#mean!dom harry

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ & ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ

KNEELING LAMIA | Witch hunter!Harry x Witch!reader

There's too much tension in this cat-and-mouse. Inevitably, it stretches too taut and snaps.

★18+

This is ᴋɴᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴍɪᴀ for the KINKTOBER projects. Witch x Witch hunter au.

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CONTENT/WARNINGS: enemies. p-in-v. degradation. praise. pussy slapping (light). dom/sub undertones. rough sex. bro is simply kind of an asshole, but it's in an attractive way imo.

WC: 3.7K

You hate him. 

You hate him, you hate the grease in his derisory, lopsided smile, the one, two-tick at the corners of his mouth, like an omen on the hollow barrel of a cocked gun. The stupid white straightness of them, slick with spit and glimmering off the glowing oil lantern. 

The soft humanness in his unchiseled eyes. When they’re narrowed into slits, the color is so soft, so delicate, that they don’t feel nearly as sharp as he intends. The preternatural juxtaposition of a human having eyes that are so mesmerizing is absurd— the pink-rimmed oil painting of his irises, mounted in white, under the tarp of his lashes (they’re long, dark, and cast shadows across the green sfumato). You can nearly find sunstones flecking like gold flakes wading the surface of a pool, if you look close enough.

But the bands are eroded now. Lacking. You always thought his eyes were like the moss speckling the grove in your back garden. Now, the vibrancy of it, crawling up the trunks, feels like a distant memory.

Smeared, pupils bleeding wide like spilled ink. 

(You loathe the way his green reminds you of the malachite scattered across your window sill.)

You hate his hands, too. His fingers. The way they notch on reins, and the steel hilt of a gun. The way his pointer stretches across the metal trigger— click— and the way the aim is off. Misses. A bole eats the bullet, and you think, after so many tries, he has to not miss.

He has to not miss.

But he misses, and misses, and misses— the cat and mouse is an old, familiar game, but a fractured part of you thinks he misses on purpose. And you wonder who’s really the cat; when he’ll finally admit you’ve been filling his shoes out in the hunt, long before his time. 

But you hate his hands most because of the way they touch you. The way they feel good. Pinching your bones in place, thumbprints carving into your skin. 

Pressure points— he’s no good with a gun, but he’s good at finding pressure points, scoping them with his fingertips. Squeezing in. 

You hate his teeth, because you hate him, and he hates you, and you want to sweep them off the floor when you fracture every little bone in the composite of his skull with your palms and shatter them out with your fingers. The way they chew into your nipples and stab a crushed squeak out of you. 

(It’s the nature of the game— a double helix. Taijitu. Water and oil. You’re meant to despise each other, because dark has to exist to balance light. There has to be a villain in every story, otherwise the narrative collapses—)

You can’t stand the way his stupidly fat cock splits you on him, around him. The way when he groans, the way it starts as a hum between his ribs, and metastasizes into that yawning pry of his mouth, his soft lips. 

(Conflict. Resolution. Recycle.)

His hand pawing at a handful of your breast, like kneading dough. Testing the heft when it shakes under the pressure of his hips slamming in wet squelches, sack slapping to your sticky cunt. The blunt of his nails scraping down your sides, prying in where your waist tapers, and wrapping the barbs of his fingers around, where the rungs sit at your back, to lug you against him in filthy, wet smacks. Again— again. 

(Fuck, fuck, fuck—)

“—Fuck,” you mewl, scratching out at his temple, fingertips curling into the burnt umber tufts they can reach, pulling, tangling. Scraping. Your thumb grazes his cheekbone. He bites down on your nipple, instead, where he’s been rolling it between his teeth with his tongue, and grunts. It makes you squirm on the table and arch.

When he unlatches and lurches up to loom over you, he looks wild. Like an untamed beast— reminds you of the wolf that lingers by your doorstep— that you’ve lugged along into your kitchen. Let him splay you across the big, oak table that squeals and rattles under the punishing pace he’s set with his hips. 

“Fuck— no,” Harry grunts, and slams your wrist down onto the table, beside your head, your stuttering pulse. Cuffed in his grip. Your fingers twitch. His throat bobs when he swallows.

The tip of his tongue flicks out, drags across his lips, and you think of a scenting serpent. He huffs.

“Ought to declaw you,” he muses, hunching over you, narrowed eyes oscillating from your nails to your face. Voice a husk that oozes condescension. As if you’re an animal— a feral cat that needs its talons extracted. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, and the words— the petulant tone, the way your chest rattles when his cock throbs inside of you— are enough to crook the corners of his pink mouth. Wry. Acid across his lips, in the ridges between his teeth. 

He sticks his thumb in your mouth, but not really; presses in against the flat of your front tooth when you bare your canines, squeezing at your cheeks. Pressure points— under the side of your mandible, beneath your cheekbone.

“Better watch that mouth,” he taunts. When his eyebrows climb, three ruckles seep across his forehead. Maybe evidence of how he means it, how firm his resolve is, but the way he tips his head down at you, it's goading—

Your chest rolls. “Fuck— you.”

And you get it. You do. Coexisting is an absurd, incompatible fantasy. Deluded, when you cup your teeth around the world and still feel hungry. It only stretches so wide before he’s under your teeth, too, and nobody wants to live in a hungry, sharp mouth. It’s a means of resource. Sanctum; I want sanctum, and you my friend, are preventing that like gum jammed into a lock on a gate. 

This slow dance is called perfect, incongruous symbiosis, like a winter coat and the hot sun. You don’t fit together. You’ll never work— not in tandem. 

It’s just that he doesn’t get that it’s the circle of life.

A snake and a mouse. That works. It’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t have to be watched. 

