked under the blankets before he’s moving back to the bathroom to put the washcloth away and heading to the kitchen yo grab her some water to drink. when he gets back he sits her up and helps her drink all that she can before placing the remaining water on the nightstand and turning the lights off before climbing into bed. the two bask in the comfortable silence for a while as sleep starts to take over them, and within minutes they’re both sound asleep.

lmk what you guys thoughtttttt☺️

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kquil · 10 months ago

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DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER ONE

01 : ARRIVAL

SERIES SUM. : (A Marauders Era Fix-It-Fic - featuring Reader as Walburga Black but better)

You wake up in pitch blackness and under excruciating pain. It isn't too long before you realise that you've been transported into the world of Harry Potter…and you've taken the place of a familiar villainess - Walburga Black. You need to escape this toxic family. The first order of business is Divorce AND YOU'RE DEFINITELY TAKING THE KIDS!

CHPT. SUM. : you take a familiar villainess' place, but it's all just a dream, right?

TAGS. : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; marauders fix-it-fic ; transferring into harry potter series (marauders era) au ; reader is a harry potter fan ; but not a JKR fan ; walburga black is no more ; or is she? ; pre-marauders era ; sirius black is an angry child ; regulus black is a precious baby ; big brother sirius being a little jealous ; mentions of child abuse (not explicit) ; orion black can eat dirt ; kreacher is a precious bean ; not canon compliant ; the journey begins!

LENGTH : 6.3k

1st August 1971

Your eyes snap open to opaque darkness as a silent scream escapes you. Pain. Excruciating and tormenting pain rips your head in two and paralyses the rest of your body. You want to call for help, desperate for relief but words fail you. It’s as if someone had lacerated your throat and ran away with your mangled vocal cords. Overwhelmed by the pressure in your head, you quickly surrender and fall into the mouth of the hungry blackness encompassing you.

The next time you wake up, you were almost blissfully unaware of the agony you previously awoke to if you weren’t sorely reminded by the lingering compression in your ears, an, almost, unbearable pounding ache in your skull, and the paralysis of your limbs. Your shaky breaths sound amplified in your ringing ears as you slowly regain control of your desensitised appendages but the stabbing sensation against your skull persists. It doesn’t appear to want to dull out unlike most continuous pains. In a desperate effort to mute the throbbing, you curl up into the foetal position and focus on your breathing, your hands clutching at the temporal and parietal areas of your head. After a while, there’s some relief. Sweet relief.

The darkness remains as obscure and daunting as you had first awoken to, a dead, unfeeling space — like a black hole. But it can’t be that. It can’t be a black hole. You hope it isn’t, at least. There has to be a way out of here.

With great effort and a groan of pain, you get onto your hands and knees, suffering through agonising aches as you feel about the space around you. All the objects you come into contact with are insignificant, too ordinary for your brain to comprehend and speculate over — though the unrelenting throbbing in your skull may be of probable cause to your lack of analysis — it came with one reassuring thought however, their existence was evidence enough that this wasn’t a black hole…

What poor thoughts.

You’ve never been so vapid. The thoughts swirling in your head were so lacking in cognition and inference that you instinctually shook your head in disappointment. A black hole? Impossible! —Unless you were launched into space in between the meeting with your investors and your journey home. Were you drugged? Taken hostage? If you were then why weren’t your limbs tied up? Eventually, your trembling hands find a wall, a small success that you quickly take advantage of, tracing the perimeter of the boxy room, hoping to find a doorway or vent, anything that could lead you to freedom. You probably look pathetic crawling around but there weren’t any traces of light, even a locked box was more illuminated than this.

Your rambling thoughts continue, a distraction from the throbbing in your skull, until you feel it. A break in the wall, the border to a door. You didn’t waste any time and ignored all pains to stand and feel out the space for the doorknob, leaning your weight against the wooden entrance to alleviate your weak limbs. Disoriented and brainless — were you terribly hungover or something? More speculations, more unanswered questions but finally a release to freedom! The door relented and gave way as you finally found its handle, pushing down with your weight and tumbling towards freedom.

The light burned your eyes and made you tear up but the relief of liberty was soothing. The throbbing, stabbing pains in your skull were now replaced by a reeling dizziness and it throws you off balance. But your hand catches the wall to steady you while your other clutches at your head; your disorientation grows and grows. It feels like you were tied to the end of a string and spun around as the length of the string gradually increases, giving the sensation of your mushy brain being stretched out. What in the world have you done to be put through this amount of distress and trauma?

Curling your fingers into your head, you try to distract from the sickening dizziness with grounding pain and search for repose but are given none. Just as your nails begin to claw at your scalp as your other hand gropes at unfamiliar, drab wallpaper, a voice calls out to you. It’s small and confused, full of light and youth — it’s a child’s voice.

“Mother?…”

Turning to the hesitant call, you lock eyes with steel grey pools. It’s a little boy. Maybe eight to nine years of age. He has beautiful short black hair, pale skin and angular features but childishly soft cheeks. His formal-like dress and perfect posture makes him look like a little prince. You don’t answer him right away; too distracted with your curious surveillance so he calls to you again with furrowed brows and the same title on his tongue, ‘mother’.

He was talking to you. Strange…

“Did you just call me ‘mother’?” you ask, he doesn’t answer and you try not to wince, still very light-headed and muddled, “Why?”

“Because you are my mother,” the stare he affixes you with makes it obvious that he thinks you’re a crazy person. No, but he’s the crazy one!

“Are you okay mother?” another, almost identical looking boy walks up and stands beside the first. He, too, has beautiful black hair and pale skin but with much softer features so he must be younger than the first. They wear a similar attire —another little prince. Two little princes, brothers, that view you as their mother.

But that’s impossible…

The younger of the two has an air of politeness surrounding him as he watches you with empathy swimming in his grey pools. In clear objection to the compassion his younger brother was willing to give you, the eldest child subtly squints at your crumpled and distressed figure.

“I don’t have children…” your weak voice states but fails to continue, bewildered but confident in the fact although it breaks your heart. It just slipped out and now the two boys were stiff and tense from head to toe.

Quickly shaking off his rigid limbs, the older brother scowls at you, “as much as we don’t want to be your children, we are!” his tone his biting as he speaks with a snarl, his pristine white teeth bared for defence and attack. With stomping footfalls, the duo run away, fleeing your sight in a blur of blacks, whites and greys. As soon as they’re gone, your dizziness hits you once more, like a boulder to the head, and sends you collapsing into the ground.

Again, your world goes pitch black.

2nd August 1971

There’s no spiralling darkness when you next wake up, nor is there an abundance of lamplight to make your eyes tear up, instead, beautiful golden rays of sunlight fall through the tall glass windows behind you. It was a much easier radiance to adjust to. You’re tucked away in bed, silky, comfortable and perfectly warm. Perhaps yesterday was just a dream, a very vivid dream— no, a nightmare. You let out a groan and squeeze your eyes shut. No matter how long it’s been, your thoughts of failure and self hatred over your own incompetence still haunts you. Curling up under the covers, you go through the breathing exercise your therapist imbued into you.

Acknowledge it, accept it, let it go…

The phrase repeats in your head several times. The longer you rehearse it, the more your limbs unfurl until you’re flat on your back once more.

…rigid.

Now that you think about it, was your bed always this…stiff?

Blinking in confusion, your eyes focus on the ceiling and widen. You don’t have a chandelier in your bedroom. Your eyes quickly jump down and examine the bed you lay in. This wasn’t your bed, no. Where were your Hedwig and Niffler plushies? Your all-white sheets were gone and replaced by all-black covers. It was then that you finally comprehend the cool sensation laying against your forehead, jolting your body forward, you let out a yelp of surprise as the small soaked towel falls from your brow.

Your shocked shriek is almost matched by the bawling that accompanies it, drawing your eyes to a being you’ve only seen in movies. The small house-elf stares at you with shaking, blood-shot eyes and unaltered terror folded into his wrinkly expression. Endless apologies fall from his mouth, sincere and all underpinned by intense anxiety. He’s so real; his small, skeletal-like chest rapidly moving up and down due to his desperate pants. His three-dimensional existence quickly falls and kneels before you to commence grovelling, his shaking hands held together in prayer.

“...Kreacher…” you gape at the house-elf, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat. In disbelief over the elf’s actuality, you reach out for him, awestruck and so dazed that you almost miss how he flinches away from your approaching touch. Apologetic, you retreat your hand and adjust yourself to sit against the headboard before addressing him, “I-I wasn’t going to hit you…”

“Kreacher is needing to be hit, mistress,” the contrite house-elf voices, twiddling his thumbs as he remains knelt down.

Mistress…?

“Please stand, Kreacher,” you neglect to perceive his surprise in your use of the word ‘please’ as you’re still in awe of him yourself. With a subtle shake of your head, you do your best to push away your astonishment in search of answers, “and fetch me a mirror,”

Kreacher promptly clicks his fingers and a handheld mirror appears before you. You try not to awe at the demonstration of magic — it's a simple spell in this world — and proceed to take it in your hesitant hands. Judging from what you have been able to gather, Kreacher calling you mistress and the two young boys addressing you as mother…Walburga Black should be the reflection staring back at you. However, you don’t see a black-haired, cold-eyed, pale-skinned woman, with a constant frowning wrinkle on her brow, you see yourself. You touch your face just to make sure you weren’t mistaken. It is you.

Was this just a vivid dream? It feels so real…

Mirror set aside, you look back at Kreacher and are astonished once more at seeing just how alive he is. His mannerisms were completely authentic and he was solid from all sides. There’s no mistaking that he’s right in front of you, tangible and no longer fictional.

What wonders the mind can achieve when you fangirl and nerd out enough over something… But why aren’t you in the Lightening era timeline? And why are you in Walburga’s shoes? Now you’re the mother of Sirius and Regulus Black… The questions don’t stop, nor do the conjectures. Maybe it’s your mind trying to get over your life’s trauma vicariously through your favourite series and fandom… the notionmade some sense. You, not only, have one son but two. Should you feel elated or anxious?

As your thoughts continue, the apologies falling from Kreacher’s lips slowly get louder and louder until you snap out of your spaced-out state. Guilt quickly gathers in your stomach at the realisation that Kreacher had been vocally repentant this whole time and you haven’t yet acknowledged him in the slightest.

