#Harry styles Valentine’s Day

[jarofstyles]

A little valentines blurbby miss jars? Fluff?

Sure thing :) this is full on fluff. I can do some smut too later if we are feeling it!

Check out our Patreon!

———

Harry was at a loss.

In all his other relationships it was simple, really. Valentine’s Day was going out to dinner, buying jewelry, getting expensive wine. It was heart shaped boxes of chocolate and roses. He had done enough of them that he had been pretty sure he that he had it down to the core until he had heard Y/N’s request.

“I'd really love to stay home, make some sweets with you, maybe try one of those painting videos and then drink some boxes of wine. We can make paintings for each other.”

Y/N was by far the most confusing woman he had dated, but the one he had loved the most the quickest. The most. Something about the simplicity of it almost felt like a trap- until he got a happy call from her asking if he would rather do oil or acrylic and that she was at the craft store with a few different size canvases in the cart.

So he showed up, baking supplies and boxed wine in tow to her flat, letting himself in. She had insisted on messy clothes because they were definitely going to get dirty, and she wanted a comfy night at home with no phones. That had been the big rule- notifications off, phones plugged in and put away. It was the opposite to any other date he had on the day. No dressing up, no photos, no extravagance.

To Harry? That had been one of the sweetest things. She had only wanted to spend the time with him. It reminded him about what he truly did think the meaning of the holiday had been before the commercial bits had been stuck into his brain. Spending time with the woman he loved, uninterrupted and doing things they’d both like.

He did still feel a little lost on what to give her, though. He was nervous she wouldn’t like the gifts he had chosen, though she had given him a large kiss for the flowers as soon as he had walked into the door that had nearly taken him off of his feet. She hasn’t left his side, choosing to allow herself to show the clingier side that he was relishing in. Y/N was an interesting creature, keeping Harry on his toes in the best of ways. This was just one of them.

His eyes focused on her as she stuck her tongue out in concentration, the easel holding her painting rocking a bit as she moved the brush over the canvas in short strokes. He found that she was far more interesting than the video, seeing her hair falling slightly in her face from the ponytail she had tied up high on her head and a dash of blue paint smudged on her cheek from the sky she was painting. His heart ached with how much love he held for her. This sort of love had been something he felt through his whole body, ebbing and flowing with the beats of his heart. Everything with her felt exciting.

“I can feel you staring.” She tried to be serious but he could see her lip quiver as she tried to hold back her smile. “Why aren’t you painting?” It wasn’t like he was hiding it but it was always something that had her wanting to smile. Mostly because it felt like a lot of the time he couldn’t help it.

“Cause I’ve got my own work of art right here.” He teased, watching as she set down the paper plate holding the paints she had mixed. “Can’t believe I got lucky enough t’have you all to myself.” The breathy tone of his voice showed how serious his awe was, making her turn to look at him.

It was true. Some days he did wonder how he ended up here. Y/N was unlike the people he had dated before. It wasn’t that they were all bad, that they weren’t good people. Most of them were. But they just didn’t make him feel as… full as she did. As excited. As childlike at times, getting excited over slice and bake cookies and holiday movies, over matching socks and museum exhibits. No one had allowed him to truly get down to the core of what he was supposed to feel in a relationship. She had become his best friend and more so easily it was like he didn’t even have to try.

They just fit.

Y/N paused the video, crawling into his lap. Her hands rested on the sides of his neck, eyes examining his face as her lips pouted a little bit before she began to speak. “Not fair that you’re so sweet to me. I’m trying to paint and then you go and make me want to kiss you.” And she did. Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and exhaled through her nose as she felt his hands slip under her shirt to feel her warm back. It was something he always liked to do and she allowed it. “When you’re sweet and soft it makes me horny. And I want to finish these paintings so we can hang them up.” They didn’t quite live together yet but they spent enough time at each others places that it would always be seen. At least one of them.

“And we can.” He smiled, clasping her bare waist under her shirt. It was one that was far too big for her frame but it was cute anyways, the shorts underneath not visible from the length of it. “I do enjoy making you horny, though. I can take care of that when we’re done.” He raised a brow, showing the seriousness of the offer as she merely sighed.

“Fine. I’ll hold you to that. But this has been the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had and I want to enjoy all the activities.” Her ex hadn’t really been into the whole thing and the fact that Harry had let her choose anything she wanted to do and fully indulged in it had been enough for her to know that he was the one she wanted to be with. “I am very full from cookies but I want at least one cupcake before you get my pants off. Deal?”

“I’ll let you have 2 if it means we can take a shower together. You’re covered in paint and sugar, sweet girl.” He chuckled, thumbing some of the powdered sugar from her neck. How she always managed to wear her food, he had no idea- but he knew he would always find it endearing.

“Hm. Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

[twostepstyless]

Love Locks

A Valentines Day story from the Not Just For Christmas series

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Authors Note: Harry is a hopeless romantic and Y/N isn't but let's him get swept up in the Valentine's Day festivities anyway because it makes him happy. This is the gift Harry got Y/N if you're curious! X

Word Count: 3k+

SFW

———

Paris on Valentine’s Day was, for lack of a better, a fucking nightmare. It was disgustingly busy as loved up couples were hanging off of each other at every turn. What was Y/N’s nightmare, however, was Harry’s dream come true. Harry Styles would be the first to admit he’s a hopeless romantic. He indulges in a romantic comedy film at least once a week, he has playlist after playlist containing endless love songs, and as January comes to a close and February eases in, he thrives on everything in the shops turning red and pink as he buys into all the novelty, heart-shaped rubbish they have to offer as the most important day of February creeps closer. Well, second most important day, after his own birthday of course. Valentine’s Day had become one of Harry’s favourite days, especially in recent years and his love for the day of love has only grown as he and Y/N celebrated their sixth one together this year. So yes, he’s a hopeless romantic. Love songs, movies, heart-shaped chocolates and all and is there anything more fitting for a hopeless romantic than whisking the love of his life off to the city of love to spend his favourite day? 

-----

Vincent had his lunchbox and stuffed bunny packed and was off on a two-night sleepover at his day-care and boarders, ‘Barkingham Palace’ and Harry had swept Y/N off to the airport soon after they had bid goodbye to the happy golden retriever. 

Now it wasn’t as if Y/N hated Valentine’s Day, she was fine with it, it was lovely but she didn’t need all the flounce and showmanship that came with the day. But Harry loved it, and she’d let him do whatever he pleased to mark the special day to see the smile and permanent pink blush that seemed to stain his face on days like today. 

He had started their day in Paris by waking her gently. Crawling under the swathes of blankets that buried her in the hotel bed, his nose skimming the surface of her neck and alongside her cheek as he pressed whispers of kisses into her sleep-warmed skin until her eyelashes began to flutter as she stirred from her sleep. She could feel the warmth of Harry’s body as he held himself above her as his kisses began to press heavier on her skin.

“Mmm, g’morning,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his mid-section, pulling him down, revelling in the weight of him against her, “why’re y’dressed already?” she questioned with a pout when she felt his fully clothed body.

“Good morning, m’valentine,” he smiled before gripping her chin and kissing her soft lips, trying his hardest to deepen it but Y/N stopped him by turning her head away with a giggle. 

“Nuh-uh, morning breath, plus m’not your Valentine, you never even asked me. Now answer the question, why are you dressed?” she shuffled them round so they were lying on their sides facing one another.

“I’m dressed because I’ve already been out this morning,” his finger booped her nose when it scrunched in confusion, thinking she would have heard him slip out or he would have at least told her he was popping out. “As for the Valentine thing, I sort of assumed it came with the territory what with being together for near enough six years” he quirked an eyebrow with a smirk. 

“I still like to be asked, thought you were meant to be the romantic one?” she cuddled into the warmth of his chest.

“Oh, I’m very sorry, good thing I popped out early this morning then, eh?” Harry pulled himself out of her embrace and swung his legs back out the bed to go get something as she whined about him getting out of bed, “hush up, m’coming back,” he called back, with a teasing lilt in his voice, from the living area of the suite they were staying in. Y/N wriggled herself up in bed so her back was against the headboard, hands resting atop the puffy, white duvet of the bed as Harry reappeared back in the doorway. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully as a shy smile and giggle came from her when she saw the human embodiment of Prince Charming, with the twinkly eyes and showstopping smile to boot, crossing the threshold of the bedroom with a bouquet of the reddest roses you’ve ever seen paired with soft baby’s breath gypsophila and greenery, tied off with a silk satin ribbon in his right hand along with a card he was holding between his index finger and the bouquet. In his left hand was two boxes, one with branding she knew very well and another that was covered in plush velvet. “So, Miss Y/S/N, m’heart and soul and all that is good in my life,” Harry crooned as he approached the bed, sitting on the edge, “do me the honours and be my Valentine?” he asked as he handed her the bouquet. 

Y/N eyes slipped shut as inhaled the perfume of the flowers before blinking them back open, “oh, I suppose so, I couldn’t take the heartache seeing your face if I said no,” she giggled before leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth. A light blush tinged his cheeks as the hand that still had the card in it, punched the air and he let out a quiet ‘yes!’ under his breath.

“For you, my love,” he handed over the card and the two boxes as he took the flowers from her and went over to place them in the vase of water he had set up on the sideboard while she slept this morning. Y/N opened the envelope to reveal a delightfully tacky Valentine’s card that described her as wonderful, and special, and lovely, and delightful in the curly font of the printed poem on the front. She opened the card to see Harry’s handwriting with a much more personal note inside, as he wrote about what she meant to him and how she was the perfect Mum to their dog and how he can’t wait for as many Valentine’s days together as she’ll give him. 

“Christ,” Y/N croaked out, her voice thick with emotion as she fanned her glazed over eyes with the card, Harry whipped round from his flower arranging with a look of worry on his face, as Y/N waved her hand trying to insinuate that she was fine. “Y’should try this writing stuff out professionally, you’re quite good at it,” she joked, placing the card on the bedside table next to her. 

“Yeah? I’ll think about it, pretty,” Harry smiled as he perched on the edge of the chest of drawers where the flowers now sat pretty in the middle. “Want to open your gifts?” he nodded towards the two boxes. 

“Ladurée macarons? Y’know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Y/N opened the box pulling out a pink tinged treat, biting off half of the raspberry flavoured macaron before handing the other half off to Harry who chewed it down quick. 