But it’s ugly. You get the angry men with the pitchforks. You get him— vigilante, here to stab the head off the python with a wooden stick and wring his hands out after, like the hero he’ll be if he manages to tame the beast (glorified pest control— snub the snake in the backyard). You accepted a long time ago that all the little people would get mad that you were eating their little people. 

Nasty, vicious thing in the back garden— get rid of it.  

But hey— that’s life. The ugly, vicious wasp nest dangling off a poplar tree deserves to exist, too, because that’s the anomalous, hideous shape mother nature’s hand squeezed it into. And that’s, you think, the disconnect. The electrical cord spitting white-hot, fizzing sparks from where it’s been gnawed down the middle.

You swallow. His eyes are blade-sharp. So unco. Contemplating, calculating.

You get all that. What you can’t wrap your mind around is the untethered snap between you, like a bungee cord lugging you into a collision. It makes you feel feverish. The fracture in the foundation below you, every atom bred from this, predestined narrative. The sizzle beneath your skin— a charred brand in the shape of his kiss under the layers of your dermis— (a lowly mimicry of what lovemaking is, all teeth). It’s brutal. Sharp. A skirt of canines across your collarbone. A notch across the bone. A means to satiate, a compound of loathing, and pining, and the cozening haze of desire. The yearning curdled in the spiral of the communal pool of your animosity.   

Because he smells like the rain rapping across your roof when you stand out with the door propped, sticking to the fireweed in rivulets under your porch steps. Like suede. Musk. The wilting coriander sprig on your altar. Your resolve is wicker snapping under his thumb. A melting glacier under the heavy heat dripping from his eyes. You don’t like it. You can’t get enough.

You tip your chin up and his thumb snags on the blunt edges, smushes into your lower lip. When his heavy cock slips out of you and slaps up against his belly, a whine prickles at the back of your mouth. You encase it with your throat like a dirty secret left to write on paper. You won’t whine for him. But he’s thick. His cock is stupidly fat, and it throbs like he can feel the encroaching emptiness between your legs for himself. 

You won’t whine, but you feel hollow, and it makes your hips cant up involuntarily. Forward. To him— you hate that— but the stamp of his palm to your cunt makes your thought process crumble apart like notes plummeting off their bars on a sheet of music. A smack of skin on skin is the aria of your twisted affection stretching and collapsing. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not really. There’s a dull pang that blooms there, under his touch, but it feels smothered under the white-hot lightning streak of shock that jolts your shoulders and sculpts your face. The mortified, blistering heat that spumes your cheeks when the whites of your eyes pool a little wider. You flounder up at him wordlessly. 

Harry hums. It’s haughty, and mocking, and it makes something ripple in your underbelly. “Say that again, little girl?”

You swallow. Squirm. The pseudonym has something bristling in your chest. You’re not a little girl. This thicket has belonged to you for hundreds of years. 

But the warm prickle between your thighs is an ugly, ugly paradox. 

And you hate the way his hand is this humongous thing between your thighs, across your sex, swallowing your smarting cunt in the cup of his palm. The way he leaves it where it landed. His thumb stretched out and lingering in the crease between your mons and your tucked up thigh. You hate the way you drool slick against his fingers, the way your clit pulses under the heel of his hand. Your chest rolls. 

His amusement is acidic. Patronization sloshes off his eyes and burns a hole right through the layer of your mettle when he cocks his head down at you, the way your hips hitch. His lips twist. “Oh you liked that, did you?”

Your face pinches. The corners of your lips curl down despite the way your empty pussy flutters under his skin.

“No."

He makes a sound. A hum that granulates into a rich chuckle, and his eyes flicker off your face, to his hand, and back, and back. Something brews in the depths under his lashes, you think— a sinkhole cratering into the ground beneath the canopy of the woods, driving the forest ground out into a void— watching the breadth of his hand envelop between your thighs. Maybe at the molten heat, or the way he can undeniably feel you clenching up. Throbbing. Against him. For him. 

“Is that right? Look at that, mm— drippy, little pussy,” Harry tells you, voice hardly over a whisper. The words are a livewire zigzagging up your spine, riding the arches of the knobs, spilling something noxious and cloudy along your cerebrospinal fluid. 

It goes straight to your head. 

“Needy, little cunt. Bet you could cum just from me slapping it.”

His middle finger grazes your asshole. Your toes curl, you can’t even argue, despite the vitriol puddling on the back of your tongue like stagnant water. He tips his head. Smiles. The flash of teeth carves an ache into you that makes your bones ring.

“Aren’t you… just the sweetest thing when you’re put in your place,” Harry murmurs down at you, eyebrows climbing, and he’s— unctuous. A headache. The kind that clusters around the arch of your skull and squeezes taut like a bundle of rubber bands. Talking down to you like you’re a wily thing for him to put into a corner, once and for all. Like your demesne isn’t stamped in his soggy footprints, layer after layer, year after year.

You bare your teeth and jut your chin defiantly, but then he drags his thumb down along your pebbled clit, and it makes your shoulders wobble. 

You used to cut hunters down like the loggers muscling in on your timber. Hatred was a pearl folded into your heart. A bead tucked into the soft, fleshy tissue between the little pockets of your ventricles, and it stung like a splinter in your gums. 

You wear it in your chest like his name shaved into a rib. The perfect harmony of dysfunction. You don’t know why being under him kindles a flame. Just that it does. He’s live coal, and you crackle over what he gives you.

The moment of reticence between you has that shattering weight of your little truce, and you’re reminded of the plunge from the hillscape of your dignity. 

Maybe it’s worse that you don’t mind. 