“What are you apologising for, Kreacher?” you finally ask, putting a stop to his penitent speech.

“Kreacher did not realise mistress had the sickness; Kreacher did not serve her well,” his tone was incredibly apologetic and there was no mistaking the panic in his eyes.

“...It’s alright Kreacher,” the reassurance in your voice was something the house-elf was not used to and you almost smile at the explicit amazement in his eyes, “I did not know that I was ill, myself, so thank you for taking care of me when I fainted,” your warm smile confuses the house-elf but you continue. Even though this is a dream, you were going to do things right, “it was you who took care of me, correct?”

His astonishment doesn’t leave his eyes as he nods, slack-jawed and meek, “yes..it was Kreacher, mistress,”

You nod in approval and spot a plate of food in your periphery, set neatly atop the bedside table, “thank you, Kreacher. You are dismissed,” the bashful but, still, misery-stricken house-elf goes to say something, glancing over at the bedside table but you promptly cut him off, “I will eat the food you prepared shortly, thank you, again,”

With a simple nod, Kreacher disappears in a blink and you slowly bring the plate of breakfast onto your lap. Eating in bed, you digest your situation and take in your surroundings. This was all a very realistic dream but a dream nonetheless. And it was a chance for you to, not only do right by the characters you adore but make peace with your past and present. This was a second chance. Even if it was only a dream.

Just as you finish up your plate of breakfast, you also conclude your examination of the supposed ‘master bedroom’ and frown. The disapproval is clear in your furrowed brows, narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Whoever designed this room needs to be demoted…or fired.

The Blacks were such a wealthy family, surely they had more saved up to be able to hire a decent interior designer. The colours blended into each other and no furniture, wallpaper or trinket could bring you any emotion other than despair. With that disappointing thought and a grimace at the, overall, sombre decor of the room, you turn to place your clean plate back on the nightstand when a rolled up piece of paper catches your eye. Innocuously folded and tucked to the left of where your breakfast plate once laid was a newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Hurriedly exchanging your plate and utensils for the paper, your anticipation rose to witness the infamous articles and its moving pictures. You almost couldn’t stop the schoolgirl giggle from escaping your smiling lips. Never before had you been so excited to read the paper.

Unfolding the pages, you awe at the front cover before quickly skimming the rest of the folio. It’s the real thing and it’s so detailed…even for a dream.

It was written in clear script on the top, right hand side of the front page. 2nd August 1971. There was no doubt in your mind now that you were just about to enter the Marauders era timeline. If you weren’t mistaken, this was the summer leading up to Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts, which meant that, as his mother — the notion was still abnormal to you but also incredibly heartwarming —, you had a duty to help him fetch his school supplies for Hogwarts. You would also have the honour of seeing him receive his own wand before helping him buy his uniform robes and other necessities. You would even help him pack his bags for Hogwarts, congratulate and celebrate his achievements with him, wish him a good day, support him unconditionally… everything a loving and present mother would do. And, of course, you would treat Regulus the same way. It makes your heart sing and butterflies flutter about in your stomach; you get to be a mother.

—one moment…

If the date is correct in the newspaper and you’re right in that Sirius would be attending Hogwarts in a month’s time, then why did he appear one to two years younger than what an eleven-year-old should look like?

Pondering over the question makes you grimace. It’s entirely possible that it could be Walburga and Orion’s doing, Sirius definitely has a defiant manner about him despite only being eleven years of age and it wouldn’t be abnormal to expect the Black couple to be callous towards their own sons, enough to, somehow, stunt their growth. With a click of your tongue and a roll of your eyes, you eagerly move on from the topic and observe the front page more closely only for your breath to stutter and catch in your throat.

A moving picture of the harrowing dark mark being cast over a house plays in a loop before you. Reading the associated article, you feel your stomach turn in on itself. It was such a disgusting display.

“How cruel…” Your disgust morphs into sorrow as you read over the killings made within the specific house. It belonged to innocent muggleborns and their family members, both magic folk dubbed as blood traitors and their muggle family were massacred. It was clearly an attack meant to bring fear and terror to muggle borns and the pureblooded witches and wizards that dare protect them - all in the name of the dark lord and his bigoted agenda.

What a load of bullshit.

Not stopping for long, you read interview quotes from blood purists showing their support over the act. Their only reason was that they feared losing their pureblood traditions entirely to muggleborns. The horrific, terroristic happenings all appear to follow after the election of a muggle born Minister of Magic (Nobby Leach), the induction of Dumbledore as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and then the introduction of Voldemort last year. It’s deplorable that that’s all it takes for blood purists to excuse such radical operations —it’s inhumane.

“‘The Ministry continues to spare no effort’,” you read under your breath but frown despite the reassuring words, “I bet those Deatheaters get a real ego boost from that statement…�� if you remember correctly, Voldemort was enlisting more Deatheaters as well as magical creatures. However, those who are seen as ‘inferior’ were made to suffer, namely Goblins and House-elves. It doesn’t sit well with you.

The fact that the fantasy world around you — one that you’re an avid fan of — feels so incredibly real, despite it being a dream, suddenly looks very bleak makes your chest tighten. And you quickly find yourself agonising over the lives of many children across the country, both in the muggle and wizarding world, being filled with unhappiness and gloom purely because of the selfish and bigoted adults that are supposed to protect them.

You click your tongue bitterly. Only a terf could write or imply something so tragic in a supposed children’s book…

Just as you set down the newspaper and lean back against the headboard, Kreacher materialises at your bedside and begins to clear away your plate and paper. You shoot him a smile of thanks that he has a mixed reaction to. Before disappearing, he observes your state once more, dull eyes searching for something. When he returns a moment later, he’s carries with him a slim vial filled with a red, almost-pinkish liquid that contained ascending bubbles. Carbonated? It looked like a normal drink — like a brightly dyed, flavoured tea or sports drink.

With eyes of fascination, you carefully take the potion vial from Kreacher. You were about to take your first ever magical potion and you plan on savouring every moment of it, even the moments leading up to drinking it. Slowly turning the vial in your hand, you realise that the consistency of the liquid isn’t as light as water; it was a little thicker.

“It’s a healing potion mistress,” Kreacher explains at your bedside, hunched over with his features scrunched up into a permanent scowl, “for the hot fever, mistress,” you give him a small, grateful smile for the explanation. It’s been a while since someone has been proactive when it came to caring for your wellbeing; it made you feel better knowing that Kreacher was around to take care of your needs, disregarding that it was an obligation he couldn’t escape from. Being a successful woman in commerce didn’t mean you were successful in all aspects of life. You still needed to be cared for. This was a welcomed compassion you were going to take full advantage of.

“Thank you Kreacher,” you swiftly uncork the vial and down the potion like a shot, not expecting it to taste so revolting, “Ugh! That’s horrid!” you cough and feel tears surface. This was supposed to be your dream so why did you come up with something so foul-tasting?! You’ve never tasted anything so disgusting! You can’t even begin to describe the flavour —it’s too foul for words!

Shaken up by your amplified reaction, Kreacher begins to shake but explains that it’s how all healing potions tasted, “there are other potions with the baddest tastes mistress,” you try to shake away the repulsive flavour but have no such luck and turn to Kreacher with a plea.

“Water? Please?” with a snap of his fingers, a cool glass of fresh, crisp water appears and you immediately reach out to drink it. The repulsive taste on your tongue dilutes the more you drink but it doesn’t fully lift off your taste buds. Even after drinking the entire tall glass of water, the awful taste of the healing potion lingered — you couldn’t even feel relieved from the feverish headache that left you.

The healing potion had worked its purpose and you were up and about 12 Grimmauld Place, taking in its dismal but elegant interior, opulent decor and its many rooms. You didn’t know what to expect. It was evident how wealthy the Black Family was in their expensive tastes but that didn’t necessarily translate into aesthetic arrangements. When you watched the movies, it was understandable how dilapidated it was but, despite currently being lived-in, it still looked dull. All rooms appeared the same and began to blend into one another the more you moved around. You still awed at the realistic display of the place, however; it all felt so real, as if your surroundings breathed with life and every ornament, wall and structure had its own individual heartbeat. Just the thought made your heart race. This was once a purely fictional setting and now, your dream brought it to life and you were fully encapsulated - happily so.

One room that held your attention far better than all other rooms of the house combined was the home library. It was majestic, regal and old — a charming space that you were eager to explore. Its many shelves were lined with an assortment of books, many containing magical knowledge such as light magic and dark magic, which was surprising when considering the Black family’s preference for dark magic. What wasn’t surprising was the amount of books detailing traditional wizard and witch rituals, dates, holidays and more. Purebloods and their need for the maintenance of customs and ceremonies, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. You expected there to be more books on dark magic but most were on the history of the wizarding world and its many traditions, some of which you had never seen or heard mention of in the Harry Potter book series, movies or games.

Your mind was very creative and you were quite proud of yourself for it.

Time passes you as the pages of many books are skimmed by your eyes. You have no idea how much time ticks by as you consume book after book, flicking through pages before being interrupted by a rapid knock at the door succeeded by the entrance to the library being hurriedly pushed open.

“Mother,” Regulus pants with softly flushed cheeks. His head of curls were a hint messier than the last time you met eyes with him, however, he was still dressed more formally than how a normal ten year old boy should be dressed. It was then, however, that you realised your greatest, influential role — a role that’s far more important than being the head of your company. You’re a mother now. A mother to two gorgeous and darling sons, who deserve all the love in the world. It made tears well up in your eyes. Your subconscious had realised your truest, purist desires and brought it to you in a dream through your beloved fictional characters, ”M-mother?” snapping out of your trance, you realise Regulus had been waiting for you to signal that it was okay for him to speak but hadn’t yet.

“Yes?” Your soft voice appears to catch him off-guard but he’s quick to recover and steel his features.

“I apologise for coming to you late, Mother,” he begins, remaining at the door with his shoulders straight and expression level despite the anxiety for his mistake clearly showing in his eyes. He’s still slightly panting but endeavours to explain himself quickly for your expediency.