“Try m’best,” Harry shrugged, “got one left,” his eyes glanced to the velvet covered box by her leg, as Y/N picked up the box with a deep breath, “don’t shit yourself now, m’not proposing in Paris, I know I’m a romantic but I’m not that predictable,” Harry smirked, “jus’ something pretty for my pretty.” 

Y/N cracked the box open to see a golden bracelet fastened to the cushion of the box, with heart shaped precious stones in multi-colours fastened to the band of the bracelet. “Fuck off, Harry,” Y/N gasped, her fingers tracing the purple amethyst heart before running over the peridot stone next to it. 

“That’s the one, right?” he asked, slightly unsure, she had mentioned the bracelet once in a passing comment when she it online, just a quick, ‘look how pretty this is’ while shoving her phone under his nose. 

“Yeah, this is the one,” she breathed out, unable to tear her eyes away from the pretty jewellery. 

“Thank Christ,” Harry laughed as she thrust her wrist and the box out towards him, silently demanding he fasten it on her. He stood at the edge of the bed as he pulled the bracelet from the box and wrapped it around her wrist, “like it, then?” 

“Love it, too expensive though, H,” she chastised as the cool metal slinked against her skin. 

“Eh, worth it,” he shrugged with a smile. 

“You’re trying really hard to get your leg over, aren’t you?” Y/N giggled. 

“Is it working?” he flirted, raising an eyebrow. 

Y/N flopped the duvet that had been covering her open, “c’mere and find out,” and Harry didn’t have to ask twice before pouncing on top of her as she shrieked in laughter as his mouth attached to her neck. “I love you,” she breathed, combing her fingers through his hair as he peered into her eyes. 

Harry’s smile burst across his face like the morning sunlight in the sky, crinkles appearing by his eyes, “and I love you” he said sincerely before sealing his lips over hers. 

-----

With Y/N dressed and Harry redressed, Harry had her by the hand and was pulling on her hand through the streets of Paris, seemingly on a mission. 

“Slow down, y’going to rip my arm out it’s socket and I don’t think that’s very romantic,” Y/N huffed out a breath trying to keep up with his long strides. 

“Sorry, m’heart, jus’ want t’get there before it’s proper busy,” he slowed down slightly, not enough to make much of a difference. Y/N was grumbling, keeping her hand latched onto Harry’s as she dodged a couple who apparently just couldn’t wait and had to stop directly in front of her in order to suck the face off each other in the middle of the pavement.

“Get where?” she hurried after him before slamming into his back as he stopped dead at his destination with no pre-warning, “eh ow?” she complained, rubbing her forehead and then the back of Harry’s coat where her makeup had slightly transferred onto the fabric. 

“Sorry, baby,” he tried not to laugh as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Yeah, you will be. Fuck, I feel like I’ve walked into a romcom or somethin’” Y/N looked around them, “there’s couples smooching everywhere,” some of them could definitely get in trouble for indecent exposure the way they were going at it on a busy street at 10:30 in the morning. 

“Are you implying something?” Harry’s arms settled around her waist, pulling her close, his arms clasping at the base of her spine. 

“Well, y’know I’ll never say no to a kiss,” she clapped her hands down on his shoulders and reached up on her tiptoes to press a series of kisses onto his lips. “Now, what did you bring me all the way to Paris for, hm?” 

“For this,” he stood back and through his arm out, revealing a bridge that crossed the Seine. 

“Y’brought me to Paris for a bridge?” Y/N gave him a look from the side of her eye, “I mean it’s a nice bridge, H…” 

“Not just a bridge, it’s the bridge,” he laced their fingers together again as he began to walk them across the wooden slats that for a bridge had a remarkable amount of people, couples, lingering on it. “This is the Pont des Arts,” Harry said proudly. 

“Oh, is this the padlock place thingy?” Y/N asked, and she now could see the beginnings of padlocks of various sizes, colours and shapes, locked onto the bridge. 

“‘The padlock place thingy,’ really? Yeah, lovie, it’s where the Love Locks got popular,” Harry spoke, a dreamy sort of smile on his face as he looked at all the tokens of peoples love attached to the panels. As they said, he’s a hopeless romantic.

“You want to put one on, don’t you?” Y/N grinned, she knew him too well, he’s a sucker for this type of thing. 

“Why else would I bring you to Paris?” he asked as if it was obvious. 

“Alright then,” she sighed, “let’s pick a spot, yeah?” as Harry tugged her to one side of the bridge and began looking for a little space. 

-----

“It’s a shame they get cut off by the city council after a little while,” Y/N spoke, watching Harry as he was crouched down reading the engravings on every lock he could see, every so often he’d go, ‘look baby, this one has been here since 2008!’ or ‘look they’ve put their baby’s name and birthday on it too, maybe we could come back and add another if we have a baby.’

“Humour me, yeah?” Harry stood back to his feet beside her and began shuffling through the tote bag he had on his shoulder before pulling out a bronze padlock and a sharpie from the depths of the bag.

“Yeah, sorry,” she looked at him as he took the cap off the sharpie and began writing, his tongue poking out the edge of his mouth in concentration, “what are y’writing on it?” 

“Hm, hang on, I’ll show y’when m’done,” he mumbled before blowing on the wet ink, trying to dry it down before flipping the lock in his hand to write on the other side too. 

“All these locks are corroding and destroying the bridges you know, years old architecture, not even just here, all over the world,” Y/N said as she watched a couple, clearly still young enough to be school students fasten a lock to the bridge, they’ve probably only been together a week, Y/N thought to herself, snapping her eyes away from them as they started a very awkward, wet, sloppy looking kiss. 

“Baby, stop,” Harry whined. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry, ours won’t do that, we’ve got a special lock,” Y/N giggled as Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “Do you know at some bridges; they are arresting and fining people for doing this?” Y/N piped up again without thinking.

“Oh my God, Y/N/N,” Harry capped the sharpie, tossing it back into his bag before looking up at her, “you’re like Valentine’s Day Satan, the grinch of love languages,” Harry chuckled pulling her under his arm as they faced the sea of locks. 

“Sorry, my love, I’ll stop, know it’s important to you,” she squeezed his side before pointing out a gap on one of the railings, “how about right there?” 

“That’s perfect, sweets,” Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he unlocked the padlock. 

“Gonna show me what you wrote first?” she nudged him with her hip to remind him as he passed the lock into her free hand. There, in the nicest handwriting Harry could muster up given the size restraints and writing tool, read H.S and Y/N’s initials, with the date of the 1st of September 2017, the date they made it official, scrawled underneath. Y/N smiled up at Harry’s bashful looking face, the pink blush she loved so much tickling his cheeks again, as she flipped the lock over. On the back, in tiny writing, read ‘Vincent Styles, 15/6/20’ his birthday in the middle of June. Y/N pouted at their dog’s name as her thumb rubbed over the tiny paw print Harry had drawn on in the corner. “Our baby,” Y/N smiled. 

“Had to include him, he’d somehow know if I didn’t and wouldn’t talk to me when we pick him up tomorrow,” Harry said as Y/N laughed at how true it was, he really was a Mummy’s boy of a dog. “Gonna help me lock it on, m’heart?” he asked as he crouched down in front of the railing, as Y/N nodded, bending down next to him. Together the hooked the latch round the railing and pressed it firmly into the lock, pulling the keys free. 

Y/N hummed as she looked at it, as much as she wasn’t as big a romantic as Harry, there was something about seeing it locked on there for the foreseeable future that made her tummy feel fizzy. In a good way. It felt permanent, the couple knew they were forever, but it was nice seeing something physical that proves that. 

“Knew I’d get you on side,” Harry laughed, nudging her, making her lose her balance as they remained crouched in front of the lock. 

“Oh, fuck off, you got me, it’s a nice idea alright,” she rolled her eyes as Harry helped her back to standing by the hand. “What do we do now? Toss the keys in the water?” Y/N peered over the edge of the railing into the murky water of the Seine. 

“I think that’s what your meant to do, but a fuck load of keys in a river doesn’t scream eco-friendly does it?” Harry asked, twirling the key ring around his finger. 

“Want to just shove them in the bin? It’s a bit less romantic but I suppose still does the unsalvageable idea? That is unless you dump me and want to go metal detecting through landfill to get the lock off?” Y/N joked. 

“I’m positive there’s more chance of you dumping me,” Harry said as he began walking over to the nearest rubbish bin with her hand still in his.

“How about none of us do any breaking up with the other? I don’t think I could co-parent Vince, he’d also hate it and would be packing his lunch bag and bunny to run away,” Y/N giggled. 

“Yeah, Vinnie is dramatic like that,” he agreed. 

“He’s your son, of course he is,” Y/N teased.

“Oi!” Harry looked at her in faux shock, “thank you for doing this with me,” he then said, almost shyly. 

“I’ll do anything y’want with you, you know that. Plus, this was actually pretty nice. You’ve got me locked down forever now, Styles, literally,” she nodded towards the section of the bridge where their lock was tied on. Harry smiled down at her, a soft look in his eyes. “My hopeless romantic of a boyfriend, eh?” Y/N grinned back, before reaching up and combing some of his loose curls back. 

“Keys in the bin, then?” Harry asked. 

“Keys in the bin,” she confirmed as Harry slung the keys into the metal bin hearing them land in the bottom with a clang. The symbol of their everlasting love for each other and their dog now attached to the Pont des Arts forever. Or until the city council cuts it off in a month. 

———

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

[cupidsdolll]

I accidentally just unfollowed and refollowed u when I went to send in prompts HAHA but pls know it was an accident!!!!! anyway 14 and 18 :))))

Sweet Loving

hahah it's okay! here you go <3.

- - - -

14 - kisses

18 - heart candies

- - - - 

“Come on, just one more!” 

Harry and Y/N have been standing in the same spot of her living room for the past ten minutes. He’s supposed to go to the store to gather a small list of groceries she needs to make dinner tonight. He has the list in hand and one arm very gently trying to pull the girl’s arm away from around him. He never leaves her without a soft and quick goodbye kiss which is how they ended up here. 

He gave her one small kiss and went to the door, but she tugged on his arm and asked for one more. He’s not one to deny such a simple request so he nodded and gave her another, which turned into five more and then five more. 

“Love, I’ve been in the same spot forever. You want this dinner, don’t you?” He asks and she immediately frowns. 

“I mean yes, but I just love you.” She says and he chuckles in response. 