His shoulders swell. You like the spit-slick rim of his mouth, the way the color is an insignia of your teeth making landfall. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

When he plants his hand beside your ear and stretches forward a little more, his cockhead slips across your clit. Hot, like a firebrand coated in sateen. You curl your fingers and realize your wrist is still pinned down. His eyes sway to it like he knows what you’re thinking, and his mouth twitches.

“Gonna keep your hands to yourself?” Harry purrs, grunting when you roll your chin away in scorn. 

“Because—“ His finger prods onto your cheek. Then, two. Under your jaw, enough pressure to turn your head. “You know I love that wild shit. But, can’t have you fucking up my pretty face—“

The humor coagulating his tone tastes bitter when you breathe it from the air. Swallowing it down into your lungs where it ghosts with the subatomic heaviness of want. Your eyes flit. You hate him— you hate—

He grins down at you. Not quite. Close-lipped, eyes vats that shelter his dogma. The intensity of his seriousness. “Can’t do that,” he muses, but his tone is softer than his countenance. 

You look away. And you don’t watch it, but he huffs, like he’s losing patience for your still-not-quite-subservience and lack of zeal. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. Hums. 

“Mm. Come on, doll. You know I don’t want you if you don’t want me,” he tells you, but his mouth crooks because he knows— he knows. 

You blink up at him. His eyes burn down at you from the bridge of his nose, and it feels like you’ve been swaddled into a sudden, wet heatwave. The words would nearly be considerate if it wasn’t for the condescending undertow that spills under the vowels like an oil slick. 

His pointer traces the corner of your mouth, brows furrowing as he tails the motion with his gaze. “Just you say the word.”

And despite the way you blister, something itching under your skin, you won’t. Your teeth are clenched, but you couldn’t pry them apart with pliers to turn him down, not with the fever spilling its way across you. You settle for contempt— let it set your face like a cast congealing, but he doesn’t chase the tail of your indignation with anything beyond mockery. 

He stares back at you. Doesn’t let it wither, drowns in the deluge of your inkpools, mouth curling but-not-quite. 

“No,” he sighs, after a beat of your lull— bereft of your protest— drawing his forefinger away and slinking it down the naked space of your sternum, then around your swollen nipple. You gnaw into your cheek. “You know what I think?”

“—I don’t care,” you pick your head up to hiss. 

You expect to face something crumbling at the retort. Discipline. Retribution— to watch something clot inside of him the way it wads in your chest, caking gravity across his features because— need to be taught a lesson in respect. What did I say about watching that mouth? 

But it flickers over him without a hitch. Slides off. 

Instead, he doubles down, hunching back over you. “I think you love this cock too much. Don’t you? Got you wrapped around it, by now.”

The flame from your core licks up to flare at the apples of your cheeks. He breathes when he straightens out. Deep. Like the prelude to a sigh, and you wonder if the same burning kisses along the nooks of his lungs. You don’t say anything, and he pulls his hand back.

“That’s right,” Harry coos, cocking his head down at you, “Just a sweet, cockdrunk, little whore, by now.”

Your eyes narrow into thin slits. Dagger splits. The wobble in your voice is a swordblade. “Shut— up.”

He laughs. Laughs. This muted, soundless thing that manifests more in his shoulders, the jolt across their breadth. The crater beside a smile line. He shakes his head, and cups the root of his cock with his fist. Your eyes follow it. You swallow.

“Mm, no,” he muses, gaze pooling where the mushroomed ridges of his tip slide along your sopping rim, your puffy lips, your clit, “I think you like it. Gushing all over the table.”

Embarrassment ties its tendrils along the base of your throat. Cogon grass germinating and feathering out across your esophagus, until you’re choking on your spit. You grit your teeth. Your hips nudge up. Forward. He underscores the presumption by pulling the head of his cock back, and sundering the string of tacky slick that’d stretched between him and your seam.

“Makin’ a fucking mess with your messy, desperate pussy,” Harry tells you, pressing his index to his thumb and prying them apart for emphasis. Your slick shimmers in the light. “Look at you. There’s a fuckin’ puddle.”

Your face creases. Cheeks buzzing, white-hot. You feel yourself leaking down along the cleft of your ass, and your fingers itch. A thunderbolt streaks across when you recognize that your hand is still flat against the table. Just where he left it. 

He aims his cock back against you, so thick in his palm, and murmurs, “You want it?”

You don’t know how you ended up here.

You do, but the motions between point A and B feel like a nebulous smear. Hands in motion. Fabric tangling across the floor. Teeth, and tongues, and bones, and claws.

(“Always liked an older woman,” you remember he told you, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. The hubris of a boy sewn into the shoulders of a man. The irony of your preternatural youth folded into his proposition as his eyes roamed across your face.)

(“So let’s put …this,” a motion between with a jutted finger, a murmur drizzled in allure, tucked like a secret into the shape of the night, “aside for a time-out, you and me.”)

You don’t know why you said yes. How. Why your body reacts like he’s a breath you need, whispering along your lungs. Why you let him unspool you over his fingers, his tongue, fucking into you like he was starving. 

But you nod.

You nod, and he presses his weepy tip against your cunt, and it only takes a nudge for him to pry you open around him again. Enveloping him. Sloppy, little pussy pulsing over the tip like a frenetic heartbeat. 

You turn your chin and bite into your own shoulder to stifle the mewl spiraling between your tonsils, and he groans. The sting is better the second-go, but the pressure of having your rim stretched taut anew doesn’t lose its edge. The ache settles in your underbelly. Flourishes in the molten geyser of your arousal. 

“Oh, shit,” Harry hums, pasting his palm flat to your tummy, right over your navel. Like this, you can feel his fingertips under your heartbeat. Across it. Thrumming. His eyes glued to where you swallow up his cock.