“It’s alright, darling, take your time,” you offer a kind smile that he doesn’t know how to respond to. And, instead of assuring him, you seem to have only made him more fearful.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Mother, it was entirely my mistake. It won’t happen again, I swear!” he pleads with tearful eyes and a quivering lip. His small voice raises in volume no matter how much he tries to control it and eventually has to stop talking altogether just so he could gather himself.

“Regulus, you’ve done nothing wrong,” your words have such a profound effect on him that he stills, completely frozen in time from shock and confusion, “what were you going to say originally, darling?” ‘darling’… the endearment slips you so naturally and it doesn’t even bother you — this really was your heart’s truest desire.

Regulus takes a few minutes to himself, trying to find his voice and swallowing to wet his gone-dry mouth in order to speak without his voice cracking, which would have an ill demonstration of the Black family’s standing, “I, once again, apologise for my lateness, mother. I did not realise you would be in the family library rather than your study today,” it’s clear he’s still quite flustered from his earlier frantic search for your wandering form as he was still faintly panting under his breath. You raise a gentle hand and, paired with your soft smile, you silently assure him to take his time once more. He appreciates the unusual consideration and leniency from his typically stringent mother, “as per usual, I am here to update you on the progress of my home studies. I’ve read through all the chapters you wanted me to read and had written notes appropriately, complete with summary paragraphs…”

You don’t speak as you observe the sweet boy before you, his shoulder pulled back and chin held squarely as if he was a soldier, a man of rigorous instruction rather than the innocent young boy he was supposed to be. As you stare with an unknown and unfamiliar look in your eyes, Regulus tenses up, slowly backing into the hallway once more. His mother is a woman of few words but would usually hum along in approval to his list of completed tasks — it was a trivial gesture of favour that he eagerly sought after, wanting nothing more than to seek your acceptance. Complete and utter silence could either be dangerous or harmless. The potential risk made the hairs on his arms raise. The poor boy didn’t know what to make of your bizarre mannerisms lately. His heart raced to new heights and his throat felt even more closed up than usual.

Slowly, you walk up to him and kneel down, love and fondness clear in your gentle eyes. However, it was such a rare emotion for Regulus to see in his mother’s eyes that he tensed up more at the stare, no matter how affectionate and warm.

It has to be a trap, somehow…

Your gentle hand reaches up and cups his cherubic cheek, one of the few remaining demonstrations of his youth. Plumper, you need to fill in his cheeks, make them softer and more rounded; you’ll stop at nothing to get them to that state as soon as possible. With your thumb, you lovingly stroke his cheek and smile with all the love welling up in your chest. Your features are soft with the warmth and affection you wanted to convey beyond words. This is the first time Regulus has ever seen his mother look so kind. He’s never seen it before —it looks nice. His mother looks pretty now. He really hopes this isn’t a trap.

Innate maternal love and instincts overwhelm you. And, after a moment, you take the plunge. You pull him into your arms and embrace his slim, short figure, pressing your face into his hair as you tuck his face into your shoulder. Finally, you have your own son, and you’re going to love him with all your heart. In your mind, you vow to all deities you would care for him like no other, even if in a dream.

“A dream come true,” you say in a voice dripping with tears. Faintly, you hear Regulus ask for what you mean, muffled from how you have his face buried into your shoulder, “having a son like you, it’s a dream come true…”

Regulus can’t believe his ears as a warmth spreads through his chest, rapid and, like a blossoming array of wild flowers, it’s accompanied with the purest happiness he’s ever felt in his short life so far. He doesn’t know what to say, speechless from your words, words that he’s never before heard from his mother. He’s wished so many times for such a scenario to come true that he can’t quite believe that it’s happening to him now.

—BANG!

Sirius stands at the end of the hall, glaring ferociously at the scene happening before him, a bitter emotion consuming his small form at the words he hears and he promptly storms off. But you’re too quick with your lengthier strides and desire to reach him before he goes too far. Without a second thought, you hug the eldest brother to your chest too. You’ve pulled him as close to you as possibly could despite his protests and attempts at pushing you away.

With a stern voice, you speak up against his thrashing form, “Sirius, do not get aggressive with me,”

“I don’t care!”

“You will care because you’ll end up hurting someone and or yourself one day, if you keep this up!”

Sirius is flooded by shock at your response and he freezes up. His mother never cared whether or not he or anyone else got hurt, so long as they succumbed to her ridiculous demands. He can’t recognise his own mother anymore. Taking full advantage of his paralysed state, your hold turns gentle and you begin to comb your fingers through his inky locks.

“Breathe...” you try to calm him down by gently petting the back of his hair down and occasionally running your nails along his scalp, “talk to me…what’s upset you?” looking up, you see Regulus a metre or two away with a curious look on his face, a mix of amazement, curiosity and caution. Sirius doesn’t respond so you gently prompt him, pulling away to meet his conflicted eyes, “darling?”

Sirius is stunned into silence and doesn’t know what to say, he’s in complete denial over what’s happening – this can’t be his mother, “did you hit your head or something?” he accuses in a snappy tone and you step back, a wave of realisation washing over you. Before this, Sirius and Regulus were pushed around by Walburga daily, abused and tortured in an attempt to conform to her ways. It breaks your heart but also fills you with determination. Even though this is just a dream, you will make the proper changes and treat them kindly. They deserve a loving mother, one who supports them and loves them unconditionally. As you part your lips to voice something, you feel an ominous presence enter the hallway.

When you look up and over your shoulder, your eyes meet liquid mercury, swirling with anger and paired with the deepest frown. Orion Black approaches from behind you, his footsteps daunting and seeming to echo through the shaking walls of the hallway as he fixes Sirius with a cold glare. His own son, who’s only 11 years old.

“What is going on here?” Orion demands but completely ignores you when you try to explain. Your husband’s focus stubbornly remains on your son, the accusation and wrath in his eyes aggrandised. He continues to bark at Sirius, who looks at the floor in quiet shame and with bitten lips. You know he’s terrified but still tries to appear strong, knowing that if he cried out and showed weakness through pained anger in front of his parents, they would use it as ammunition to berate and abuse him further, “don’t you dare talk to your mother that way again, Sirius!”

Orion raises his wand to punish him but you hurriedly step in the way and tuck Sirius’ face into your stomach. Chin over your shoulder, you meet eyes with your husband andtry to keep from snarling at him lest your true intentions and change of heart come to light and raise red flags, “this is between me and Sirius, I will deal with his punishment myself,”

Sirius doesn’t know whether he should be fearful or relieved. That emotion is so foreign to him, especially when it comes to his mother and talks of punishment. Thankfully, Orion lets the situation go and nods curtly before walking back to his study with a huff, muttering about wasted time on his ‘useless son’ under his breath.

“My punishment is to eat dinner in my room…” the brothers share a confused look, “usually, it’s to have no dinner and no breakfast…”

“Or worse…” Regulus’ words make them both shiver; a cold chill runs up their spines and inspires dark memories to surface. Un-welcomed, they shake their heads and banish the remembrance.

Diverting the topic altogether, Sirius picks at his food, “what do you think happened to her?”

“Mother?” Regulus asks and receives a confirming nod, “I don’t know…Kreacher told me–” Sirius pulls a face at the friendship his brother has fostered with the elf, “that mother had a terrible fever yesterday and fainted after we saw her in the hallway,”

Sirius thinks for a moment and chews a little longer than usual, ruminating over the new information, “you think that’s what made her like that?”

Regulus shrugs his small shoulders, “that’s the only thing I could think of…” the youngest brother slowly begins to lose himself in thought, thinking back to when his mother embraced him tenderly and whispered such lovely, affirming words beside his ear.

‘A dream come true… having a son like you, it’s a dream come true…’

“You like the change?” Sirius snaps his little brother out of his daydream and Regulus flushes in slight embarrassment, avoiding his older brother’s disapproving eyes. Or was that disappointment? Maybe something else?

“She’s much nicer now…”

“It won’t last forever,” Sirius says roughly, bitterness and disbelief evident in his voice as his brows furrow; he doesn’t want to believe that his mother, one of the two people responsible for hurting him and his little brother day in and day out, could have the capacity to change overnight, “you’ll see…”

Regulus doesn’t want to believe his brother but how could he deny such a pragmatic expectation? His older brother is right. It’s unrealistic for him to believe in such a miracle. Nevertheless, there was a troublesome ray of hope that warmed the depths of his chest and clenched around his beating heart with purpose. It was immature to be so optimistic but he can’t help hoping.

And, he’d never admit it out loud but… Sirius was hopeful too.

3rd August 1971

You’re astonished at how long this dream has stretched on for. You’ve been able to finish the previous day, fallen asleep beside your husband and rose the next day to have breakfast with your darling boys, served by Kreacher. And now, you’re happily immersing yourself in the home library once more.

Amazed, you consume the contents of the book in your hand, you’ve never come across such information in the Harry Potter books, movies or games. It’s so novel! You feel bubbling excitement rise from deep within you, enchanted and equally awestruck from your imagination, even in sleep. You should be a fanfiction writer!

“I can’t believe how detailed and long this dream is continuing on for…” you mutter to yourself, beginning to smile at your luck before you’re harshly interrupted.

“This isn’t a dream you insufferable muggle!” a shrieking shrill scream echoes in your head and makes you wince. In a weak attempt at soothing the ache, you grasp at your temple with a hand. The throbbing discomfort the voice induces is equivalent to the same pain you experienced when you first woke up in that pitch black room, only, not as intense. The memory makes you wince even more and you wonder if the increase of pain was a type of phantom hurt brought on by your own thoughts.

“Wh-wha-?” you do your best to collect yourself but the wailing voice is unrelenting and perpetuates the pounding in your head.

“To hell with that ritual! What. Happened?! This wasn’t supposed to be the result! Explain yourself, you filthy muggle woman! HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY PLACE!”

With staggering realisation, all the pieces click together in your head and you’re stunned into silence as the raging voice of the villainess woman continues to demand answers in your head. Her voice is piercing but is dulled out by your curiosity and rising triumph.

“You’re saying this is real?...”

“Yes! You Filthy Muggle! Whatever you’ve done, reverse it now and allow me to return to my place!”