She’s always been such a softie for him, always wanted to make him the happiest and always looks at him with the softest and gooeyist eyes he’s ever seen. He thinks it's always been like this, can’t remember a time where she acted anything differently towards him. He doesn’t mind it at all, he finds it quite endearing if he’s being honest. He likes that she loves him so much and always wants to show him just how much. He loves the kisses as well, it’s one of his favorite things of hers. No matter what’s happening, she’ll never leave him to do anything without kissing him gently on the lips. They’re addicting in a way, his own personal drug and encouragement. He can’t ever get enough of them and honestly, neither can she. Which is why he thinks their relationship works so well. 

Y/N huffs and stares at him, a mischievous glint passes through her eyes, but Harry doesn’t pay attention to it. He already figured she’d start trying to plan things when her pouting doesn’t work on him. 

“If you don’t love me, just say that.” She says with as serious of a face she can manage, which would almost fool him if he didn’t already see this coming. 

“You know I love you, pretty. I’ll love you always even when you’re being a bratty little thing like you are right now. I will give you all the attention you want after I go to the store and get everything you need to make food; we eat and get settled for the night. I know you must be hungry by now.” He says with a smirk on his face, he knows there’s no way she can refuse that offer. She’s never refused it before. He watches as she begins to think it over, except she’s not thinking it over. She’s stalling, trying to keep him here in her arms longer. 

A beat passes before she sighs reluctantly, and he just rolls his eyes lovingly. He knows she’s given up, that he’s won and she’s about to pull away. 

“How about I go bring you some of those cute little heart candies you like so much as well? S’been a while since we’ve had some.” He says and she immediately perks up, a bright smile seemingly lighting the room before she nods excitedly.

"You would do that? Wait, I mean, are you sure? Isn’t that candy shop across town?” She asks and he just shrugs. 

“As long as it makes my girl happy, I don’t mind. You should know this.” He says as he pulls apart from her, placing a kiss on her forehead before heading to the door once again. 

“I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes tops. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Hurry up, I’m counting the seconds.” He laughs at her dramatics before he closes the door behind him, determined to make it back before she gets done counting those fifteen excruciating minutes.

[moonchildstyles]

feathery

y/n is a cupid and harry might be her soulmate. if that's even possible anyway.

wordcount: 3.5k+

——————

"Excuse me? Are y'okay?" 

(Y/N) froze at the sound of an accented voice speaking from behind her. She could feel eyes on her back, spying the shimmer covered skin left bare from the draping of the tulle-esque cloud weaved fabric that made her dress. He wasn't supposed to be able to see her. 

"You... You can see me?" When did her voice get so breathless? (Y/N) didn't dare to turn around just yet. Maybe, this man was talking to someone else. 

A beat passed.

"Yes?" his tentative response came, sounding more like a question than a definitive statement. "I-I just want to know if you're alright. It's a little cold out, so..." 

Was it? (Y/N) didn't really notice things like that any more, temperature and changes in the weather. It all felt the same to her at this point. The goosebumps rising on her skin were a new reaction. 

Turning on her heel, her bare feet left a divot in the snow beneath them. That's never happened before. Facing whoever it was that caught her, (Y/N) felt her voice freeze like the air around her that she was beginning to become conscious of. 

He was pretty. Very pretty.

Split down the middle, his hair fell in brown curls with blonde speckles touching at his temples from time in the sun. She wished she could tell the shade of his eyes, but the way he was backlit by his porch light kept her from seeing that detail. Instead she was left with the impression of a pair of big eyes, squinting to see her to see her through the space. Pillow lips, a pretty shade of pink that was muted through the lack of light, were pursed as he looked at her, concern tugging at the corners. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and decorated his otherwise clear, slightly tanned skin. 

No one had ever been able to see her before, but she figured she was at least a little lucky that the first one who did was someone as pretty as him. But, that might have just been the romantic in her talking. 

This man responded to her silence by talking a careful step over the threshold of his door, creaking floorboards groaning under his feet as he walked over his porch. A hand lingered on the knob to the door, not allowing it to swing completely shut after him. 

"Can I call someone for you? I know Jack's parties get a little out of hand sometimes, so if you need to wait for someone to drive y'home or need to call an Uber, I can help." This man spoke to her as if she were a wounded animal: careful and delicately. 

While she'd never really been able to garner a lot of reaction to her appearance given the fact she was supposed to be invisible, she didn't think she looked particularly creatureish. At least not enough to be taken for a limping dog. Maybe she wasn't so lucky to be seen by someone as pretty as him. 

Her silence stretched on, prompting him to take another step towards her. The door behind him shuttered closed, leaving him out in the cold with her despite the fact she didn't think she could feel it as intensely as he did. "At least let me grab you a jacket, or-or some shoes if you want to walk. I don't know how you've made it this far out anyway, Jack's property is miles down the road," he continued, brows knotting together in the middle when he dragged his eyes over her bare legs. 

Jack, he mentioned again. Was that whoever was in charge of the party she had fluttered through before finding herself out here and seen by this man? She'd done her work there, bringing more than a few couples together before she flittered on her way. Valentine's day was busy enough as is, she couldn't linger longer than needed. Besides, that party was a lot more stressful and wild than she had any interest in hanging out at, even if no one would interact with her. That was where he thought she'd come from? 

Clouds had must have filled her head, and by the time they cleared out and she focused once more on the man, he was much closer than she remembered. Despite the stretch of yard still between them, his lessened proximity gave her a startle.

Green. His eyes were green. 

She could tell when he jumped back, eyes widening as his breathing stopped. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn to feel concern warp her heart. She couldn't help herself before she took a careful step towards him, reaching a hand out. "Is everything okay? Are you hurt?" Noticing now, he didn't have shoes on either and the ground could be littered with anything that gave him a shock when he walked. 

"Th-Those are real?" he breathed out, pointing with a shaky finger. His pretty green eyes weren't even looking at her she realized. He was looking behind her. 

Right at the fluffy pair of wings peeking over the slopes of her shoulders, the feathers laying down now that the start he gave to her heart was settling. 

While she planned on trying to explain away what he saw (obviously, he'd thought she was in costume, like she'd seen on a few of the participants at Jack's party), especially with the way he'd gone pale and his hand was shaking a lot more than she figured was safe, she didn't get very far before the sound of something skittering away behind her had her jumping in place. Turning to look at the field behind her, a white cottontail could be seen running to the cover of a shrub, prints left in the crunchy snow to account for the crackling sound that scared her out of her skin. It was an involuntary response, the way her wings fluttered behind her, feathers raised to ready her for flight in case of emergency. 

But that response seemed to be the last straw for her new friend as he dropped to the ground, eyes fluttering closed. 

—————

Once getting him safe inside, draped across his couch with a roaring fire alive in the hearth, (Y/N) only felt a little guilty snooping around. When he didn't wake right away, she figured he might need a little bit of a nap, if only to get his blood pressure under control before she would be on her way and keep him from experiencing another panic. 

In his kitchen sat a plate of untouched food on the counter, a pair of slippers by the back door from where he had approached her, and a knocked over glass of water with droplets still dripping down the cabinets to the tiled floor. He dropped everything to help the girl he'd found wandering through his property it seemed. She must have really been an unusual sight for him to have forgone his own shoes. 

His home was cozy, she thought fondly, as she wandered down the hallways and traipsed up the stairs. The walls were lined with photos of her friend and two other women who both had similar dimples and sparkling eyes. Others included people who looked nothing like him, but he still held a happy grin on his face. Always his arms were draped around their shoulders, nails painted as he clutched them close in a pose for the camera. Books about fashion, philosophy, and happiness were littered throughout the home, occupying shelves and the space on his nightstand. His shoes were stuffed under the edge of his bed, his most favorite pair appearing to be a set of beat up white tennis shoes, threaded through with baby pink laces. The whole place smelled warm and sweet—lavender and spice, vanilla and cinnamon, and the underlying base of whatever it was she'd smelled when she had to lean him against her side as she lugged him into safety. That part must just be him, then. 

Seeing all of this made her feel even more guilty for spooking him so terribly. She hadn't meant to, of course—he wasn't even supposed to see her—but maybe she could have been a little bit more aware of her wings when she realized he had spotted her. Hopefully, he would be alright and take her ensuring his safety as her apology. 

Cupids had famously tender hearts, so she didn't know what she'd do if he held a grudge against her for this whole accident.

The least she could do was clean up some for him before he woke, she decided. That way, he might be able to convince himself it was nothing but a silly dream he had while waiting for his dinner to be ready. 

Fluttering with the tips of her toes dancing across the hardwood of his floor, (Y/N) made it to his kitchen. She made quiet work of cleaning up the cup and water marring his clean floor. The now chipped crystal of his glass caught the light from the dining room just perfectly, casting shimmering rainbows across the kitchen. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that too much. Rag in hand, (Y/N) dropped to her hands and knees to mop up the water spilled across the tiles, the hem of her short dress grazing the floor as she worked. 

Standing to her feet, damp rag in hand and a clean floor before her, (Y/N) felt the warmth of eyes on her back. Jeez, if this being seen thing was going to start to be a regular thing, she was going to have to be a little bit better about hiding. 

Turning on her toes like she'd seen a ceramic ballerina in a music box do once, she braced herself for a repeat of what happened in the yard. Maybe this time she could catch him. 

Behind her stood her new friend (no matter how much she searched around his house, she couldn't find anything with his name on it), eyes wide but decidedly much more color in his cheeks. 

"I thought you were a dream," was all that fell from his lips, voice graveled and quiet. 

(Y/N) watched him, hoping to catch the signs before he'd drop to the floor. "A-Are you going to faint again?" 

"I don't think so, but..." he trailed off, eyes never leaving the fluffs of wings over her shoulder. "What are you?" 

Twisting the damp rag in her hands, (Y/N) worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She'd never had to explain herself to anyone before. No one other than those like her had ever seen her before. 

"Do you know who Cupid is?" 

The man seemed to take her in slowly then. She was aware of the heat of his gaze as he skimmed over the breezy dress on her form, the sheen of shimmer that permanently covered her skin, and, of course, the wings pinned to her back. "Like the baby with the arrows?" 

A slight smile touched at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips. "Kind of. We're not really babies or have actual arrows, but close enough." 

A beat of silence filled the space between them, the plush green of his eyes keeping her attention as he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from her. 

"This isn't a joke, is it?" he murmured, finally landing on her face with his eyes softening. 

"No," was her simple answer, but (Y/N) had the feeling he wasn't listening. 