He feeds his cock into you slow, but it feels incongruous. The pastiche of what you’re feeling is already enough to cloud your head into delirium— you want teeth. Tongues, bones, claws. 

“Harder,” you grit, catching his eye when he stalls, hand braced across your waist. You resolve paints your words firm, “I can take it.” 

For a moment, Harry stares down at you. The whiplash of pause morphing to taunt, like a seamless rebound, has your rim fluttering over his girth. “My, my. Aren’t we eager.”

“Just—“

Your cosm ripples around you when he drives his hips forward, and lugs you back, hips colliding with your skin in a smack. A horrible, wet sound when he crams his way in, wedging your fuss back into the depth of your stomach. It flings you off your rationale. 

He shivers. “God, you’re slutty. Slutty pussy on a slutty witch.”

The pace he sets is brutal. Merciless. It caters to your complaint, and squashes it out under his thumb. Under the kiss of his tip to your womb. Deliriously, you think he’s going to spill his hot, thick load inside of you, and then what? Then, what?

It feels like he’s wringing you out between his hands, until all that’s left is a pool of want. 

You hate the way he’s chiseled in a place for himself. A tern across your branches, nested in twine and spare filaments of organs that belong to you. A little sinew peeled off of your liver. A sliver off your lung. Maybe that’s why—

You suck in a tight breath and let it rattle the nest he’s built, when he hits something unfathomably deep inside of you. Plugged on his cock, there’s no way for you to smother your moans out. He batters in to the hilt, cupping you by the waist, and rocking you back onto him, over, and over, and over. 

“I want this sweet pussy to cum around my cock,” he pants over you. A curl has flopped across his eye, and your ire is eclipsed by your yearning. The ball inside of you unspooling as if he’s peeling the layers of muscle on your heart back like an onion to temporarily pluck out the undiluted loathing. “Do you hear me?”

It’s a mindless motion— your fingers creeping to land over where you connect, where he’s splitting your gummy walls to what feels like their ceiling. But he bats your hands away, and rams into you until your mons is kissing the wiry bed of hair that’s smattered over his shaft.

“It’s gonna cum around my cock,” he grunts, “or it’s not gonna cum at all.”

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[0oolookitsme]

Buckle up besties because I'm taking y'all on a wild ride! I'm hosting 'Kinktober', which means that kinky-smutty fics will be on your dash for the whole of October! We'll be celebrating for 7 days -- the fics will be spread out throughout the month. The titles and descriptions will be added along with the fics, and the schedule will be like this:

2 OCT, Mon: (DWD!Harry x DWD!Y/n) Guided Masturbation, Phone Sex

Been Thinking - Harry calls Y/n to tell her that he would be staying in the office for the night, but Y/n'd been thinking about him all day and just wanted him so bad. (WC - 1.6k)

...

7 OCT, Sat: (Artist!Harry x Housewife!Y/n) Praise kink, Face Sitting

Better than the Dream - In which Y/n woke up on rubbing against Harry's thigh in her sleep and when Harry offers to take care of her, she can't help but let her insecurities creep-up on her. But, Harry still ends up persuading her into enjoying her time while their toddler's gone. (WC - 1.7k)

...

9 OCT, Mon: (Model!Harry x Fashion Designer!Y/n) Mommy kink, Dry Humping, Mirror Sex, Over Stimulation

Another One? - Y/n told Harry that if he's good for her throughout their time at the small get-together, she would reward him at the end of the night. But, Harry ends up getting a bit overwhelmed, and then rebellious -- causing Y/n to, instead, punish him. (WC - 4k)

...

14 OCT, SAT: (Baker!Harry x Florist!Y/n) Thigh Riding, Teasing

The Thigh Tattoo - In which Y/n finally accepts that Harry's tiger tattoo is her favourite, and finally shows it some 'interest'. (WC - 2.1k)

...

16 OCT, Mon: (Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n) Daddy Kink, Face Fucking, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink

Daddy of Three - Harry is such a good father that Y/n can't help but want another baby, and who is Harry to deny her what she wants? And, while he is going to be a daddy for two -- he can't help but point out that Y/n needs one at all times, as well. (WC - 2.2k)

...

21 OCT, Sat: (Singer!Harry x CEO!Y/n) Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking, Begging, Spanking

So Despicable - In which once Y/n is home, she can't help but feel as if something is off with Harry. She only comes to know the cause once he's got her laid across his lap and is telling her just how despicable she is. (WC - 2.1k)

...

23 OCT, Mon: (Devil!Harry x Assassin!Y/n) Knife Play, Biting, Marking

Feel Special Now? - Y/n pulls Harry's leg by asking him why she can't mess with the devil. How else were she to feel special? Thereupon, Harry makes sure she knows just how many merits she has for being dear to him. (WC - 1.5k)

...

MASTERLIST

Please come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, and favourite moments. Feel free to send in requests, and ask if you want to be added in the taglist for this! Thank you <3

[goldengalore]

Rough Day

Summary: For Harry, nothing makes up for a bad day better than rough sex. Luckily, he has his friend Y/N to help out with that.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: smut (friends with benefits, mean dom!harry, degradation, bondage, spanking w hands and belt, choking, oral, anal, use of ball gag and butt plug)

***

Harry slams the door behind him as he enters Y/N’s apartment. He texted her earlier to ask if he could come over. His message alluded to the possibility of rough play, which Y/N could hardly ever refuse. As soon as he arrives, she can sense the irritability radiating off of him. It shouldn’t excite her this much—her friend being in a crappy mood—but it does.

“Hey,” she greets him, sitting up on the couch where she’s been indulging in some online shopping for the past hour.

He just hums in response and drops his duffle bag on the floor before removing his shoes, coat, and gloves.