“...No,” your firm voice counters, a slow smirk gradually tugging at your lips. She goes silent, probably speechless at the audacity a ‘muggle’ has to disobey her demands, “I’m staying,” you threaten, “and I’m going to do right by your sons by giving them the life and mother they deserve—”

“You will do no such thing!” Walburga shouts once more in your head; this time, you don’t mind the throbbing pain it induces, “They are my sons and they—!”

“Not anymore bitch,” you grin deviously, “they’re my sons now,”

NEXT. | 02 : SHOPPING (1/2) →

A/N : this is my attempt at a fix it fic inspired by one of my favourite genres in webtoons etc - reincarnation/isekai/time travel do-overs, wish me luck! i hope i do a good job! ALSO! I'd like to express a special thank you to my dearest friend @thebestofoneshots for being such a darling and taking time out of her day to beta-read this first chapter for me, she's been such a sweetheart and was the one who helped motivate me to finish the first chapter! i don't think i would have been able to post this first chapter without her. i love you so much my darling! please go and support her by reading her work, commenting and reblog her work too! she deserves all the love in the world! and she writes so beautifully too! you won't regret it!

NAVI. | SERIES MASTERLIST

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88

SERIES TAGLIST OPEN

#marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #harry potter marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #sirius black #regulus black #the marauders #walburga black #the black brothers #orion black #DOB #Divorcing Orion Black #marauders fix-it-fic #reader insert #fem reader #marauders

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avatar-anna · 10 months ago

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Assistant! Reader x Harry Styles Masterlist

April 2016

“Thank you for meeting me.”

Y/n settled into the seat across from Harry. Her hands curled tightly around her mug, apprehension seeping into her bones. “Of course.”

She had been surprised when Harry called her, asking to meet at the Beachwood Cafe. She hadn’t heard from him in months, not one call or text, not even an email. Not that Y/n really expected much when One Direction finally went on hiatus, but after zero communication, she wasn’t quite sure why he’d called her all these months later.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Harry asked.

Y/n’s eyebrows raised a bit, but she answered him anyway after taking a sip of her coffee. “Fine, I guess. You?”

“Good!” Harry said excitedly. “Taking a break the last few months has been…I don’t know. Peaceful, but odd, you know? I’ve never had so much time to myself before.”

“Must be nice,” Y/n said, trying to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Yeah, but I realized that I kind of miss it,” he said. “I knew once we decided on the hiatus that I wanted to do my own thing, but I thought I would take a longer break, but I feel like I’m…itching to get back to work.”

That definitely seemed like Harry. Y/n had worked for him for years, and even when there were breaks between tours, he was hard at work—writing, going to Fashion Week, collaborating with other artists, vocal training, even trying new recipes in his state-of-the-art kitchen, which led to a phone call at one in the morning where Harry asked Y/n to come over and see if his macrons tasted "fluffy enough." It seemed only right that he rested for mere months before starting a new project. She could practically picture him at either of his homes in LA or London, scribbling in his leatherbound journal or playing new melodies on his guitar or piano (and the occasional late-night pastry party). As long as she’d known him, Harry had been a hard worker through and through. A little on the wild side when he had some tequila in him, but when it came down to his career, he was focused, determined.

“Good for you,” Y/n said, meaning it. She always thought he was capable of more. “So what comes next for you? Have you recorded songs already?”

“Not quite. I’m planning a trip to Jamaica to write and record there. It’s remote, serene, a good place to get away. So we’ll have to start booking flights and places to stay and—”

“I’m sorry, ‘We?’” Y/n asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.

Harry matched her look of confusion with one of his own. “Yeah, I mean—I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

The sentiment warmed Y/n’s heart for a moment, but his immediate assumption that she would drop everything just because he asked her to brought the irritation swarming back. “Mr. Sty—Harry, you know I don’t work for you anymore, right?”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about the hiatus? I just thought we could all use some time off, but…I guess I just thought—”

Harry didn’t finish his thought, but his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Y/n would’ve found it cute if he hadn’t been so dense. Resentment still circled around her like a fog, and she wouldn’t let it go so easily, she couldn’t.

“I was employed by your management, Harry. To be an assistant to a member of One Direction,” Y/n explained. “I was let go. I had to quickly find another job doing something else.”

“Oh.”

Y/n supposed she should’ve anticipated being fired, but she didn’t. There was a lot of information that she was privy to that most people weren’t, secrets that were tightly bound by an NDA when she was first hired, but talks of the hiatus was very hushed. She knew to suspect that somewhere down the line the boys would finally take a break, but it came a lot sooner than she was prepared for, and she was left jobless before she had the chance to line something else up. Y/n thought that Harry would give her the courtesy of a warning, but he said nothing about it to her, didn’t offer much except a side hug after One Direction’s last performance.

So yeah, she was a little bitter.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, Y/n. I know it doesn’t make up for…all of this and everything you went through, but I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Y/n believed him, believed that he was sorry for everything that went down, but it still hurt to know she wasn’t someone he was close enough to talk to about all of this at the time. She was Harry’s assistant, she knew that, but they’d been through a lot together. But he was ever the professional it seemed, and it was her job to remember that, not his.

When she realized her coffee was finished, Y/n stood up. “Well, it was good seeing you, Harry. Good luck on your next project. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Wait, but—you’re not—you‘re leaving?”

“I have to run a couple errands before work," Y/n explained. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “But really, no hard feelings. I wish you all the best.”

She left Harry at the table, heading for the front of the cafe and toward the busy street beyond. Her heart felt heavy as she walked away, but she tried to shake the feeling that she was walking away from more than just her boss. Former boss. Like her mother always reminded her, she couldn’t be a personal assistant forever.

“Wait!”

Y/n turned on instinct, eyes widening as Harry jogged after her, his little bun bouncing with each step. He skidded to a stop in front of her, green eyes wide and searching. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the heat of his gaze was enough to make butterflies stir in her stomach.

Putting on her best front, she raised her eyebrows, waiting for Harry to say whatever he needed to.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier. I need you, Y/n,” he said. “I—You’re the only one who really knows me, who I know will have my back no matter what. I need a familiar face in my corner.”

I need you, Y/n. Those words were her kryptonite. Year after year, Y/n heard Harry's voice over the phone as he roused her from sleep, read the text messages while she was getting her nails done or watched TV in her hotel room, or on the rare occasion she went on a date. But she had to hold strong. Y/n had been devastated by her sudden layoff, but now she had a life, and she didn't want to get sucked back into Harry's very alluring web of charming smiles, cheesy jokes, and endless adventure. That was his life, not hers.

“I have a job, Harry. I can’t just drop everything and quit because you suddenly want me to—”

“What are they paying you?”

Y/n’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Harry pushed on. “What are they paying you? I’ll double it.”

Scoffing in disbelief, she said, “It’s not about the money—”

“Triple,” he countered. Harry took her hand in his and squeezed it. He looks desperate, Y/n thought.

“I can’t just quit my job because you remembered I existed,” Y/n said quietly, pulling her hand out of his. She clung to her resolve, hoping Harry would make this easy and just let it go, let her go. “I—I deserve more.”

More of what, she wasn’t sure, but Y/n knew it was true. Harry only reached out because he needed something from her, and that hurt more than she cared to admit.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking down at his shoes. A pair of scuffed Chelsea boots he wore practically everywhere. Y/n had bought him a pair of Vans one year, an attempt to switch up his wardrobe, but he still chose the boots nine times out of ten. “Just—At least think about coming to Jamaica. Please?”

“Harry—”

“Not as my assistant. As a guest. A friend,” Harry amended. “We’re planning on staying at a huge villa, and I want to make up for being an idiot. Just—Just think about it. Please.”

Despite everything, Y/n found herself wanting to say yes. It was that magnetic pull she felt toward Harry that had kept her working for him for so long. He was an important person in her life, and up until he’d all but ghosted her after the hiatus, she thought she was important to him too. In spite of his misgivings, Y/n still wanted to believe that she was.

It was so stupid, but it felt good to be wanted by him. She was an idiot, she knew that. But her friendship with Harry was legitimate, he'd just acted like a complete idiot. She'd known him long enough to know he was very capable of acting like an idiot. So even though she shouldn’t, even though she had carefully lined up her reasons not to in a little line, she started to cave.

But she couldn’t make the decision now. Not when Harry was looking at her with pleading green eyes and his sad little puppy dog face, his cologne dizzyingly lovely. No, she owed it to herself to really think about what she wanted. If getting sucked back into that whirlwind was worth it. Worth getting her heart properly broken when she knew he would never feel the same about her.

"I'll show up at work, you know," Harry said. "I'm not above it. You might think I am, but I'm not."

Y/n had no doubt in her mind that he would. Along with being an idiot, Harry was very stubborn, and very persistent. She had years with him to know that. Did she really need Harry Styles showing up at her place of work?

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” she finally said, trying to pretend like her heart was screaming to just agree. But her heart was an impulsive little shit that was bound to get her in trouble.

Harry’s face broke out into a wide grin, one that displayed those famous dimples and lit up his entire face. It was hard to feel like he didn't think she was the only person on earth to exist when he looked like that, like he was convinced she’d already said yes. “I’ll take it.”

#harry styles #harry styles x assistant!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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stylesloveclub · 1 year ago

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Prose (part 4)

In which Harry and y/n like going to used bookstores together and kissing (in secret).

+++

Harry’s coat is soaked, his curls matted to his forehead and his eyes squinting from how rainy it is. He barely had time to pack up his stuff, let alone grab his umbrella, before darting out of the Literature building. His boots splash loudly in the puddles, wetting the hems of his trousers as he runs across the street.

“Y/n!” he calls out, his his chest rising and falling heavily. After two weeks of ditching his office hours and running away from him after lecture, he’s finally caught up with her, “come on, we need to talk.”

A quiet rumble of thunder shakes the air around them, and y/n reluctantly turns around. She’d been avoiding this conversation – didn’t want to be lectured by Harry about how bad of a decision it was and that it never should’ve happened. She knows that already, and she doesn’t need to hear it again from him. It would hurt even more, coming from the same lips that she’d been so excited to kiss.

“What’s there to talk about,” she mumbles, her eyes downcast to the floor, watching the rain splatter against the pavement. Her hair is wet, drops of water dripping down her forehead, over the slope of her nose, and landing on her pretty lips. They get caught in the dip of her cupid's bow, and Harry watches painfully as she licks it away.