Looking at this man with pretty green eyes and sleep mussed curls crowning his head, she watched a look come across his face that she'd seen thousands of times before. Only it had never directed at her before. The softening of his jaw, the small parting of his lips, something just a hair behind his pupils turning into hearts as he looked at her. She'd seen all of those adjustments happen to those she helped fall in love with their right person; it was true love the first time they looked their beloved in the eyes. 

And he was looking at her. 

While arrows weren't the preferred method to infect someone with the love bug, there still was a process Cupids had to go through to ensure their target had those butterflies in their stomach and thoughts questioning if love at first sight really was possible. (Y/N)'s favorite was the deliberate touch of her fingertips over their heart to get it racing or purposeful flick of her wrist with a brush through their hair to get love on the brain, but she didn't do either of those things to her friend right? She had been very careful when carting him inside to not touch him too much where it could impair him, but it wasn't even possible for people to fall in love with her anyway. 

Cupids weren't meant to be the objects of love; they were only there bring those who were meant to be, together. Except for a single story she had heard a long time ago...

"I'm awake, right?" the man said, a dreamy cast over his gaze, "Y'promise this isn't a dream or a joke?" 

He thought she was a dream. (Y/N)'s heart stuttered at the thought. She'd never been someone's dream before. 

"You're awake, I promise," she smiled, nails digging into the rag as she tried to keep herself from reaching out to brush back the curl that flopped over his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? You fell kind of hard outside." 

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine," he mumbled, shrugging off her questions as he took a careful step towards her, "You're really Cupid?"

"Kind of," she started, the volume of her voice matching his, "I'm a Cupid, but my name is (Y/N). What's your name?" 

"'M Harry," he rushed out, a dimpled smile perching itself on his lips as he allowed his gaze to take her in once more. 

The fact he wasn't running for the hills or reaching for a pitchfork or a straitjacket to tie her up in was a miracle in and of itself, (Y/N) thought. She never thought of such a lovely reaction to someone finding her out. No matter how lovely it was, though, it wasn't supposed to happen. No one was ever supposed to see her. 

Harry must have picked up on the direction her thoughts had taken as he reached a tentative hand out, soft fingertips brushing the back of her hand that was still worrying her cleaning rag. "Are you okay?" 

Swallowing, (Y/N) took a slow step back, her bare feet on the cold tile causing a shiver to rocket up her back. "You're not supposed to be able to see me. I don't know why you can." 

"Oh," he sounded, gaze dropping to the floor. "Do you think something's wrong? With me?" 

Her heart strings were pulled taut at the sound of his voice, dejection an undercurrent to his words. "No, no, there's nothing wrong with you," she rushed out, dropping the rag to take her turn reaching for him with a carful hand. Unlike her, he didn't hesitate to reciprocate her touch as he turned his palm towards her and curled his fingers around hers in a loose hold. Never had (Y/N) actually experienced the butterflies she induced in other people's stomachs or the rollercoaster drop feeling that surged through her veins. Not until now. 

She swallowed before speaking, forcing her eyes to fixate on their joined hands instead of his eyes so she didn't forget what she was saying. "I've just only ever heard of this happening once before for a Cupid, but I guess I didn't really believe the story until now." 

"What was the story?" he asked her, taking another calculated step towards her with his hand shifting to hold her own better, "Was it bad?" 

"No," she started, chancing a look up at him where he still looked like the star of a campaign for the validity of love at first sight. God, he really was so gorgeous. "It was about a Cupid, he—uh—he was working and suddenly there was someone who could see him. It turns out the man that could see him was the Cupid's soulmate. No one else in the world was supposed to see him except for this man because that was the only way he was going to fall in love like the Cupid was supposed to help him with." 

Harry's gaze never shifted from her as she spoke, only draping itself over her features to catch every flutter of her lashes and molding of her lips around her words. "Soulmate?" he uttered, the only thing falling from his tongue when his eyes refocused on hers. (Y/N) only hummed a confirmation in response, her voice a little stuck as she tried to keep from seeing just how many lashes he had bordering his eyes. "Is that what you think I am? Y-Your soulmate." 

(Y/N)'s wings fluffed out at the sound of his voice wrapping around the words your soulmate. If not for the fact she could feel the solid ground beneath her feet, she would have suspected she was flying with the way her heart soared. 

"Maybe," she peeped, feeling a warmth bubble under her skin when he squeezed at her hand in his, "Do you feel any different?" 

Those softened eyes met hers in a heartbeat, tearing away from her lips when he processed her question. "I feel everything," he told her in a rush, the words seemingly coming out before he knew he wanted them to, "Everything good. Is that normal?" 

"When someone falls in love, yes," she told him, voice small as if the truth would break everything if she uttered it too loudly.

The L-word sat between them in the silence of his kitchen while she gauged his reaction. (Y/N) watched as he shifted on his feet only to grow closer to her, his fingers lacing between hers in a proper hold, and his pulse thrummed at the base of his throat. He didn't resemble at all the pale man that had dropped to the ground in fright at finding out her wings were real. He looked like a man in love. 

"'M falling in love?" he rasped, his voice dropping with the way he'd grown close enough she had to crane her neck to look up at him, "With Cupid?" 

"Maybe." She'd correct him later that she was only a Cupid, not the Cupid, himself. 

"How will I know for sure?" This close, she could make out just how many tiny freckles dotted the strong line of his nose. Her favorite might be the one just off to the side of his mouth, though. 

"K-Kissing, usually makes it pretty clear." (Y/N)'s heart jumped to her throat when she uttered the K-word. 

He wouldn't actually kiss her, though, right? He didn't even know her, and these things typically took a bit longer than this. But, she guessed, she'd never really heard about what the effects of being in love with the embodiment of love could do to a person. 

"Kissing?" Harry mused under his breath, as if she weren't meant to hear him despite the proximity. The hand that had been hanging limply by his side carefully reached out and cupped the curve of her waist over the cloud-light dress that curled around her form. While it covered what it needed, (Y/N) could clearly feel the ridges and lines of his palm through the fabric, warm and soft as she tried not to hug him closer. Instead, (Y/N) settled with a gentle hand on his chest. She wondered if he could feel her warmth through his shirt. 

When Harry dipped his head down, his exhale sweeping across her skin, (Y/N) held her own breath. As much as she wanted to catalogue just what shade of pink his lips were tinted, how many lashes were fluttered around his eyes, and the gradient of the blonde hairs on his temples into the deep chocolate of his curls, there was nowhere else she could look but at his eyes. A spring day right in the middle of winter, that was the only description she could think of for the shade of his irises. The perfect green stems to blooming roses, wrapped up and gifted to a lover on Valentine's Day. 

"Kissing," she confirmed, answering the question she wasn't even sure he knew he was asking. 

That seemed to be all he needed to hear before he nudged his nose against hers, eyes fluttering closed. He paused a breath away from her lips, giving her an out if she wanted to step out of his hold. When she didn't make any more to push him away or back out of his warmth, Harry surged forward and closed the gap between their lips. 

(Y/N) had never been kissed before, but she had a feeling this was how it was supposed to be done. His lips were soft, softer than she could think of any rose petal ever being. He was careful as he slotted their lips together, lingering in an affectionate kiss against her top lip. It was innocent and slow, nothing like the kissing she'd seen at Jack's party a property over. This felt more akin to the kind of kiss she'd peeked on at weddings, or private moments between lovers who knew there was no one else out there but the one in their arms. 

True love's kiss.

Harry pulled away first, (Y/N) stopping herself from following after him as if she was the one that needed to confirm she was in love with Cupid. He didn't immediately open his eyes once he gained the space, leaving (Y/N) to gaze up at his lidded eyes with his pretty pink lips parted to let out an airy sigh. 

"Are you okay?" she broached after a beat, Harry's eyes still shuttered. 

A slow smile took over his mouth. Dimples thumbed themselves deep into his cheeks, the skin growing pink with a blush bubbling to the surface. He blinked his eyes open only for his smile to widen when he found hers.

"I think I'm in love." 

—————

ahhh! this is super different for me!! ive never written something and posted same day along with no editing shfushfuhs an most of the time I don't really write my y/ns as the supernatural/fun characters so lots of nw things for me on this one!!! anyway im SO sorry for any mistakes nad thank you sm for reading! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

[watermelonlovershigh]

Valentines Day Surprise (SMUT)

AN: this is an AU world so keep that in mind when reading this. also sorry this is a few days late from actual valentines. it took so long to write and i work alot so it took a while to complete. hope you don't mind. enjoyyyyy!!!

This story contains: tons of fluff, fingering in a bathtub, soft sex in bed, then more fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - three kids }

word count- 2,796

After a long shift at the hospital, you come home thinking you were going to get into the shower and be off to sleep, but your husband Harry has a surprise for you beings its Valentines Day.

Harry is a stay-at-home dad while you work at your local hospital. Some people look at your family dynamic and dislike the way you do things, but for you and Harry it works out great. Harry loves to stay home each day and take care of the kids and you usually love your job as a nurse at the hospital. Key word, usually.

Like today for instance. Today is Valentine's Day and you knew you had to unfortunately work but until eleven at night, that's what you didn't know. Around five in the afternoon you called Harry and told him you'd be getting home late tonight and he was so understanding. He knows that your hours at the hospital can change quickly due to short staffing problems.

When you finally got off work and settled in your car, the only thing on your mind was a hot shower and getting into bed with your husband for sleep. You were exhausted from working a twelve hour shift. Your feet hurt and your back ached. You wish instead of working today you had got to spend a romantic night with Harry because it's Valentines Day, but maybe next year you'll get the holiday off.

-------------------------------

After what felt like forever, you eventually make it to your house. You expect to walk into a dark house because everyone should be sleeping, with maybe a covered plate of food on the counter from the dinner Harry cooked for him and the kids earlier, but as you step in the front door you realize you have a surprise waiting on you.

You look over to the left where the kitchen is at and see your little breakfast nook decorated with a red table cloth, a candle in the center of the table, two glasses of wine, and two plates of hot food. You're confused at first but then see your husband round the corner with a happy smile on his face. "Hello m'love," Harry walks over for a hug to greet you, "you're finally home. Made you dinner."

Retracting from the hug, you mutter confusedly, "Har.... Harry what is all this? It's almost midnight. Thought you'd be asleep."

"Baby, it's Valentine's Day. You didn't think I wouldn't treat m'wife on such occasions did you?" Harry coos back with love clearly in his demeanor. And wow do you love him back. He's probably so tired from chasing your three to eight year olds around the house all day. Not to mention the cleaning he had to do around the house and the cooking, baths, and bedtimes. But Harry still choose to stay up until you got home from work to make the last hour of Valentine's Day special for you.