“Rough day?” she asks, studying him.

“You have no idea,” he mutters.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Of course he doesn’t. Harry doesn’t like to talk at the end of a bad day. He likes to fuck. Without holding back.

Glancing at her, he says, “Wait there.” Then he picks up his bag and heads into her bedroom. A minute later, he emerges from the room without the bag and strides over to her.

“Up,” he says, as if he were instructing a dog.

“Okay.” She sighs and takes her time getting off the couch to avoid seeming too eager, even though on the inside, she’s ready to do just about anything he tells her.

Once she’s on her feet, he simply says, “Clothes off.”

Again, she dawdles while pulling her sweatshirt off and fumbles with the waistband of her shorts, lazily inching them down her legs. Harry releases an impatient sigh.

“Today, Y/N.”

“Okay, okay!” She quickly removes the rest of her clothes.

The path his eyes take as they trail down her bare body sends the blood rushing between her legs. He steps closer and places his mouth over hers. His hands rest on her hips for a mere second before sliding to her backside. He squeezes it firmly, his fingers digging into the flesh of her round cheeks and pulling her body upward. She rises up on her toes and clutches his shoulders for balance. His teeth bite into her bottom lip. He tugs her even closer until her naked body is flush against his clothed one.

The kiss ends abruptly, leaving her wanting more. All of a sudden, he lifts her off the ground and slings her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing at all. Her upper body hangs behind him, her ass in the air.

“What are you—?” she starts, but he lands a swift smack to her rear, ordering her to be quiet.

He carries her to the bedroom and tosses her on the bed, not bothering with gentleness, then flips her onto her stomach. While she finds her bearings, he bends down to grab something from his bag, which is sitting on the floor next to the bed.

A moment later, her wrists are pulled behind her back and cuffed together. His hands wrap around her ankles and yank her towards him until she’s bent over the edge of the bed with her feet on the floor. She hears the clink of his belt buckle behind her.

It all happens so fast. One moment, he’s rubbing the tip of his cock over her entrance, and the next, his entire length is inside her. No warning. No preamble. A strangled moan escapes her mouth.

“So fucking wet,” he growls, grabbing on to her hips. “You like being manhandled and tossed around like a ragdoll?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer before ramming his cock into her again. Usually, he’ll start slow and build up to a hard and fast pace, but today, he seems overcome by a primal desperation—one that has probably been festering inside him all day. She can barely keep up, but that makes it all the more exhilarating.

One hand pins her bound wrists to her lower back, keeping her in place, while the other grips her hair and yanks her head backwards, forcing her to arch her back. He finishes fast, emptying deep inside of her cunt, grunting and moaning with relief. She looks over her shoulder at him.

“That’s it? I didn’t even come,” she says just to egg him on.

He grabs a fistful of her hair again and speaks lowly into her ear, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your pleasure, hm? Sluts like you don’t deserve to come.”

He releases her hair and pulls out. Some of his come leaks down her inner thigh. Through the corner of her eye, she sees him reach down towards his bag. And then something cool and hard pokes between her legs. He presses the object into her slit, twisting it around, dousing it in her arousal and his come. It’s a plug, she realizes. A rather large one.

Once it’s covered in a mix of their fluids, he uses his free hand to spread apart her cheeks and starts inserting the plug into her tightest hole. He doesn’t really take his time. The rounded tip goes in, then the rest of it is hastily crammed into her. They’ve been doing this long enough that it slides in easily, but she still squirms and whines at the discomfort.

“Oh, stop whining,” he snaps. “It’s not even that big. You’ve had bigger things in your ass before.”

She scowls at him over her shoulder. “Well, if you think it’s so easy, why don’t you try shoving one up your own ass?”

He retaliates with a harsh spank.

“Ow!”

“Bold of you to talk back to me from the extremely vulnerable position you’re in right now,” he threatens, and the effects of his words are felt right between her legs.

He grabs something else from his bag, then tells her to open her mouth before shoving a ball gag in there. He secures the leather strap behind her head.

“That’s better,” he says. “Should’ve done that ten minutes ago. Only thing your mouth is good for is sucking me off anyway. Isn’t that right?”

All she can do is glare at him with the gag in her mouth.

“Glad you agree, love,” he says with a cocky smirk.

A soft, plushy object is placed in her hand—the squeaky toy they use in place of the safeword when she’s bound and gagged. Then he folds his belt in half and gently glides the cool leather over her bum. As soon as he raises the belt, she tenses and screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for the first strike. When it doesn’t come, she relaxes a bit and opens one eye, falling for the same trick he’s used on her countless times.

The belt smacks against her ass. She cries out. A second smack makes her knees buckle, dragging her down a bit.

“Stay still,” he orders.

It’s a good thing she’s gagged because she definitely would’ve answered back with a snarky comment and made things worse for herself.

He whips her with the belt several times in a row. Her ass clenches around the plug each time. He pauses only briefly to run his hands over the bright red marks now decorating her backside, like an artist proudly inspecting his work. And then he’s back to belting her, occasionally aiming for the backs of her thighs. There’s no doubt that sitting will be a challenge tomorrow.

Tears stain the sheets beneath her while her cunt drips with arousal, the pain cathartic and excruciating at the same time. She comes somewhere between the punishing blows, too lost in the pleasure to keep count.

He eventually stops and tosses the belt aside, telling her to get up on the bed. It’s a little awkward with her hands cuffed behind her, but she manages anyway. Once again, he yanks her around like a doll until he has her in his desired position: lying on her back with her head hanging off the edge of the bed. Her hands are trapped under her but still free enough to squeak the toy if needed. He removes the gag from her mouth and instantly replaces it with his hard cock.