It’s a painful experience, to have to remain so composed and put together, when he wants nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her again. His eyebrows are pinched, and his lips part as if he’s imagining what it’d be like to feel her lips between his again. He can’t help himself from staring down at her lips like a puppy yearning for a treat.

“We– we can’t just… ignore what happened,” he says, pushing his wet hair out of his face. He licks his lips nervously, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“Yes we can,” she responds quickly. “Listen– I know it was a bad idea. You don’t have to like… lecture me about it. We can just move on."

“But– wait, no. I don’t want to just move on.” Harry blinks quickly, half because of the rain and half because he’s confused.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” she says quietly, toeing at the ground and wishing it would open up and swallow her whole. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She looks like she’s about to cry, and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t lean forward and hug her the way he wants to, he can’t even rest a hand on her arm. He watches sadly as she just wraps her arms around herself, a pathetic cardigan wrapped around her frame – as if that would do anything to protect her from the rain. How could this girl be so smart when it comes to school, he thinks to himself, but so utterly stupid when it comes to rainy days. “Let me drive you home, and we can talk about it.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea–”

“Come on,” he pleads. “It’s pouring, and we’re both getting soaked. Just let me drive you. Please.” His eyes are wide, and his hands are lifted up halfway, resisting the urge to reach out to her.

Thunder crashes loudly again, and y/n gives a silent nod. She follows him quietly to his car.

+++

“Did you regret it?” Harry asks at a stoplight.

Y/n shrugs quietly. Not really an answer, but she doesn’t have the heart to vocalize her feelings. Of course she doesn’t regret it– she’d had a crush on him since the very beginning of the semester. But she knows that he probably wishes it never happened. So a shrug suffices.

He sighs heavily. Her reluctance to talk to him is eating away at him, and he doesn’t know how to handle the situation. “Well I don’t,” he announces loudly. “I think you’re pretty, and kind, and sweet – and I enjoyed kissing you.” He peaks over at her through the corner of his eye, but she shows no outright reaction to his declaration. She just stares down at her fingers, tangled in her lap.

Okay, well now he feels silly for saying all that.

He turns back to face the road, and the two of them are suffocated in the silence. The rain patters against the roof of his car and the windshield wipers rhythmically clear the glass. Y/n watches a single raindrop’s path down her window, following as it slides down and collects all the other drops of water on its way.

Then she asks quietly, “You aren’t worried about getting in trouble?”

His eyes flicker to her. “S’not as big of a deal as you think it is, bunny. S’not like I’m actually your professor. We’re both still students.”

She’s silent again. Harry pulls up in front of her apartment, but she hesitates to unbuckle her seatbelt. He looks at her quizzically.

“So it’s not against the rules?” she asks once more, nervously.

Harry shakes his head. “No school policies against it.”

Her voice is quiet. “...and you don’t regret it?”

“Not at all.”

Silence again. She sits in his passenger's seat thoughtfully. They are both still very much wet from the rain.

“I’d invite you up–” she suddenly says. “But, I have a roommate. And, um… if anything else were to happen… I still wouldn’t want anyone to find out. Even if it’s not against the rules.” She turns, her eyes wide and glimmering hopefully. She’s suddenly filled with excitement and confidence.

Harry nods understandingly. “Nobody has to know.”

She still doesn’t leave his car, staring at him. “So… if we were to do anything else, it’d have to be off campus. And not at my apartment.”

Harry’s lips part, and he nods again, slower, “I see… so, if we wanted to do something else… we should probably go to my apartment instead…”

Y/n only realizes how much she missed the dimple in Harry’s cheek when he smiles at her for the first time since that day in his office.

His tone is teasing, “And… if I wanted to kiss you… then I should probably wait until we get to my place?”

Her eyes sparkle, “exactly.”

+++

On the way to his apartment, he warns her that it may be messy, and he also warns her about his precious little cat (a pretty white haired kitty with piercing blue eyes named Princess, because that’s the name the shelter gave her and he didn’t have the heart to change it) who would probably be meowing at their feet as soon as they walk through the door.

Y/n doesn’t have much time to look around his apartment and assess the messiness though. As soon as they get out of his car and into the elevator, she finds herself unable to stand more than three steps away from Harry. She follows closely behind him, grabs onto his firm bicep as he types in the code to his apartment. He turns to her with a smirk – it’s endearing how eager and affectionate she is, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. She’s got a look on her face, like a kid on her way to Disneyland for the first time – except Disneyland is actually just Harry’s bed, and the rides involve a lot less clothes than Splash Mountain.

He tests the waters. He spends a few seconds staring in her eyes, reveling in the palpable tension between them, and then he flickers his gaze down to her pretty lips. He dances between her eyes and her lips for a bit, his hand still on the doorknob but too distracted by her to turn it all the way. Instead, he leans forward, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips pressing against hers. It’s so nice to kiss her again, it’s everything he could have ever wanted.

She’s ready for it this time, eager for his kiss and not caught off guard on the floor of his office. She leans up on her tippy toes immediately, puckering her lips against his and kissing that boyish smirk right off his face. Her hands hold onto his biceps, and slide up to his shoulders, and she tilts her chin upwards to kiss him properly.

Harry lets his tongue slip out, sliding it between her soft lips and grazing it against hers, warm and slick in her mouth. It makes her breath catch in her throat – he’s just so hot, and his tongue is in her mouth right now, and it’s all just so perfect. Harry actually lets go of the doorknob, forgetting that they’re still in the middle of his hall, and turns his entire body towards her instead of just his head turned towards her. The hand that had been on the door makes its way to her hip, and he towers over her, leaning forward and backing her up against the wall right next to his door. It feels like he’s a foot taller than her when he’s kissing her like this, pressing her against the wall and sliding his fingers into her hair to manually tilt her head back.

He bares her throat to himself and tilts her chin upwards, all so that he has easier access to her pretty little mouth. Sliding his tongue against hers erotically, nipping at her lip and squeezing her hip tightly. He’s so soft and gentle and romantic – but he’s also taken full control, leaving her at his mercy. He tilts her head whichever way he wants with his grip in her hair, scratching at her scalp so she’s weak in the knees. It makes her whimper and keel, her heart racing in her chest like an overexcited little bunny.

Harry smiles into their kiss when she feels him pawing at her, her frigid fingers pressing against his firm abdomen and gripping the fabric of his shirt, still partially wet from the rain. If she’s getting handsy, he better open the door and get her into his bed. But he can’t bring himself to break their kiss – so with his eyes still shut and his lips still tangled with hers, he uses a hand to blindly twist the doorknob and push the door open. They stumble in uncoordinatedly, and y/n doesn’t even have the chance to see if Harry was lying about having a messy apartment. She’s just trying to kiss him as much as she can, get as close to him as physically possible. She’s forgotten about how uncomfortable her wet jeans are, or how cold her fingers are after spending so long in the pouring rain. All she wants is to get into Harry’s bed.

He guides her towards his bedroom, and peeks a nervous eye open to make sure that his room isn’t a horrible, gross mess, a sigh of relief leaving him when he confirms that it’s in an acceptable state to show this pretty girl. He’s tugging off his coat and letting it plop wetly onto the floor and undoing the buttons of y/n’s cardigan, when his sweet little kitty finally makes an appearance.

A simple quiet meow is all they hear, followed by the gentle scratch of her claws tugging and pulling on Harry’s trousers. Harry giggles, and pulls away from y/n to stare down at his cat, who’s sitting ever so politely at his feet with one paw raised to rest on his trouser. She’s the cutest little cock blocker and she’s also his little baby. “Hi princess,” he coos.

Y/n, with swollen lips and bated breath, is honestly a little jealous of how this cat must get so much attention from Harry, and how sweetly he just bent down to pick her up. She wants Harry to do that with her – to coo at her and lift her up and press a kiss on her forehead. She then scolds herself for being jealous of a cat.

The kitty, all fluffy with hair as white as snow, gives a big yawn and a sudden shake of her head that makes her collar jingle prettily. Harry smiles. “Let me just go get her some food n’then she won’t bother us,” Harry says to y/n. The implications of not wanting to be bothered makes y/n’s heart flutter, and she nods eagerly with wide eyes.

He runs back quickly, and shuts the door behind himself, so that even if Princess finishes her food, she won’t be able to wander in randomly. Then he’s pulling the cardigan off of her, throwing it on the floor, and unbuttoning her jeans, all while re-initiating their kiss. He walks them backwards slowly, until the backs of her legs meet his bed and she’s falling backwards with a soft laugh. He smiles into their kiss as he tugs her jeans off – a slight struggle considering that the denim is all wet and sticking to her thighs, but he just laughs with her at the awkwardness of having to peel off each other’s wet clothes. With her jeans also on the floor, she’s left in a basic and plain pair of light gray underwear, and the white baby tee that had been underneath her cardigan. Her shirt has ridden up, revealing her ribs and her soft stomach, and he wants to just lean down and kiss all over her body. Her thighs, her belly, her neck. He can see her pulse racing in her neck, and wants to rest his lips over her chest and feel her heart pounding right against his lips.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, her legs spread at the edge of the bed with Harry standing between them. He’s smirking down at her, taking his time as he undresses himself, making her ache. His hair that had been soaked in the rain has dried up a bit, his curls fluffier and messier than usual. It’s his natural hair, the curls that form when he’s straight out of the shower and hasn’t had the chance to style them with his curl cream. It’s endearing. His fingers, so thick and long and manly, are insanely slow as he finds the buckle of his belt and undoes it. The sound of the buckle clanking makes y/n swallow thickly, and the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, towering over her with a belt in his hand is so arousing for some reason. Her eyes flutter, but she forces herself to keep her eyes open as he buttons his trousers and steps out of them smoothly. Neither of them are saying anything, despite there being so much they want to say to each other. They just take in the moment, take in each other. There’s a tattoo on Harry’s thigh that y/n never would have expected, a tiger that looks so intimidating and regal on him. His thighs are thick and strong – it’s head spinning to finally see him undressing in front of her when she’d accidentally done it in her head so many times in his office hours. It was never an intentional decision to sit in his office hours and imagine what it’d be like to see him undressed – to imagine what he’d look like if she ever got the chance to suck him off, or how he’d sound. But it always ended up happening… he was just too hot.