Harry leads you over to the table set up and pulls your chair out for you. "Babe, let me change first. I stink of hospital." you argue but he isn't having any of that.

"Nonsense, you can change and bath after we eat. You smell and look fine." he replies and you decide not to push the argument further. Though you are exhausted and want out of your dirty scrubs asap, you're very much appreciative of this little dinner set up that he worked so hard on.

The next twenty minutes or so is filled with eating the lovely meal Harry prepared for you, laughter, and small touches of affection. As well as Harry gushing about the promise of making every Valentines special for you for the rest of your lives. And once you were finished, Harry blew out the candle that sat on the table and placed your plates in the dishwasher for the night. You were about to head up the stairs to begin getting ready for bed when Harry stopped you.

"Wait a minute," he quietly calls out, "I've got you another surprise. Follow after me." Amazed at all the dedication Harry put into tonight, you follow after him up the stairs and into your bedroom. The bedroom looks pretty much how it always does except very clean with the bed covers neatly folded back. You're about to question where the next surprise was when he leads you into the ensuite bathroom located inside your bedroom.

When you enter, you see something that nearly brings tears to your eyes. "Harry," you whisper aloud, "you didn't have to do all this. Wow, oh my God!" You look around the bathroom that's dimly light and see a bathtub filled with warm water and bubbles.

Harry steps forward and wraps his arms around your body from behind. Then while laying his head on your shoulder and placing a kiss to the side of your neck, he responds, "Course I did. Love you lots and wanted to treat you after your long day at work. Plus, once again, it's Valentine's Day. Gotta take care of m'wife on such days."

Before the water gets any cooler, Harry graciously begins to help you strip from your hospital scrubs before removing his own clothes as well. Once you're both naked, he leads you over to the tub and gets in first so that he can help you settle in front of him. You lean against his tattooed body and sigh out in relief at how relaxing this feels on your sore muscles.

To add to your relaxation, Harry reaches up and starts to massage your neck and shoulders. You almost let a moan slip out from how great his touch feels. You start collecting your hair in your hands and twist it into a bun on the top of you head, securing it with a hair tie you had on your wrist. "This is nice." you tell your caring husband behind you.

He leans in to peck a gentle kiss behind your ear and whispers, "Hmm, glad you like my Valentines surprise." His low speaking sends chills down your spine. Right after your little shiver, you begin feeling Harry's hands migrate down from your shoulders and to your chest. He first gages your reaction and when he sees no resistance on your face, Harry takes his pink nailed fingers and ghosts them over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck!" you quietly moan out, not wanting your kids to awake. You toss your head back onto your husbands shoulder and allow him to roam your body as he pleases. As Harry stimulates your nipples under the water, he realizes you're clenching your thighs together and he can't be having you do all that. So while one hand stays on your breast, his other hand slides down your belly eventually makes it down to your thigh.

He gives your thigh a gentle tap and you know he's silently instructing you to open your legs. So you lift your legs up so your feet are pressed flat to the tub floor and spread your legs open for him. With now having enough room, Harry drops his hand to between your legs and the real pleasure begins.

His soft ringless fingers roam your prickly pussy, from having trimmed your pubic hair about a week ago, and you gasp when you feel him prode your hole. Harry swirls the tip of his index finger at your entrance and moans himself when he feels how slick you are, even under the water. "You're so fuckin' wet, love. All because of me?"

You nod your head against Harry's shoulder blade and cry out when his slick fingers are brought up to toy with your swelling clit. He starts to rub your clit from under the sudsy bath water and you nearly melt straight through his body with how good you feel. You rarely get time to yourselves anymore. With you working long hours and having kids that need attention, you're usually limited to quickies and sleepy fucks late at night or early in the mornings from under the covers.

Though you aren't complaining about how you usually have sex or get sexual with one another, Harry taking his time with you right now is fantastic. He edges you when he stops the simulation to your clit but soon is sliding his middle finger inside your hole. His fingers are thick and long and feel great inside your tight pussy. "Ah, oh fuck." you moan.

When his finger is fully inside, Harry turns it around and curls it up before asking, "Yeah, am I makin' you feel good? Treatin' your pussy right on Valentines Day."

Through heavy breaths and closed eyes, you mutter, "Yes, so good." Harry decides one isn't enough and pushes his ring finger inside you too. The stretch is even more then before and when his fingers start fucking in and out of you a bit faster, your body starts to tremble and shake. Then right when you feel on the cusp of your orgasm, you start grinding your clit into the palm of Harry's hand and that's what pushes you over the edge.

He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers and to hold you as still as possible, he loops his other hand right under your boobs to keep you secure against his body. Harry fingers you through your orgasm until you jump away from his touch because you're overly sensitive. He slowly pulls his fingers out of your pussy and coos words of endearment in your ear to help bring you back to earth.

After a few minutes, you notice the hard lump pressed into your lower back and realize Harry is painfully hard right now. You turn your body around slightly in the water and say, "Want me to ride you? Help with your, you know, hard problem."

Harry giggles and answers, "Not in here, baby. Let's get you washed up and if you're still in the mood we can shag in bed where it's more comfy, m'kay." You nod an okay and the actual bath begins.

-------------------------------

After Harry helped wash your hair and body, he got you both out the tub and dried off. Then once you brushed your teeth, the two of you finally crawled into the nicely made bed and the love making begins. If you both weren't so tired and had the house to yourselves you would have made the sex more special with some toys and loud, passionate moans. But just some simple missionary will do for tonight.

Once under the covers, Harry rolls on top of you and questions, "Are you still wet enough or do we need lube?"

With a sleepy smile, you retort, "Why don't you find out." And that Harry does. He dips his hand between your naked bodies and feels around your sensitive pussy, coming to the conclusion you are in fact still wet from the fingering that took place in the bathtub.

"Shit, love that you're still wet f'me. Pussy's begging for m'cock, huh?" Harry whispers and starts to position his tip at your entrance. No matter how many times you've had sex, you still can't get over how it feels when he first slides in.

"Ugh, mhm!" you whine while nodding your head and grasping at his back. After he's filled you up all the way, Harry settles his body flushed to yours to feel closer to you. Plus his muscles aren't that strong this late in the night. "Move, baby. You can move." you encourage and he listens.

Harry pulls his hips back with his knees bent and pressing into the mattress, then slowly pushes them forward again, meeting your hips as they collide. With his arms around your head, he lifts his head up so its hovering over your face. He looks down and admires your beautiful blissed out face. Harry leans down and presses his lips to yours. You catch on quickly and join in on the kiss.

The kiss is very heated the longer it continues and it's mostly filled with panting breaths. Your bodies are getting sticky from sweat and it's making it harder to rock your bodies together as smoothly as you started out but it still feels great. Eventually fatigue begins setting in Harry's muscles and he's dying for you to come so he can come. So he pulls his mouth away from yours and questions, "Are you close, love? Need you to come."

Trying to keep your moans as quiet as possible, you look up at his straining face and answer, "Ye...yeah. S...so close." Knowing what will pull the trigger on your orgasm, Harry slides his hand down between your bodies and starts to rub over your sensitive clit for you. You immediately start clenching around his cock.

As your hands claw at his muscular back, you heave, "Oh God, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming." Harry focuses on his thrusting to make sure he's hitting just the right spot for you and his fingers continue to stimulate your clitoris. Your orgasm washes over you so deeply that you swear you black out for a few seconds.

Your mind has gone blank and all you can feel is Harry's touch and your muscles intensely contracting with your release. But eventually it starts to fade and you can feel Harry coming inside of you. His face drops to your shoulder blade and he lets out deep grunts while trembling over your body. You rub up and down his back to sooth him. Then the room becomes silent besides the sounds of heavy breathing.

Neither one of you want to move a muscle from the activities that just took place but you want to get some sleep and know you can't risk getting a UTI. You tap on Harry's shoulder and ask quietly, "Can you carry me to the toilet? Need to pee your cum out."

Harry sits up, remaining inside you still, and coos, "But what if I wanted to stay in you all night? Keep my cock and cum nice and warm in there."

"You know we can't. I don't want an infection. Now hurry before I wet your dick and the bed with my piss." You know Harry was just joking about staying inside you all night because he takes aftercare very seriously. Reluctantly, he slowly pulls out of your tight hole and shuffles off the bed. He then reaches over to lift your body up and carries you bridal style to the bathroom.

Harry sets you on the toilet and walks out of the bathroom to allow you some privacy. He goes over to your dresser and grabs him and yourself fresh underwear and you an old t-shirt to sleep in. Before he can return to you, he sees you wobbling out the bathroom door very naked still and rushes over towards you. "Baby, I would have carried you back to the bed. Don't want you fallin' over with how shaky your legs are." Fuck, how did you get so lucky with the perfect husband.

"I know and thank you. You're too sweet to me." you reply and sit down in the edge of the bed. Harry comes up to you and helps dress you in the clean panties and shirt. He hasn't put his underwear on yet so his soft penis is right in front of you and you smile.

"What?" Harry asks with a sleepy smile plastered on his face. "What's got you all smiley?"

Looking up, you explain with a tired drawl in your voice, "Just, just remembering back to when we first started dating and you were so embarrassed the first time I caught glimpse of your dick soft. Said something like it looks all small (though not small even when soft) and wrinkly when it's not hard. And now you don't give a fuck. Letting it swing around limply between your legs."

Harry lets out a quiet laugh before speaking, "Yeah, well we are married now. Been married for years. And we have kids together. Not much I am embarrassed for you to see. You've seen me cry, you've seen me be violently sick, and you've seen my entire body inside and out."

While Harry finally pulls up his own briefs, you mutter as you turn to get into bed straight, "It's called unconditional love, babe. You know I'd never judge you and that I love you no matter what. Love all of you, even your soft wrinkly dick."

Harry moves around the bed after he's dressed and turns off the lamp before sliding under the duvet with you. Instead of waiting for you to come to him, he shuffles over to your body and rests his head on your chest. You love when Harry gets like this. All soft and cuddly. He lets out a yawn before whispering, "Love you unconditionally, too. You're my forever Valentine."

Right before drifting off to sleep, you whisper back, "And you're my forever Valentines, too."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @japanchrry // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  // @mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghosts // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @theroosterswife24 // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[finelinevogue]

valentines day gift

summary - you purchase a gift for harry like never before

warnings: none really, this is the gift y/n got harry

word count: +1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

“Dude, we said no presents…” Harry groaned, tilting his head back when you crawled back onto the bed with a gift bag in hand.