“Let’s put that whore mouth to good use,” he says as he begins fucking her mouth the same way he fucked her pussy earlier.

His tip connects with the back of her throat over and over, his large hands clawing at her breasts. He pinches and tugs at her nipples hard enough to make her body arch off the bed. Then he brings a hand to the front of her neck, squeezing it while his hips continue thrusting into her mouth. She presses her thighs together tightly.

Just when she thinks he’s going to come down her throat, he pulls out. She gasps for air. Finally, he takes off his own clothes and joins her on the bed, flipping her over onto her stomach. He uncuffs her wrists and cuffs them above her head instead, then lifts her up onto her knees and forearms.

She feels him tug on the base of the butt plug, fucking her with it a little before taking it out. He squirts a generous amount of lube between her cheeks and begins driving his cock into her ass but doesn’t get further than a couple inches. She’s too tense. It always seems to happen despite how many times they’ve done this.

“Gonna have to relax for me, love,” he says in the softest tone she’s heard him use all night. His hand caresses her lower back. He can be a dick sometimes, but he’s shockingly aware of when she needs a gentle touch.

“Give me a minute,” she says, steadying her breathing before telling him to continue.

He pushes in a bit more, then draws back and pushes in again, going a little deeper every time. Once the tightness in her muscles eases, he slides all the way in and holds himself there.

“Fuck,” she groans. “Fuck me.”

“Beg.”

Her mind is so muddled by the intense sensation of her hole stretching around his cock that she almost doesn’t hear the word.

“Huh?”

“Beg me to fuck your ass,” he demands.

That bastard.

“Fuck you,” she replies, though it comes out as more of a whine than an insult.

“I’m not moving an inch until you beg.” He grips her hips tightly to ensure that she can’t move either.

She doesn’t want to give in so quickly, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But as much as she hates to admit it, Harry’s dick makes her weak. And the worst part is he knows it too.

“Please, H, please fuck me. Your cock feels so good in my ass. I need you to fuck me hard and not hold back. Just— Fuck! Just use me for your pleasure. Please.”

Finally, Harry’s hips start moving. He retracts them, then thrusts forward sharply. She cries out in surprise and relief. He starts pounding into her. Quick, sharp thrusts. One after another. With little pause in between. She would reach down and rub her clit if her wrists weren’t bound together. Fortunately, Harry has the same thought. His hand finds her clit, rubbing it in fast circles to speed up her orgasm.

She feels it crash over her moments later, igniting in her core and spreading outward to her limbs. Harry continues fucking her through it, not slowing down for a second. He tells her he’s going to come in her ass, calling her his good little cumslut and his perfect little fucktoy and every filthy word in the book, becoming more and more incoherent until he finally lets go with a deep groan.

Rolling over onto the bed, he frees her wrists and tosses the cuffs to the side, not caring where they land. Y/N lets her knees give out under her and falls onto her stomach with a soft thud. She closes her eyes. A while later, his fingertips graze the back of her shoulder.

“Hey,” he says softly, “you good?”

She opens her eyes and grins. “Yup.”

“Wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“You know that’s how I like it.”

A pleased sigh leaves his lips. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the stray curls off his damp forehead.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he says. “I really needed that.”

“Aww, you needed me?” she teases, knowing how much he despises the idea of “needing” anyone.

He scoffs and looks away, but not before Y/N can notice the blush creeping into his cheeks.

“You wish,” he grumbles.

“Whatever you say, tough guy.”

***

Thank you for reading!  MASTERLIST

[enalovesharry]

Out of a dream

summary : you and THE harry styles had a one night stand.. the night was a blur so the morning you wake up you’re quite surprised.

warnings : mentions of sex, swearing, fluff?? pls let me know if there was anything else!!

*HEY GUYS!!! first of all I want to thank you for everything on my first ever writing post, i know it’s not the best thing you’ve ever read, it’s definitely not the best thing I’ve written but I didn’t expect that much love. I’m so sorry for just disappearing, life has been very busy but I will get back to things soon! p.s this is how y/n will be in most of my writings, not shy, very outgoing and sarcastic!!!*

Last night was very much a blur.

The only thing you remember was drinking at a random club in the Hollywood Hills, then stumbling into a SUV before everything else was just a blackout.

Waking up to the sun beaming onto your face, your eyes flutter open, hand coming up to block the bright light from your eyes. Although everything seems quite normal, you feel a heavy thing over your torso and a soft aroma of a Tom Ford cologne, pushing yourself up quickly you scan the room, confused on how you might of ended up here.

Well, you already know because the most logical reason would be that you wanted to get someone’s dick wet. You look down to see if the man you pleasured was good looking at-least and-

“Holy fuck.” Your eyes widen, your heart beating out of your chest as you freeze. Harry fucking Styles is sleeping right beside you, curls sticking up left and right, you realise his face was buried into your stomach because of the red mark on it.

You also realise you both were naked, quickly scrambling out of the bed- or wait, his bed. You grab your panties from the floor pulling them up, panic mode absolutely activated.

You hear him moving on the bed, sheets rustling as he sits up, glancing to him he’s stretching his arms above his head, turning his head to you and you notice the panic now evident on his face.

“Hey.. uhh, are you okay? Did I scare you or something, I promise I didn’t kidnap you.” He watches you as you put on your bra, grabbing your shirt and jeans to put on.

“I didn’t realise I literally just fucked Harry Styles, sorry.” Looking into the full-size mirror he has next to the bed you fix your hair up, not noticing how he’s got out of his bed and put his boxers back on, you also didn’t notice how he winced from what you said, he didn’t like when he was labeled as just a famous celebrity a random girl had fucked after having the best sex he’s ever had.