His fingers now undo the buttons of his shirt, another white button up (his work uniform, apparently) that he slowly opens to reveal a broad chest, filled with tattoos. Y/n’s mouth drops open. Never in a million years did she expect her sweet, smart, and flirty TA to be covered in ink, a sleeve of black drawings lining his left arm and decorating his abs. It’s insane. He is so hot. Harry just smirks.

Her eyes are wide and she looks dumbstruck, mouth open as she just stares at him, her chest rising and falling heavily. She feels herself clenching, her eyes roaming all over his body… his chest and the swallows on his collarbones… the butterfly on top of his defined abdomen… the ferns on the hard lines that lead down into his briefs. Her eyes flicker up, and she flushes knowing that Harry’s been watching her drool over him for the past minute. She can’t be embarrassed about it though, and finds herself staring at the hem of his briefs… and then just a little lower at the bulge. Her mouth waters without her consent. His big hand cups the bulge and he squeezes himself. She nearly passes out.

She sits up fully so that she’s no longer half lying on the couch, and instead she’s face to face with his cotton covered cock. Not even trying to be hot or sexy or minx-like, she looks up at him through her lashes, silently asking for permission. She’d never admit just how often the thought of sucking Harry off had crossed her mind. Sometimes when she was in his office hours, she’d zone out while he was talking to her and just stare at his big hands – dreaming about feeling them at the back of her head, pushing her down to get his cock further down her throat. And other times, in class, when Dr. Richmond was lecturing on and on about god knows what, she’d find herself staring at Harry, sitting politely in the corner of the room, his legs spread naturally. She’d feel so dirty in class, imagining what it’d be like to sit between those thighs, rest her cheek on his leg while pumping his cock, when he was doing nothing to prompt such sexual thoughts. All he’d do was sit there, and she’d be thinking about laving her tongue around his cock-head, tasting him as he’d cum down her throat.

“Go on then,” Harry grunts, tucking a piece of y/n’s wet hair behind her ear. She’s eager, licking her lips like she’s about to have some dessert, her eyes glittering and darting all over his face. She tucks her fingers into the hem of his briefs and pulls them down, revealing the bottom half of the ferns and a dark tuft of hair. She pulls down further and further, exposing his shaft, and pulls some more until she frees the head and his cock comes bouncing out of its confines. It’s large and nearly smacks her in her face, and she’s like a confused little bunny staring at it swinging in front of her. He can’t help but smile down at her fondly, his hand cupping her jaw. “You want t’suck me off, bunny?”

She nods, hypnotized but unable to make a first move. She’s too intimidated by his size, and how he’s towering over her, speaking down to her with his low, raspy voice. She just stares up at him with wide eyes.

He grabs a hold of himself, wrapping his fist around the base of his cock, and just the feeling of his own hand gets him twitching and leaking precum already. She’s the sweetest thing, looking up at him with those big eyes, nibbling at her lips nervously. He pumps himself a few times, spreading his slickness down his shaft and all over his head. She’ll be able to taste him all the way down, feel him coating her tongue and spurting down her throat.

He guides the tip to her lips, muttering a soft, “open up.” She’s so eager and obedient, parting her lips without hesitation and even going so far as to stick her tongue out for him, the precious little thing. He’s grinning like the joker, dimple in his cheek at the erotic sight in front of him. Gripping himself, he taps his head against her tongue softly, and traces a circle with the tip of his cock around the flat of her tongue. He does this a few times, his own fist sliding his cockhead over her tongue, the rough texture of her tastebuds heavenly on his sensitive tip. He feels smooth and slick on her tongue, and she sits there like an angel, tongue out and staring up at him sweetly as he does whatever he pleases. His cockhead is ruddy and red, so incredibly sensitive to the touch, and he groans through his smirk. Do you know how attractive it is to see a man moaning with a smile on his face? Y/n feels her panties soaking, and worries that it might be seeping onto his bedsheets.

It’s honestly been a while for Harry, since he’s hooked up with anyone. He hasn’t dated anyone in a while, and it’s hard to find someone that he trusts enough to be himself with. He wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to trace his cock on any random person’s tongue, wouldn’t be calling a stranger “bunny” or whispering for them to open wider so he can push himself further in.

“Come on bunny, show me what you can do,” he murmurs, encouraging her to grab a hold of his cock herself. That little taste of him from when he traced himself over her tongue has made her insane – she’s addicted to how he tastes and wants him further in her mouth. With his encouragement, she circles her tongue around his head. Tentatively at first, but when he groans out and bucks closer to her, she starts swirling more and more eagerly. She’s drooling for him, her mouth filled with saliva and just watering for his taste. She’s breathing heavily and small little whines are leaving her chest as her tongue slides from his head down his shaft. God. It’s addictive. She wants to lick up and down his cock for ages, just feel him on her tastebuds, but she also wants to wrap her lips around him and feel his cock fill up her mouth, but then she also wants to just jerk him off with her hand while she sucks his pretty balls into her mouth and roams her tongue around each other – oh the options are all so enticing, she’s overwhelming herself.

Spit is dripping down the side of her mouth from how drooly she is over him, and she stops licking up and down his shaft and all over his head for just a second to swallow thickly. And then she’s immediately back on his dick, this time closing her lips around his head and sliding herself down his length, feeling the underside of his shaft against her tongue and his head tickling the back part of her throat. She wants to take him further so badly, wants to feel him fill up her throat, make her throat bulge with his thickness, just suffocate on his length – but when she pushes herself forward she has a teensy little gag, and has to pull off to catch her breath. “Oh, bunny,” he groans, biting his lip, “fuck.” She looks up at him teary eyed, her lips slicked and her chin covered in her spit and the copious amount of cum he’s already leaked into her mouth. It’s a sight that he’ll be dreaming about for days, every single night with his fist wrapped around his cock before he goes to sleep or when he’s jerking off in the shower before going to class. She wraps her lips around his cock again and bobs up and down eagerly, pushing herself forward so that his cockhead reaches the back of her throat, and then pulling back quickly so that his cock almost falls out of her mouth. She does this over and over again, her tongue still lick at him as much as she can, flickering her tongue at his pretty tip and trying to lap up as much cum as she can, steadily leaking out of his slit. He’s so yummy and hot and she just wants to taste him and swallow him and feel him filling her throat – she tries to deepthroat him again, but disappointingly fails again. He’s just too big for her.

She pulls off with a cough, huffing upset. She looks up at him sadly and he hushes her, delicately tracing a finger on her face, “S’okay bunny,” ((her heart races and does a few backflips every time he calls her bunny)), “we’ll work on it.” And oh, she can’t wait for that. Can’t wait for him to train her throat, get her adjusted to his size so that he can push himself down, fuck her face and stuff himself down her throat until he’s spurting long streaks of white cum into her mouth. Or maybe she’d tell him to pull out just in time so that he could coat her face. Or maybe she’d make him wait until she got his cock inside of her hole and he could fuck into her and cum right inside of her, pressing his balls up to her ass so that he could get it as deep as humanly possible.

If she can’t get him down her throat today though, then she makes up for it by wrapping her lips around his balls and stuffing her mouth full of them. Her tongue circles around them, tonguing at the spot right between the two, and she makes sure to give each one a bit of their own separate love as well – sucking their roundness into her mouth, feeling how full they are. All while tugging at his cock and looking up at his red face, his flushed neck and the veins bulging in them.

“Sweetheart,” he cries out with a loud moan. His fingers ball up into fists at his sides and his abdomen is clenching and fluttering erratically, “gonna make me cum. Where d’you want it, hm?”

She pulls off of his balls with a loud pop. “In my mouth,” she whines, as if it’s obvious. She’s been lapping at his slit, suckling out the yummy precum so desperately – she wants it all now.

Fondling his balls and sucking harshly at his tip, she pulls the final trigger. His hips thrust forward and he groans out, his hands tightening in her hair as long spurts of white cum shoot out of him, coating her tongue and trickling down her throat. Her mouth overflows, stuffed full of his cock without enough room for all the cum that he’s spurting out to fit – so it trickles down her chin instead. She takes it so well, swallowing it all and suckling at him gently until there’s nothing more for her to suck out, and his cock sits limply against her tongue, worn out and sucked dry.

His chest is red and heaving, and he’s weak in the knees. His sweet little bunny, so quiet and gentle in class, was the dirtiest little minx he’s ever had. He saw stars when he came, his ears ringing and his vision going white. It was a trip to heaven.

He’s gonna have fun with her, for sure.

+++

The used bookstore that Harry and y/n walk into is a thirty minute drive from campus. The store is dimly lit, fairy lights lining the shelves and small tables filled with books from local authors between the rows of books. There’s a cafe next door where Harry and y/n each get a hot chocolate to warm their numb fingers (it’s raining outside, again), and the smell of roasted coffee beans lingers on their clothes and follows them into the book shop.

It’s warm in the book store. Not as warm as the cafe, but still warm enough for y/n to shed her raincoat and for Harry to unwrap the big, fuzzy scarf that he’d tied around his neck. His oversized gray sweatshirt is lightly stained with raindrops, y/n having convinced him that they didn’t need an umbrella, that they could just race out of the car and into the bookstore and only get a little wet. Either that, or he’d have to carry around a wet umbrella all around the bookstore, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to hold her hand while they shopped. And that simply wouldn’t do.

With her fingers laced with his, they walk around in the fiction aisle, saying nothing. Y/n’s eyes trail over the multitude of used books, the ones with the colorful covers and bubbly fonts standing out to her the most (it’s hard to not judge a book by its cover!). Harry sips quietly from his hot chocolate and stares at y/n every few seconds, before averting his eyes to the floor. Or to their joint hands. He suppresses a smile to himself.

It’s hard for him to contain his excitement. Since they started their relationship, it’s all been very hush hush. The only time he ever gets to touch her is when they’re at his apartment. He’s not allowed to hold her hand when they’re walking around campus, not allowed to stare at her for too long in class, even though he wants nothing more than to just watch her read and write her notes. Sometimes on Friday nights, when campus is empty and everyone has gone home, she’ll close his windows and lock his office door and let him give her a few kisses in the privacy of his office – but other than that, no PDA. It’s too risky, too scary, she whispered to him the night that they made it official, under the shield of his comforter. She didn’t want to have any rumors or whispers circling around, even if their relationship wasn’t explicitly against the rules. He, of course, would do anything for her.