“Says he, who bought me a basket of gifts. Which, let me remind you, contained a new polaroid camera.” You argued, kneeling to the side of him on top of the duvet covers.

Harry was sat up against the headboard with the duvet pulled up to his waist. Beneath, he was naked after having countless rounds of morning sex. You two had only just made it out of bed to give each other presents and it was already 11 AM. You had a reservation booked at 2 PM for an afternoon tea experience, so you had plenty of time to love each other this morning as a way to kill time.

“Okay, whatever. Now, here.” You handed him the gift bag, sitting back on your legs as you watched him in anticipation.

“Okay, whatever. Now, here.” You handed him the gift bag, sitting back on your legs as you watched him in anticipation.

He pulled out the card first and laughed at the inside jokes you’d written inside the card. The card itself was one off Moonpig, with a selection of your favourite photos of the two of you scattered across it.

“‘Course you had to mention last valentine’s day.” He chuckled.

“Bro, you were the one that forgot to book a table and pulled the ‘but I’m Harry Styles’ card…” You teased him. “Red flag.” You added.

“Thought you said me calling you ‘baby’ was my red flag?” He asked, closing his hard and reached to put it on his bedside table.

“That’s not a red flag. It’s an ick.”

“How? It’s affectionate. It’s more loving than dude or bro.” He turned back to you, resting a hand on one of your thighs.

“You love calling me bro.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re my bro, dude and pal, but you’re also my baby.” He tugged on your hand to bring your body down slightly. He leaned up and took the opportunity to kiss your lips, leaving a loud smack sound echo in the room.

“I hate you.”

“Happy valentines day to you too, baby.” He teased you, letting you go so he could delve more into the bag.

He rustled the paper around and then pulled out the doll. It was a tiny toy in the shape of a human figure, with your face as the head of the body. Then your figure was wearing an ‘I ❤️ my boyfriend’ t-shirt.

Harry burst out laughing when he saw it, holding it up so he could look at it properly. He laughed so hard the crinkles in the corner of his eyes came through and it made you smile seeing him so happy.

“Wha—” He just laughed again, trying to calm himself down by coughing into the crook of his elbow, “Explain, please.”

“They’re called mini-mes. I thought I’d get you one of me, so you can always sleep with me on tour even when I’m not there.” You explained, Harry’s smile turning into a soft pout when he understood why you’d bought him this.

He often complained that he missed you too much on tour, so you thought what better gift than to give him a mini version of you. One that he can sleep with every night and cuddle close to.

“Y’sprayed your perfume on it too?” He questioned, sniffing the toy. You nodded, watching him smirk with happiness.

“I tried to get you something you didn’t already have.”

“Well I have the real you, just not a mini version of you. This is fabulous, thank you so much. I love it. I love you.” You smiled as he spoke and crawled forwards some more when he held out his hand for you.

You kissed his lips a few times, before laying your body half across his. He made sure the mini-me was laying on his chest too and held his arms around the both of you, kissing both the tops of your heads. You chuckled at the small action and it had Harry laughing too.

“You’re my favourite person ever, dude.” Harry said, rubbing small circles on your back. “Don’t know how I ever got through the years without you.”

“Well now you’ve got the two of us to get you through.” You joked, feeling Harry’s chest rise and fall from his laughter, patting the mini-me’s back.

“I’ll take care of you both. Always.”

[punkpillowprincess]

and then, i wait there for you (9k) by punk_pillow_princess

Valentine's Day AU or a FRIENDS AU, kinda ❤️

Harry has always dreamed of having his “happily ever after”, but hasn't found the right one yet. Suddenly, he meets Louis.

READ ON AO3

[harrysthighertat]

Valentine’s Day

summary: you come home from a long, shitty day of work to a Valentine's Day surprise from Harry.

warnings: fluff and implied smut

word count: 2.3k

a/n: I'm a little nervous to post this cause this is the first blurb I've ever written. I really enjoyed writing it tho and I can definitely see myself writing more of them in the future, so I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback. sorry if it ends a little abruptly, it's way past midnight and my brain was fried by the end of this. but I hope you still enjoy it! :)

—

It's 7.30PM when you finally park your car in front of you and Harry's shared apartment. You let out a sigh while turning the engine off. No matter how much you love your job, the extra work, stress and having to stay at the office late to cover for your coworker's maternity leave, was wearing you out and you felt incredibly guilty towards Harry for coming home so late and going to bed so soon after arriving home from work. The past few months have been a constant cycle of waking up at 5AM, being at the office until at least 7PM, having dinner with Harry while trying very hard to keep your eyes open and hold a conversation with him then going to bed straight after dinner and repeat.

Thus, you were incredibly grateful when Harry offered to not do anything special for Valentine's Day and make up for it when work wasn't so busy. It meant that you wouldn't have to lose any of your much needed sleep on getting him a gift or preparing a surprise for him. And Harry deserved better than getting a half assed gift after how much he's been there for you during this stressful time. Every evening he insists on packing your lunch for the next day, he wakes up at the crack of dawn with you just so he can kiss you goodbye and wish you luck at work and he leaves sweet little handwritten notes everywhere saying how much he loves you and how proud he is of you, just to name a few out of a million things he does for you. You wanted to show him your gratitude with the most special surprise because he deserved nothing less, but unfortunately it had to wait.

Although Harry missed spending quality time with you, especially on a day such as Valentine's Day, he knew that it was only a couple of days until your coworker was back at the office and he would get to spend his evenings loving on you again.

Earlier that day you had texted Harry notifying him that you'd have to stay at the office late again. You offered to grab some takeout on the way home, which had become a habit of yours over the past couple of months because of how bad you felt that Harry had to do the daily household chores and cook for both of you while also having work of his own and barely getting to spend time with you, but he told you not to worry about it.

You grab your stuff from the passenger seat and step out of your car onto the sidewalk. You walk up the couple of steps to your front door, unlock it and push the door open. As you enter the apartment, you're welcomed by the smell of homemade food and your body immediately relaxes. You put your keys in the basket on the side table in the hallway and place your bag underneath it. Then you shrug off your coat, put it on the hanger and change from your boots to a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers.

Once you've checked yourself in the mirror, you walk towards the noises coming from the kitchen. In the doorway to the kitchen you stop yourself and look at the scene in front of you in awe. Not only do you see your boyfriend, who’s putting away the kitchenware that he’s used while wearing a pink and red polka dot apron that his mom gifted him for Christmas last year with a nice, lightish green dress shirt and fitted dark green trousers underneath, but the dinner table is beautifully decorated with bordeaux red table runners, pink lit candles and a bottle of your favorite red wine.

The smell of food is even stronger here and you notice the tray in the oven. Homemade vegan lasagna. Your favorite. In the background Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is softly playing. The soothing music, comforting smell of your favorite homemade meal and the sight of the love of your life standing right in front of you is a heavenly combination and you feel tears welling up in your eyes from how good it feels to be home, especially after the long, shitty day you had at work.

You quickly blink the tears away and walk over to your boyfriend. As Harry hears you coming up from behind, he turns around. As soon as his eyes land on his lovie's face, a smile grows on his own. “Hi baby, I didn’t hear you come home. How was work? I missed you.” He grabs your hands, pulls you closer and softly pecks your lips.  

You return the favor and say “Hi bub, work wasn't too great today." Harry can tell you've had a stressful day and you don't feel like talking about it, so he doesn't press on the topic. "I'm starting to understand my coworker." You say though. "If these were my usual tasks I would also get someone to impregnate me just to have an excuse to get a couple of months off." Harry bursts out laughing and your heart flutters in your chest at the sound of it.

You almost tear up again when you say "It feels good to be home. With you. Sorry I couldn't get home sooner." Harry squeezes your hand to reassure you that it's okay.

Then you gesture to the scene behind you. "What’s all this for though?” Harry turns around to see what you mean as if he hasn't spent half of the day in the kitchen to decorate and cook and make sure everything was perfect for when you got home.

“Well, I couldn’t not treat my girl on Valentine’s Day, so I thought I’d cook you your favorite meal and decorate the table so we can have a romantic candle lit dinner tonight and celebrate Valentine's Day just a bit.”

He then remembers the other surprise he got you that morning. “Oh and I got you something else, wait here…”. He walks out of the kitchen to where he hid his surprise from you, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

A few seconds later Harry returns with a gorgeous bouquet of red, pink and white tulips. He hands them to you as he says “Happy Valentine’s day, baby.” You hesitantly accept the bouquet. When you slowly bring the flowers to your nose and inhale, the flowers smell fresh, and soothing and heavenly and remind you of a warm, sunny day in spring. Then a frown grows on your face.

“What’s wrong? Do they smell bad?” Harry asks concerned.

“No, they smell lovely.” You answer, frown still present on your face.

“Do you not like tulips? Shit, I thought tulips were your favorite. But I should’ve listened to the sweet old man at the flower shop and got you the roses that he recommended for Valentine's Day. I’m really sorry, I can go back tomorrow and get you those.” He says, panic in his voice.

Your features soften a little. “No, they are my favorite and they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“What’s got you frowning then?”  

You look down as you fumble with the flowers in your hand. “I- I just feel so bad. Everyone's out today celebrating their relationship, showering their partner with love while you barely even get to spend time with me because I leave for work so early and don't come home until the evening hours when I'm too tired to stay up for longer than an hour. I feel like such a bad partner. I didn’t even get you anything today."

"Hey, look at me." Harry says, as he grabs your hand with one of his and places the other on your chin to gently lift it so that you're looking at him. He moves his face a little closer to yours and kisses the place between your brows before moving down to your lips, placing a kiss on both of the corners of your mouth in hopes of removing the frown from your face.

"None of that. Of course I miss you, but I know how much you care about your work and I know that this is not forever. You've been working your ass off and I'm so proud of you. And I don't mind at all that you didn't get me anything today, baby. After all we said we weren’t going to do anything special today. We've got to feed ourselves wether you're busy or not and you know I love cooking, especially when it's for you. So I figured I'd cook you your favorite dinner just to make today a little more special. Plus you didn't think I made all of that lasagna just for you, right? I'm treating myself to a lovely dinner with the best company I could ever wish for too. Although if you did want to have the whole tray to yourself, I wouldn't mind either. Anything to make my baby happy. I just wanna take care of you and show you how proud I am of you for working so hard.” He rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand and kisses tip of your nose, then your left cheek, your right cheek and finally your mouth.