“Hey, chill out. Calm down I’m not gonna like bite you or anything. Unless..” he walks up behind you, looking at you through the mirror.

“Harry, this isn’t funny. 15 year old me would be absolute screaming right now that I actually finally fucked Harry Styles.” Your face blooms in redness at the confession, you see him raise his eyebrows in the mirror, smiling.

“‘S really cute y’know, your dream coming true. You don’t have to go right now.” His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you back into his chest as you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror, clipping your earrings back into your ears.

You practically lose your breath as his hands caress your hips, all you want to do is pounce onto him and fuck him yet again. But you can’t, you always tended to have attachment issues and having them with Harry Styles was not the way to go.

You had to continue on with life and hide the fact that you hooked up with Harry in the back of your head.

“I have to go, Harry. I have a home and a life, maybe we can hook up some other time in like 3005 or something!” You muster up a smile for him, turning to look up at him, his eyes shine a beautiful emerald green, a dimple pokes out of his cheek, his lips a beautiful shade of pink.

Oh you wanted him so bad again, you knew Harry, from his music of course but you didn’t know or let’s say like him enough to be a fan, that’s for sure. He tugs on your hips again, your hands coming to his waist to brace yourself.

You did wonder if this is what the routine was with all his hookups, fuck them till he was satisfied? Part of you also didn’t think so as he was such a gentleman.

“Come on, darling. Jus’ a little bit longer? I promise, this is not what happens wit’ all the girls I have seen.” The pet name makes you all giddy, your hand coming up to comb through his chocolate curls.

“Are you just trying to make me feel bad for you so then I can follow your music and promote it and whatever?” You ask, eyebrow raising. You see he’s taken aback by that, his eyebrows creasing.

“No, no! Y/N im so sorry if it looks that way, oh my god. I promise that’s not- that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do.” You giggle at his panic, a little surprised that he remembered your name.

“I’m just kidding.” You smile as he pushes his bottom lip out in a soft pout, without thinking you push up onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his soft ones, he kisses you back almost instantly, innocently pecking your lips a few times before he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Harry then lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he moves back to the bed, mumbling something softly against your lips.

“Maybe you could give me your number or something if I prove to you that the night was really worth it.” He pulls away, a smirk on his lips, you laugh, biting your bottom lip softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Dream on Watermelon Sugar singer.”

You see a spark in his eyes and as he leans back in to kiss you again your vision goes black.

You feel heat on your body and your eyes snap open, the sun beaming on you, yet again. You look around the room, sitting up, you’re in your own room. You look beside you, a messy empty spot beside you.

Your head then whips to someone walking into the bedroom, it was your fiancée, a bright smile planted on his face seeing you’re finally awake.

“You were having a good dream so I didn’t want to wake you, sounded like you were having fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, coming to move onto the bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah, it was about the first time i met you.” You plant a kiss onto his bare chest, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Ohh, s’right when I was Watermelon Sugar boy.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. “Lucky you finally gave into giving me your number and accepted me into your life, hey? Now m’getting married to my one night stand in two weeks.”

“You’re still a loser, Harry. And no I’m still not following your Spotify even when we’re married.” You mumble against him.

“Dang it.”

hehe lol this has no plot xx

dividers by @firefly-graphics 🤍

[stylesloveclub]

Pleasing (vday blurb)

In which Harry takes y/n out for valentines day, and y/n gets a bit handsy when she's drunk. :)

+++

Harry’s hand grazes y/n’s face, pushing the hair out of her eyes. They’re cuddled up in his bed together, y/n scrolling mindlessly on her phone while Harry just sort of… lies there and stares at her. Her eyes glimmer with the light of her screen, distracted and unaware of how Harry’s eyes flicker across her face. He doesn’t mind how distracted she is, though, because it means he can stare at her as much as he wants (without her getting shy and hiding away).

“Baby,” he whispers, running his thumb over her cheekbone. 

“Hm?” she doesn’t look up from her phone, but kisses the pad of his finger as he traces over her lips. 

“What’s your schedule like on Tuesday?”

“Um…” she locks her phone and throws it down on the bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily as she tries to remember what she has planned for the upcoming week. “I have class at 10, and then my last class ends at two…”

“Are you working?” he asks, resting his hand on her hip and pulling her close. 

“No…” Harry’s thigh makes its way between her legs, tangling their limbs together now that she’s finally off her phone. “S’weird cos I always get scheduled on Tuesdays. Dunno why Alfredo decided not to this week.” 

Harry hides his smile, already knowing the answer to that. He specifically made sure that she wouldn’t be working on this special night. 

“So you’re free then?” 

“Yeah, I should be.” she says with a cute smile, excited that Harry’s hinting at doing something special together. “Why?”

He chuckles. “Do you even know what next Tuesday is?”

She furrows her brows at him, still smiling, but a bit confused. “Um…” she pulls out her phone and opens up her calendar. “Next tuesday… the 14th of February…” her breath catches in her throat and she looks up at him with round, soft eyes. “Oh.”

His eyes are warm as he laughs, crinkling softly in the corners. She’s adorable, the way she looks up at him with such wide, surprised eyes, looking like he just asked her to marry him when he literally only brought up valentines day. It makes his heart melt, his sweet, precious girlfriend, so easily excited and happy. Like a little bundle of sunshine lying right in his arms. 

For her entire life, she’s always been alone on Valentine’s day. She’s never had someone buy her flowers or take her out for dinner on that special day… she’s usually just at home, by herself, studying or doing laundry as if it were any other day of the year. She’s spent so many years ignoring the fact that it was even a holiday… that she totally forgot that it was coming up this month. 

But Harry remembered. 

“Can I take you out, baby? Will you be my valentine?”