He was good about it. Kept his eyes off of her, didn’t praise her too much in class, kept his hood up whenever he went to pick her up in the middle of the night. But he’s an affectionate kind of guy – he’s the kind of boyfriend who wants to wrap his arms around her when they’re standing in line at the coffee shop. He wants to put his hand on her thigh when he’s driving her home from school, send her off with a kiss everytime she leaves his office hours. So being able to come to a bookstore in another city, where they wouldn’t see any of her classmates, and hold her hand while she looks for books… it’s such a special thing for him.

Her hand is warm and soft, and she wears these delicate little rings that clank against his bigger, clunky rings. Her nails are painted a dark burgundy color (courtesy of him, who whipped out his stash of nail polish and painted her nails after she whined about her hands being too shaky to paint her nails herself), and he rubs his thumb over her painted fingers lovingly.

She untangles their fingers to reach for a book, and Harry’s hand feels cold and lonely. He tries not to visibly pout, and stuffs his hand into his pocket to maybe recreate the feeling of being held by her hand … but it’s not the same. He takes a step forward so that his chest is pressed against her back, and rests his chin on her shoulder, looking over at the book in her hand. Y/n smiles to herself – her boyfriend is like a puppy that can’t go three seconds without being pet or loved on. She tilts her head towards him and gives him a little kiss on the cheek, right on the spot where a dimple forms three seconds after she kisses him. His nose wiggles as he slowly says, “I actually have that book, if you want to borrow it.”

“Oh, really?” she hums, putting the book back. “Was it any good?”

He nuzzles his face closer to hers so that their cheeks are touching, and he can feel the chub of her cheek as she smiles. “4.5 stars.”

His hand not holding his hot chocolate finds her hip as she spins around to face him, and he stares down at her with stars in his eyes. His dimple softly pinches his cheek and his lips quirk up to one side in a lopsided smile. She looks soft and sweet and cozy, in a white long sleeved top, a lacy trim at her collar, and a bow pinning her hair back. A heart shaped pendant rests in the center of her chest, a gift from him, and her eyes are bright and wide as she stares back up at him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and her fingers tangle in the back of his hair.

She giggles as Harry just stares down at her and says nothing. “What?” she laughs, not understanding why he’s looking at her like one of the stars in the sky.

“Just so pretty, bunny,” he murmurs quietly. He leans forward, his nose nudging against hers for a kiss. She struggles to kiss him back through her own smile, but her painted nails scratch at his scalp while his fingers dimple her hips. His lips are sweet like the hot chocolate he’d been drinking, and she wonders if she tastes just as yummy and chocolatey – or if he’s just licking into her mouth because of how lovey and affectionate he’s feeling today. Her back presses against the bookshelf and his hips press into her front subtly, but it’s not in an insanely horny way, and more of a desperate attempt to press his body as close to hers as possible. To feel her chest against her chest, and feel her stomach against his.

He loves kissing her, loves her pretty lips and her pretty face, her warm cheeks and her soft eyes. He sucks and licks and nibbles on her lips with quiet hums, and pulls off only when her giggles get too strong and she’s not kissing him back anymore. “Stop laughing,” he huffs, skimming his lips against her jaw.

She giggles some more. How can he just casually call her pretty and kiss her in between bookshelves and not expect her to burst into a fit of shy, love-struck giggles? It’s too much for her, and the only way she can rationally react when she’s so happy and giddy is to giggle it out! “Sorry,” she smiles bashfully, her giggles still prominent, though, as the stubble on his upper lip tickles her cheek. “More kisses, please.”

He can’t help but smile at how sweet and polite she is, asking for more kisses. He puckers her lips against hers again for a quick kiss and starts a path up her cheek and all over her face too, which just sends her into a fit of even more laughter. He huffs out a chuckle of his own, and shakes his head, checking around them to make sure that they’re still alone in this aisle of books.

“Wanna go to the sci-fi section?” he whispers to her. (He’s a bit of a sci-fi nerd himself and has turned y/n onto a few of his favorites, so now they’re both sci-fi fans).

“M’kay,” she hums, her fingers untangling from his hair and sliding down so that her hand hooks into his arms. “Maybe we can see if they have that Andy Weir book you were telling me about, and go read it together in the cafe? M’hot chocolate is almost done and I want a cheese danish.”

And nothing sounds better to Harry than that.

+++

hope u guys looveddd it !!! such a fun story to write and i really loved this couple. thank u for reading and dont forget to send me an ask or rb so that i know u guys liked it and if u want blurbs and stuff!!!!

Prose Masterlist

#harry #harry smut #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic

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tsumtsumrry · 1 year ago

Text

Sex Therapist

WC: 3.3k

warnings: riding the tiger (thigh riding), unprotected sex, language, a pinch of fluff, bit of soft dom!harry, a teensy bit of a breeding kink, and kinda pwp (porn without plot)

and he’s not actually a sex therapist

He’s striding towards the door with you trailing behind him, attempting to apologize for the fact that you weren’t even present the whole time he was literally inside you.

“Yeah, sorry. I just don’t―”

“Think it’s gonna work out? Yeah I gathered that.” he scoffs, his voice laced with venom.

Yet another one night stand gone to shit.

“I’m sorry―” you insist but he opens the door and walks right out of it before you can even finish your sentence.

It wasn’t entirely your fault, it wasn’t interesting, nothing made you want to be present. He just wasn’t doing it for you.

Yeah his ego must’ve taken a blow but it’s better than “leading him on”, per se, and having him finish while you just sit there and regret it all.

You blow a frustrated raspberry and walk over to your couch to plump yourself down on it, immediately regretting even talking to him at that bar tonight. He could’ve been a bit nicer about the whole thing. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t help but feel a little guilty, and the way he seemed so disappointed only made you feel worse. God, you really need to grow a fucking backbone.

The worst part is you feel painfully sexually frustrated but you aren’t even in the mood to touch yourself, you just need someone to fix it for you. You desperately need someone to fix it for you.

You opt for just eating dinner, having a long bath and going to sleep, hopefully by tomorrow this dreadful overflow of sexual desire will leave you with some rest

Wishful thinking.

🟔

“Delicious, don’t ya think?”

You nod and hum and the taste of the pie, somehow it’s unlike any other you’ve tasted and you can’t thank Harry enough for introducing it to you.

“This is like heaven. How in the world did you find these?” you breathe out, your voice in something like a breathy daze like drawl.

“A friend of a friend.” He says, chuckling at your current state. He can’t even blame you though, it really is that good.

“I fucking love your friends.” You mumble and he chuckles with squinted eyes.

“‘Kay, now that I’ve loosened you up with food, mind telling me what’s been going on with you lately?” He says, his tone bordering a coax. It surprises you, the fact that he noticed and the fact that he’s bold enough to ask.

You and him don’t talk all that much, you have mutual friends, and when he’s in town he always says that you’re the first person he calls, but you don’t really believe him. It’s probably something he says just to be kind, that is his brand after all.

“Hmm?” you pretend to be clueless, taking another bite of pie. You could always lie, it’s not like he’d know the difference, right?

“You’ve been so, like, tense? I don’t know how to explain it but I can literally feel how on edge you are.”

Harry notices you’re looking anywhere but at him and he ducks his head to try and catch your line of vision, “hmm? What’s going on? You okay?”

Your heart flutters a bit at his genuine concern, but you know you still can’t vocalize the fact that you desperately need to get laid to someone you loosely consider a friend.

“M’fine, Harry,” you notice his look of pure disbelief, “really, I am.”

“You sure? Like I said I can feel how tense you are, and I’m never wrong about these kinds of things…” he trails off, his eyes flicking to the movement of you licking some of the pie remnant off of your bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. I don’t bite and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.

You bite your lip in thought and once again his eyes follow, only this time you catch it.

It’s when he says your name with genuine worry in his voice that you finally look him in the eye and open your mouth to speak.

“Okay you have to promise not to laugh, or, like, judge.” you rush out, honestly not believing you’re actually doing this. It kind of helps that you and him aren’t all that close, it’s easier to tell him that it would be to tell someone else. He also just radiates charm and comfort, something that you’re sure he’s using to his advantage.

“I promise. Already told you I’m a great listener, love. Now what’s been bothering you?”

“I just, I’ve been so wound up and I can’t seem to fix it.” you finally say, hoping he gets what you mean by “wound up”.

“Well I usually meditate, trust me it works wonders. And if you really need it I’m sure I could book like one of those cool masseuse thingies for you.”

You groan quietly and he frowns.

“No, H, I―I’ve been wound up.” You stress the words more and you can see exactly when the realization flashes in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, do you have any problems with, like, finding people?” he offers quietly, trying to allude to one night stands.

“Yes actually. They can never―”

“Get you off?” he quips and your breath stutters with laughter. You mumble a small “yeah” and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“You ever tell them what you want?” he asks and you frown. You’ve just realized that no, no you don’t.

“No…” you mumble.

“Well there it is.” he says with a tone of finality and you pout.

“I mean I know I should, but sometimes I don’t wanna be giving cues while I’m having sex with someone, you know?” you speak softly, almost like you're embarrassed and you guess Harry can tell, because next time he speaks he makes sure his voice is soft and reassuring.

“No I get it, but you know most blokes are pretty lost when it comes to pleasing a woman in the bedroom. I know it must suck but you gotta help ‘em out a bit.”

“Yeah…” you pout again and Harry smiles softly at it, “I just want someone to like, know me, you know? Or just know a woman’s body in general.”

“I get it, love. Can I give you a tip?” he says , his eyes swimming with something you can’t quite pin down.

“Sure.”

“Tell them exactly what you want, every single thing. Being vocal is very important. Everything you’re feeling or not feeling, you should tell them.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” He says, looking you right in the eyes as he’s fiddling with his pretty rings. He leans down to get another bite of pie and you look around in thought.

You feel stupid for what you’re about to ask but you feel like you owe it to yourself to really get all you can from this rare type of conversation you’re sure you won’t have with anyone else besides a sex therapist. “Do you have any idea of what I should like...say?”