Then he pulls back to look at you again and you notice a smirk appear on Harry's face. "Besides, you didn't think I didn't notice my favorite lingerie set being gone from our underwear drawer this morning, did you?"

You try to suppress a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He's right though. You are wearing a red, lace lingerie set underneath your outfit that you specifically decided to wear today. It's the matching lingerie set that Harry got you on his birthday as he claimed it was more a present for himself. You'd been so tired and stressed it lately that your sex drive was low and it had been a while since you and Harry had been intimate with each other. Therefore you also hadn't been able to show Harry the lingerie set in action yet, but you had secretly been hoping to change that tonight.

When you were getting dressed this morning, Harry had pretended to still be asleep while peeking at you through his eyelashes.

Harry smiles and kisses your lips. Then he leaves a trail of soft little kissen from your mouth to your neck where he stays for a few seconds while his hands roam your body until he leans back to look at you with a teasing expression on his face. "Right, so you're not wearing anything special underneath this?"

You notice Harry's eyes have turned a darker shade of green. You look behind Harry at the timer on the oven to see how much time is left before the lasagna is ready. Enough time for a little teasing.

“Want to check for yourself?” You say as seductively as possible. Harry kisses you hard and you laugh into his mouth at how fast he moves to unbutton your top and almost gets his ring stuck on it in the process. As he's working on the last button of your blouse, a loud beeping noise startles both of you. The lasagna is ready. Harry drops his head to your shoulder and sighs in frustration.

You laugh at his dramatic reaction and pat him on his back. "Come on pretty boy, if we don't eat soon I will actually eat the whole tray myself 'cause I'm starving."  

During dinner you catch Harry staring at your exposed cleavage a couple of times. You hadn't bothered buttoning your blouse again because you knew it would only be a matter of time until you wouldn't be wearing a top at all.

When Harry said he was too full for desert, which you knew was only an excuse to continue what you started right before dinner because desert was his favorite and he would always leave room for it, you decided to be an even bigger tease by insisting on having a piece of the cheesecake Harry bought for desert. 

The second you finish your last bite, Harry's on your side of the table. He grabs your face in both hands and presses your lips together hard. He moves one hand down to the side of your ass and taps it to signal you to get up. Once you're up he guides you to sit at the edge of the table all while kissing you passionately. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while he unbuttons the last button on your blouse, revealing the red, lace bra. He momentarily pulls back from kissing you to admire how stunning you look in his now new favorite lingerie set on you until he reattaches his lips to yours and lets his hand explore your body. After some time he starts kissing and sucking on your neck, leaving marks in different places. Harry hasn’t even touched you and you’re already a moaning mess for him. Finally he leaves a trail of kisses from your chest down to the top of your skirt. He uses his hands to bunch up your skirt around your waist and looks at you to check if you’re really okay with this. When you push his head back to your skin he laughs at your impatience and takes that as his cue to continue. He gives you one final look before his face disappears under your skirt. 

It’s safe to say the lasagna wasn't the only thing that was eaten on that dinner table that night.

[madeintheniamh]

tastes like strawberries (on valentine's day)

a/n: some cute valentines day smut for you all. enjoy x

tw: sex

song: watermelon sugar- harry styles

“I know it’s not much, my love.” he tells you, as he guides you towards the bed in the centre of the room, which is covered with red flower petals and surrounded by candles. The room smells of flowers and freshly laundered cotton sheets. You allow yourself to breathe it in before moving your head towards his neck and inhaling in the musty scent of his aftershave. You feel his stubble brush across your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You both stand there for a few minutes in each other’s arms, staring at the Eiffel tower just beyond the balcony next to the bath.

“Harry, it’s everything,” you stammer. “I’m so lucky,”

“Anything for my girl,” he smiles. “Fancy a bath together? You and me?”

You look over and see steam rising from the round, freestanding bathtub, which is bubbling with lilies and glitter. You nod at him, before he gently removes your lacy rouge Victoria’s secret bra and thong, and peppers kisses to each of your breasts.

“Look at you. You’re literally perfect.” he grins, his green eyes darting in a triangle motion from your eyes to your lips, before smooching you affectionately. You can taste the fresh mint on his breath as he leans down to scoop you up in his arms before placing you into the water. He admires you for a moment, before quickly pulling off his briefs and splashing into the water on top of you. He reaches for a glass of champagne on the wooden table next to the tub and takes a swig of it. As you reach down to draw the outline of the vines tattooed on his torso with your fingertips, you feel something harden underneath your hand.

“You’re such a good girl,” He giggles, whilst tipping your chin up in his hand before pecking you on the shoulders. You moan slightly as you feel his fingers slide playfully back and forth across your clit. At the same time, you cup your hand around his dick and glide your palm up and down it. You feel it harden even more in your grip in response. You feel hot liquid begin to drip down your thighs, and Harry looks down whilst smirking slightly.

“You like that, don’t you?” he smiles, whilst gently moving your thighs apart before sliding down inside of you. Your legs flail in the air, as you kiss all the way down his neck and feel his soft flesh in-between your teeth. He rubs your back and begins to moan softly, whilst thrusting himself into you, deeper each time.

“I love you,” you stammer, as he places his finger on your bottom lip to pry it apart before you feel his tongue slithering into your mouth. He continues to move up and down on top of you for a few minutes before you roll over onto your front, your fingers gripping the sides of the bath tub.

“Deeper, huh? I can do deeper,” he winks at you before entering you from behind. You howl as you feel him grinding back and forth whilst he massages your clit with one hand and places his other hand over the top of yours, your fingers locked together. You can feel him panting into your ear, his breaths becoming more frequent with every thrust. You scream his name as you feel him come inside of you, hot milky liquid stinging your insides. 

 He looks down, seemingly sad that he has finished unexpectedly.

“It’s the bath water, baby. It’s always quicker in the bath,” you reassured him, whilst watching him climb out to grab a fresh towel from the end of the bed. He lifts you out of the water and cradles you in his arms before laying you back down on the bed. His green pools of light radiate into yours. He tucks your hair behind your ear before beginning to gently dry off your body.

“Don’t be shy,” he smiles at you. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You want more?”

You nod at him eagerly, and immediately he pries your thighs apart and collapses onto the end of the bed, his head now in-between your legs. You feel his tongue begin to caress your other lips, whilst he massages your hips with his hands, which are still soft from the bath water. You throw your head backwards, overwhelmed with complete and utter adoration for this man, who always knows exactly what you need and when you need it most.

“Harry, I love you, I love you, I love you!” you scream as you come into his open mouth and watch him look up to lick the remainder of it from his lips, creamy white liquid still visible around the edges.

“You taste so good, sunshine,” he chuckles before lifting you up and tucking you under the sheets next to him. You smooth a silky brown strand of hair from out of his eyes whilst he glides his lips up your neck.

“So, did you enjoy my little Valentine’s Day surprise?” he whispers into your ear.

“Oh baby, I love you,” you smile back at him, as tiny creases form around his green eyes, and he closes them before falling asleep in your arms.

[stylinarts]

they are so in love it makes me SICK. happy valentine’s day lovers!!!

[malikson]

for @sweetlesssunnn for the @secretlarryvalentine exchange 

prompt: happy blissful gay valentine’s day

[cupidsdolll]

Hey! 17 & 28 if possible please!!! x

Valentine’s Gifts and Surprises

hii here you go ! <3

talk to me • masterlist • request a valentine's prompt

- - - -

17- roses

28 - ribbons

- - - - 

Y/N’s never been on the giving side of all of Valentine's activities. She’s always been the one receiving the flowers, chocolates and cards from her past lovers. But this year, she wants to do something different, step outside of her comfort zones and do something nice. She stares at the variety of flowers lining the shelves and walls of the flower shop she stands in. They’ve never discussed their favorite flowers and how they want to celebrate Valentine’s, it’s not that they don’t want to celebrate it, it’s just not that big of a deal for the two of them. 

But she wants to do something for Harry, to try to show just how much she appreciates him. So here she is, standing in the flower shop trying to figure out which flower to get him. Her eyes scan over the walls until she comes across a beautiful bouquet of red and blue tulips and immediately she knows that these are the perfect ones for him. She doesn’t want to be basic and give him roses, although she did think about it simply because she knows he’ll be over the moon anyway. She quickly walks over to where they’re sitting and grabs them and not long after she’s heading to the checkout section and buying them. Y/N smiles as she thanks the lady and walks out. The flowers were the last thing she needed to complete his gift. 

She didn’t want to go all out for him, she knows he’s not that kind of person. He wants something intimate whenever it’s a holiday or something for the two of them. She had intended on spending the day at home, to share their love and just be with each other. He’s never been one to indulge in all of the big public displays of affection, he prefers moments to be shared privately. So she knew he’d prefer to keep their love just between them, no cameras or loud noises, crowded spaces and no awkwardness. 

She drives to their shared apartment and sits in the parking lot, sending a quick text message to let him know that she’s home and not to come outside so she can put his present together (she left his present part out but she’s almost positive that he knows what she’s been out doing.) Almost immediately she gets a text back with a thumbs up and him saying he’s glad she’s made it home safe and that he can’t wait to see her. She smiles to herself before she begins to assemble it. She places the medium sized wooden basket on her lap and sets the small red shaved pieces inside of them of the basket and begins to set his gifts inside.She sets the folded sweatshirt that has a picture of them together on the front in first, then she sets the heart shaped box of chocolates in, then a couple bottles of his favorite drink and then sprinkles some other snacks in as well. After all that is set, she puts a couple face masks in and the valentine’s card she’s written for him. 

She admires it for a couple of minutes before she sends him another text saying she’s coming in, she grabs the basket and gets out of the car; she makes sure to close and lock the doors before she begins to make her way to their apartment. She quickly unlocks the door and she immediately gasps at what she sees. There’s rose petals scattered all over the floor and ribbons in her favorite colors tied around their smaller chairs and hanging from the ceiling. There’s soft jazz coming from the speaker in the living room and candles lit everywhere. The whole scenery is directly from her pinterest board, something she wouldn’t tell Harry about because she knew he’d try his best on recreating it and she just wants him to do whatever he wants.

She can’t help but to smile lovingly at the effort he’s put into this. She makes her way inside and follows the trail of rose petal leaves on the floor, leading her into their bedroom. The door is opened and allows her to see the inside, more rose petals leading up to the bed and stops in the shape of a big  heart and Harry stands beside it. He’s holding a bouquet of roses, all of them in different colors, with several pink ribbons wrapped around them and a bright smile on his face. He’s dressed handsomely, a white button down shirt with the first three buttons undone to showcase a bit of his chest and his swallow tattoos, a pair of black pants and his hair beautifully styled. 

“Hi, my love.” He says and she smiles at him, soft and lovingly. 

“Hi, baby. What’s all this?” She asks and he shrugs. 

“It’s Valentine’s. Did you think I wouldn’t do anything for my girl?” He says as he walks over to her. She can’t help the heat that runs to her cheeks as she watches him. He softly takes the basket from her hands and kisses her forehead softly. 

“What’s this?” He asks and she smiles shyly. 

“Your valentine’s day gift.” She says and he shakes his head as he continues to smile brightly.

“Thank you, baby, but you didn’t have to. I appreciate you thinking of me, but you will always be my present for every holiday. You’re all I need.”

[0oolookitsme]

Flower Goes Floral

Type- Fake Insta ;)

Verse- Model!Harry x Fashion Designer!Y/n

Warnings- None, just fluff <3

Description- Harry at the Brits, wearing an iconic dress suit, styled by none other than his girlfriend, Y/n.

A/n- I want to post slightly regularly this year, and because I'm busy writing a few other fics which I'm yet to finish, here's a small fake ig for y'all. Hope you like it! <3

Liked by Masaba, AnthonyPham and others

Y/Ig/n Harry Styles (aka my partner), wearing a custom Gucci Black Peplum Blazer and an oversized flower blazer. Both were designed and styled by me, yours one and only.

View all 2,19,534 comments

HsFan1 I just KNOW that he was absolutely THRILLED to wear this

Masaba No lies I'd be smug too if I had designed this

↳Y/Ig/N There's no bigger fan of you than me. Thank you very much, this has altered my life.

HarryStyles Looking like a devil, aren't I?

↳HarryFan0 WHO PUT THAT IN HIS MIND ↳MitchRowland I beg your pardon, @HarryFan0. I had meant it as a joke.

Y/nFan1 Both of them ATE and left no crumbs.

Y/nFan2 Can we talk about how surreally she said 'aka my partner' in the brackets??

Liked by Zayn, TaylorFan1 and -others

HarryStyles Thank you for having me tonight, @/Brits. I had an amazing time wearing both of my outfits, styled by the icon, @Y/Ig/N.

View all 19,278,865 comments

TaylorFan1 Alexa? Play Gorgeous by Taylor Swift.

Y/Ig/n Why, thank you, Darling.

ConanGray Please I'm ready to sell you my hair just collaborate with me too

↳Y/Ig/N What you want me to spoil the surprise, don't you? ↳ConanFan1 A Y/N AND CONAN COLLAB?!?!? WHY IS EVERYONE SLEEPING ON THIS OMFG I'M FREAKING OUT

KatyPerry Looking just like the charming man you always do

Y/nFan16 She really said watch my flower go floral

Liked by Lizzo, Adele and -others

Y/Ig/n Happy Valentine's Day, @HarryStyles. You truly are a devil in disguise.

View all 25,316,964 comments

Lizzo *Heart-shaped eyes (towards the pizza)*

Y/nFan2 THEY MADE THAT CUP TOGETHER DO NO TELL ME OTHERWISE

Y/nFan5 lmaoo not her bashing him through his own comment

HarryStyles Happy Valentine's Day, lover

Y/nFan11 I love them sm it hurts ...but in like- a cool way ;)

Liked by NiallHoran, TaylorSwift and -others

HarryStyles I have no idea what I would wear without you, @Y/Ig/n (and your lovely team too). Thank you for agreeing to go out for a glass of wine with me on that already industrious and bustling day. And oh, Happy Valentine's Day.

View all 28,305,567 comments

Y/nforeva This woman never rests, does she?

GemmaStyles Exactly. Thank you for agreeing, @Y/Ig/N

Y/Ig/n Literally one of the best nights in my life.

↳HarryStyles I agree ;)

JamesCordon You two are disgustingly in love

Liked by HarryFan02, Y/nforeva and -others

HarryY/nAlways Happy Valentine's Day to THE BEST COUPLE in the whole industry. (Y/n uploaded these on her ig stories with the caption 'Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.' Exactly. A Hozier song. Goodbye.)

View all 95,64,589 comments

Y/nFan3 She IS goofy, she just doesn't show that side of hers on the camera that often.

Anne Best Duo!

Y/nFan5 No way is gonna have a vase big enough to fit all those roses in but then again, she's THE @Y/Ig/N

HarryFan1 He is SO Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!!!!!

YourMum These two never fail to make me smile. Just imagine the sunburn on their cheeks because they are so careless and in love.

↳Y/nforeva Y/n's mum literally loves them so much, it's ADORABLE

[missmielyhoran]

Valentine

After a wonderful date night, you thank your boyfriend...

Werewolf!Harry × Florist!Reader

Masterlist \\ Series Masterlist

It's a part of the Lone universe, and this is also my writing for Sweet and Spicy Fic Challenge🤭

[Warning- Smut, Oral (m receiving), Virgin Harry (is a warning okay?), Fluff, Valentines Day]

*****

Harry has never celebrated Valentine's Day. As he never had a partner to celebrate with February 14th, it was just a normal day, but now? It was a day for him to show you how much you mean to him.

His sweet little Y/N.

So he took you out on a date to his secret spot. It was near a hill, he asked Niall and Mitch to help him a bit and it came out wonderful. He surrounded the trees with fairy lights and made a table in the middle with your favorite food and a candle lit and open sky full of stars.

You were in awe the whole time.

You told him not to do anything and that a movie night on the couch was enough, but he couldn't let that happen. It was his first Valentine's ever, and he was focused on making it special.

He was dressed in a satin shirt and pants while you were in a short dress with fluffy sleeves. It had flowers printed all over it. Your hair was in a low bun with front pieces framing your face. You looked so good he wondered how he got so lucky.

You looked around the lights and stuff reflecting in your eyes. He couldn't take eyes off you. Now, both of you were on way back home, wine tipsy laughing. He was carrying your heels while you wore his sneakers.

Harry opened the door to their house while you were still engrossed in your story.

"Omg Harry, you won't believe when I tell you the amount of flowers I have sold ever since February started. God, I love February" you screamed, and Harry laughed.

"I love cause it's my greenie's birthday month andddd I earn good money," you said, wiggling your fingers for him to hold. He walks towards you, shaking his head, his face red from wine and you.

He sat beside you and pulled you towards him. He snuggled into your neck like puppy (cause he was one) and purred. You raked your fingers through his hair, leaving soft, small kisses on them.

This is what he wanted his whole life. A home.

He pulls his head back and looks at your adorningly, his eyes holding so much love and compassion that he just wants to yell it.

But he will wait until you know him whole.

You leaned down and kissed him softly. He moved his lips against yours, tasting the wine and dinner mixed with your strawberry gloss.

He whined when you pulled back and pouted, wanting to be as close to you as he could. You smirked down at him mischievously, and his inner voice went "uh oh" knowing it meant trouble.

You pecked his lips once started lowering down. He went to sit up, but you put a hand frim on his lower tummy, stopping him.

"I just want to thank you," you said, now fully kneeling in front of him, "Can I?" You asked.

He gave you a nod, unable to speak. You knew he was a virgin. Hell, his first kiss was you, and he was 26 years old! Ever since then you two have went as far as makeout and then sit beside each other or cuddle to calm dowm but now you were here in front of him about to give him.his first blowjob or whatever you wanted.

You unbuckled his belt, and he let out a shuttering breath. You palmed him with one hand while others worked on taking his pants off. Once you were successful, you slid them down along with his boxers and threw them somewhere in the living room.

His hard dick bobed up and rested on his stomach, leaking so much that if he wasn't supernatural, he would be concerned. You looked up with blown eyes, and because of his abilities, he could hear your increasing heartbeat and smell your arousal.

You scooted near him and took him in your hand. There was soemthing so sinful about his hard red cock in your small hand with flowery pattern dress.

He moaned when you started to move your hand up and down softly. The only hand he ever had was his own, so now your soft hand was like heaven to him. You leaned down and licked all precum off his tip, and he lost it. His head fell back on the couch, his lips.parted in silent moan.

You took him in your mouth, your hand still working on his base. He looked down at you, not wanting to miss a second. You took hin further in, your warm nouth feeling amazing.

His hand went to your hair, but he just kept it there, not wanting to push you down or hurt you. You pulled back up his dick glistening in arousal and spit sane as your lips.

Your hand reached down to massage his balls, and he whimpered, feeling sensitive. Your mouth was back on him working on full force and was about to cum embarrassingly fast, normal for a human but fast for him.

You went like that for a long time, your hand switching between his base and balls.

"Baby- Fuck I'm going to come" He said moaning in between. You just looked up and gave him a short nod, taking him in further.

He was about to die, he was sure, or maybe he had, and this was heaven.

He fell back on the sofa and sinked in more while his eyes felt like they would roll back of his head.

His orgasm rolled suddenly, and his was coming down your throat. His legs were flinching and shaking. When you gave him a particular hard suck while he was cuming, his hips snapped up and hit the back of your throat.

He immediately shot up, thinking he hurt you, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" You took his now soft cock out of your mouth and coughed a bit. You climbed up and shook your head sitting beside him with a giddy shy smile.

He smiled, seeing how you went from a minx to shy in a second. He pulled you towards him in a deep kiss, tasting himself on your lips.

"Best gift I ever got," He mumbled against your lips, and you giggled.

*****

I never wrote for a challenge just wanted to try it out lol.

This came out longer than I indented, lol. If you're single like me this is here to remind you that you don't have any bitches.

Happy Valentine's, my loves.

Talk to me here♡

[take-a-cchonce]

The Little Things You Do for @wishingforloushair <3

Written for the @1dlibrary Valentine's exchange!

“What’s that supposed to mean, then? I’m romantic, aren’t I?!” His voice went up an octave with indignation and Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the offended look on his face.

Harry sat back up from where he was snuggled up with Louis, careful to not spill any of his wine onto the older man as he leaned forward to peck his cheek. “Sure you are, Lou,” he grinned.

OR

The one where Harry makes a throwaway remark about Louis not being a romantic, and Louis is desperate to prove him wrong.

Read on AO3