Harry pauses his chewing and his eyebrows raise in the slightest, you catch a tick in his jaw and you immediately regret asking the question. But just like he has been this whole night, he seems to read your mind and instantly answers your question like it’s the most casual thing he’s ever heard.

“For example,” he clears his throat, “if something feels good you can say good, if it’s not doing anything for you, tell them, and tell them how to...make it feel good.”

“And if they still don’t do it right?”

“Find someone new.”

“I feel like I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Maybe you need someone familiar.”

You can tell he almost regretted it when he said it, but there was also something of what seemed like determination in his eyes. You can only imagine the mental battle he’s having right now.

“Someone...familiar?” You say, your tone is nothing less than breathless.

“Mhm...someone you know, someone you trust, someone that can take care of you.” You know Harry’s noticed your change in breathing, the way you tried to subtly press your thighs together, you know he’s noticed and that’s why his voice has lowered to a calculated sultry tone that you know he only reserves for times like this. He’s downright seducing you and you don’t seem to have a problem with it, “any ideas?”

Now he’s just teasing.

You shake your head no, your breaths coming out as shallow puffs.

It’s only now you noticed that he’s been leaning in, he positions his mouth near your ear and his breath makes your entire body erupt in goosebumps, “do you want me to show you what it’s like? Hmm? Show you what it’s like to be cared for?”

You’ll be embarrassed later for how fast you agree, but that’s not important right now.

“Can I touch, pretty girl?” he whispers, pressing kisses below your ear, smirking when you gasp. “Hmm? Can I?”

“Yes. Please.”

All you get is a hum in response. He’s been keeping his hands to himself the entire time, but as soon as you gave the okay, his large hands moved to your thigh, trailing higher and higher but never quite getting where you want.

“Gonna let me kiss you?” he whispers again and you nod quickly. As soon as his lips envelop yours you let out a satisfied sigh, one that he returns with a hum and a small smile.

He moves his hands to your waist, swiftly ridding you of your leggings and your underwear after he asks for consent, his lips quirking from how quickly you said yes.

You notice him pause, he’s watching you with dark, hungry eyes, almost like he’s trying to figure out what to do with you. You feel sort of self conscious sitting here all exposed. You go to put your legs together but you’re immediately stopped by what sounds like a disappointed tut. Harry shakes his head, ‘don’t. Please.”

“Do somethin’ for me?” he asks and you nod softly. He pats his right thigh and you immediately know what he’s insinuating, you can feel the wetness reach your thighs.

You straddle his thigh, taking a sharp intake of breath when his muscles flex under you, directly on your core.

“This okay?” he asks.

“Yes, yes. Please.”

He smirks and places his hands on your hips, your eyes are squeezed shut, the butterflies that you feel all over overwhelming you.

“Open your eyes, poppet. Look at me.” Harry rasps, his forest green eyes moving rapidly across your face like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. “So pretty. Always thought you were so pretty.”

You open your eyes, immediately meeting his, you can see them soften at the nervousness you’re sure is swimming in yours.

“You okay? You’re comfortable with all this? You know we can stop. As soon as you aren’t comfortable.” Harry says, his voice staying hushed and low, creating what feels like a safe bubble around the two of you.

“Yeah, m’okay. Promise.” you whisper out, and he shoots you a reassuring smile.

He rests his hands on your hips, tightening his grip when you hum and the warmth of his hands, and drags your hips in one slow, long roll on his thigh, “so wet. Feels so nice and wet on my thigh” He marvels, committing to a rhythm of slow, sensual rolls, having you panting and moaning on top of him.

“Look so pretty getting y’self off on my thigh like this. So fuckin’ pretty.” His thigh hitches up, causing you to gasp and crash down onto his chest. You nuzzle your head into his neck and he coos, bringing one of his hands up to your hair to pet you some. “Okay, baby?”

Baby. Your heart almost aches at the pet name. He’s really showing you what it feels like to be cared for. The whole nine yards.

“Yeah, s’just...a lot. Feels really good.” you mumble into his neck, you can almost feel him shudder when your breath hits his skin.

“Want more?” he whispers in your ear. You almost want to moan at how close he is.

“Yeah. Please.”

He keeps one hair in your hair, caressing and petting you, while the other resumes the movements of your hips on his thigh, speeding up. You gasp out in a bit of surprise and he hums. The skin skin contact is driving you completely insane, the muscles on his thigh are so toned and firm and perfect, so so perfect. It feels perfect.

You hadn’t realized you’ve been whispering it out loud until he coos at you yet again, squeezing your waist in encouragement. “Mhm. You’re so perfect.” he whispers.

You feel the familiar simmering in your belly, the tightening feeling that makes you wonder if you’re actually going to explode, only this time it’s more intense. Probably because you’re proper turned on and have a guy under you that knows exactly what he’s doing and that thought, that thought just makes your release speed towards you faster.

“Harry.” you whine. “Gonna come. Please―”

“Go ‘head. Come all over my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess of me. Please, I need to see it.” he encourages you, watching as you tremble on him and your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting the pleasure completely overtake you.

You’re chanting out mindless praises and Harry’s comforting voice is helping you come down, ground you and make you feel safe.

“Good girl. Did so good. Came so pretty.” he praises, pressing kisses to your shoulder.

When your hand falls from his neck to his stomach, you immediately become aware of how hard he is. You look down, he’s hard, leaking even and you have no idea what’s come over you but you want it so bad.

“Harry.”

“Hmm, baby?” he whispers back, still peppering kisses all over your upper body.

“Fuck me.”

He hums again, this one a little higher than the last and his lips finally break away from your body, “fuck you? Are you sure, love? I don’t wanna preas―”

“You’re not. Please, please. I need you to fuck me.”

“S’okay baby. I will. M’gonna fuck you.”

“Thank you, thank you.” you chant, reaching down to give his cock, slow firm tugs. His mouth parts and he moans lowly, watching as your pretty hand works him, “condom?” he whispers, resuming his kisses on your skin.

“M’clean, and on the pill. Don’t want one.” Now this, this is something you never do. You never go without a condom. But you just need him. You need him to the point where you don’t want any barriers in the way, you just want to feel him. And the thought of him filling you up, the thought of being filled up by Harry, is nearly sending you into overdrive.

“I’m clean too, would never hurt you. You’re sure, though?” he double-checks. It’s downright mortifying how fast you nod.

“Right. You ready for me?” he mutters and you look up to meet his eyes, dark green clouded with lust and you just want to get so fucking lost in them. You cannot believe how cliché and sappy and all you’ve done is hump his thigh like a teenager, but you can’t find it in you to care.

“Please.” Is all you say. He lifts you up some and positions the tip at your entrance, swiping his cock between your folds, up to your clit and back down again, groaning at how wet you are.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous cunt.” he whispers, almost like he was saying it to himself. He finally slides himself in and you both gasp. He’s so...big.

Again you didn’t realize you'd said it out loud until he lets out a breathy chuckle, “thanks, baby. Y’pretty pussy is squeezing me so tight, fuck.”

“Okay to move?” he whispers, nipping and sucking at your neck, humming every time you let out a breathy moan.

“Yeah, please move.” you all but moan out.

He lifts your hips up slowly, so so slowly, and brings them back down the same in a sensual roll.

“Fuck.” he whines. And god is that the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You love vocal men, hate it when they act like a rock and expect you to make all the noise. You’re so glad that Harry is one of the good ones.

“You feel like a fucking dream, baby. So good on my cock.” he moans, directly into your ear and you shudder on top of him.

You’re riding him, but he’s doing all the work, thrusting up into you and making you practically scream and tremble on top of him, “Oh my fuckin―Harry!”

“That’s right, baby. You getting what you need? Tell me. Remember? You gotta tell me, sweet girl.” he rasps, moaning when you tighten around him at his words.

“Yeah, yeah. S’good, so good.” you mumble, barely coherently as he scrambles your brain.

He lays you down, hiking your leg over his shoulder and starts to get right back to fucking you into oblivion. A tingle runs down your spine at the new angle and you whimper out a weak call of his name.

You’re both sweating, you start to meet his thrusts, watching as his mouth drops at the feeling. “Yeah, baby. Fuck me back. Just like that, sweet girl.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you want this release, scratch that, need this release, and he’s more than fucking willing to give it to you.

“You need to come? Hmm? Need me to rub your clit so you can come on my cock?” When you moan out a broken “yes” he tuts, “Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you need.”

“Please rub my clit, Harry. Make me come, I need to come.” you mumble out.

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” he says with so much pride and warmth in his voice you feel like melting into the couch.

“Your good girl. Yours. Please.”

“Yeah, baby? All mine.” he leans down and for the first time tonight, he kisses your lips. And if you melted into the couch before you’re a puddle now.

His thumb finally lands on your clit and he starts to rub tight, quick, circles, driving you so close to the brink so fast.

“So close, so close. M’gonna come. Harry, please.”

“Come for me, baby. Know you can. Soak my cock. I need to feel you.” he spews out encouragement, moaning along with you as yours become more frequent and loud.

“Fuck yes, Harry.” is all you say before you go completely silent. Your mouth opening in a silent scream as you find your release, spasming uncontrollably on Harry, but his rhythm never falters.

“Good fucking girl. Christ.” he mumbles, not stopping his circles on your clit.

“Please come for me, Harry.” you whine out, bringing your hands up to interlock behind his neck.

“Yeah? Where do you want it?” he says, his voice sounding a beautiful type of strained.

“Inside. Inside me.”

The only time Harry’s rhythm falters is when he hears those words. You’re gonna fucking ruin him.

“Bet you’re just fucking dying for me to fill you up, fill you with my cum. You love it don’t you?” he taunts you.

“Yes. I want all of it.”

“Gonna fuckin’ c-come” He whines loudly before he thrusts into you five times in an uneven pattern and you can feel when it’s inside you. It’s so warm and primal and intimate and you don’t think anything compares to the feeling.

“Baby.” he breathes out before he collapses on top of you, suddenly craving the skin to skin contact and warmth of your body. “You are...remarkable. For lack of a better word.” and you’re both giggling.

“Mmm, y’so warm.” he whispers with a kiss to your slightly parted lips.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, H.”

“Anything for your angel face.” he smirks.

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry smut #dom!harry #old

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