Her heart flutters as Harry whispers to her softly, looking into his eyes and just drowning in the adoration that fills them. His eyes are always so warm, so loving and kind, communicating so much to her without having to say anything. It overwhelms her, how wonderful and perfect he is. She hides herself in his chest, whining softly. He’s the sweetest in the world and it makes her want to cry. 

Harry laughs, and y/n can feel the deep vibrations rumbling through his chest. “Why’re you hiding?” he asks, the smile evident in his voice as he smooths a palm over her hair. 

“You’re perfect,” she whines, burying herself deeper into his neck. She never in a million years thought that she’d be lucky enough to have such an amazing boyfriend. A kind, sweet, handsome boyfriend who planned special things for valentines day, who coddled her and kissed her and took care of her so sweetly. 

She loves him. She’s bursting with it and it takes everything in her not to say it out loud. The three words have been on the tip of her tongue for weeks now, slowly growing more and more prominent in the forefront of her mind. It’s so hard for her to just not say, especially when he does all these sweet things.

He kisses her hair and wraps both of his arms around her, letting her hide in his chest even though he wants nothing more than to see her pretty eyes. “Just want t’make you happy baby,” he says quietly. 

She lifts her head and asks him with a shy smile, “What are we gonna do?”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “It’s a surprise.”

+++

After her classes on Tuesday, she rushes home and hops in the shower for a solid hour. She does her full body shower routine, deep conditions her hair and puts on a face mask so that she’s feeling nice and pampered. She’s planning on getting all dolled up tonight – she’s gonna do her make-up all nice and style her hair, wear a pretty dress and heels that she only busts out twice a year.

As a busy college student, she doesn’t really get the chance to make herself feel pretty. She’s genuinely so caught up with school and work all the time that she barely has an extra 10 minutes to do her makeup or pick a nice outfit in the mornings. She usually rolls out of bed and goes to class in her comfiest sweatshirt and jeans, with minimal makeup and her hair thrown up so that it’s out of her face while she’s studying.

That’s why these dates with Harry are always such a treat for her! He always plans them on days when he knows that she’s not busy… never during her stressful midterms weeks or when she has a long shift at the restaurant. He makes sure that he can treat her to a nice night after she’s done cramming for her physics midterm, so that she can really relax and enjoy herself. 

With no homework or upcoming exams, she has all night to get ready and feel pretty. Then, around seven-ish, Harry texts her that he’s on the way to pick her up. 

She puts on a coat and dabs her lips with a light layer of gloss, staring at herself in the mirror and taking a deep breath. Her heart flutters in her chest as she heads out the door, nervous to see Harry… not in a bad way, more-so a romantic, jittery, I-can’t-wait-to-kiss-my-hot-boyfriend way. 

Harry’s shiny black car stands out like a sore thumb in front of her crappy college apartment, big and expensive and an object of envy to any of the broke college kids who walk past. She rushes down and sees Harry standing out of the car, leaning against the passenger's side door. He smiles at her, that hot half smile that makes his cheek dimple. 

He’s dressed in a dark teal suit, with white stitching around the wrists and under the lapels. Underneath it, he wears a silvery blue silk button down, which he’s left unbuttoned enough to show off the beautiful butterfly on his stomach. His hard rings glimmer on his fingers as he waves at her, and as she walks towards him, she finds a delicate pearl necklace also wrapped around his neck. 

When she reaches him, he rests a hand on her hip and cradles her jaw with the other hand. “Baby,” he murmurs, flickering his eyes all over her face, “you look so pretty.” He leans down and kisses her softly, her sticky gloss transferring onto his lips as they pucker, and he hums at the sweet taste of it. When he pulls off from the kiss, his lips shine prettily with the shimmer of her gloss. She giggles and wipes it off with her thumb. 

“I love this suit,” she whispers, smoothing her hands over the expensive fabric. The silk feels soft under her palms, thin enough so that she can feel the hard ridges of his abdomen twitch as she gracefully dances her fingers across the material. Her eyes flicker over the dainty jewelry he wears, fingers coming up to toy with the cross hanging from his neck and trace the tiny pearls on his collarbones. The heads of his swallows peek out from under his shirt, and she swallows thickly. 

Her boyfriend is… crazy hot. His hair is swirled messily atop his head, a stray curl falling into his eyes, and his stubble… god, his stubble. She kisses him again, holding his face, his facial hair scratching against her palms deliciously. She loves the way it feels against her skin, ticklish against her soft cheeks. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him in front of his car, doesn’t want to stop feeling his stubble or his large palms on the curve of her waist, but he pulls away with a cocky smirk on his pink lips. “C’mon puppy, don’t get too excited just yet.” 

He opens the car door for her and holds a hand out to help her into the car like a true gentleman, but she hesitates to climb in. When Harry looks at what she’s looking at, he lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh,” he chuckles, picking up the bouquet of flowers that he’d left on the passenger's seat. “Forgot t’give you these.” He smiles shyly, the slightest hint of a blush growing on his cheeks as he gives her the bundle of pink and white flowers. 

She melts right then and there, turning around with heart eyes. “Thank you,” she says with wide eyes. She goes to give him another kiss, but Harry dodges it by putting a thumb to her lips, knowing that if she gets on his lips they’ll be standing in front of his car and making out for another three minutes. 

“No more kissing, puppy,” he says, patting her ass and urging her into her seat. “Don’t wanna be late to our reservation.” 

+++

Y/n looks around in awe as Harry leads them through the beautiful vineyard. Harry’s brought them to a restaurant, y/n doesn’t know where, but by the looks of it… it’s expensive. Their table is outdoors, on a patio that overlooks miles and miles of grape vines. The patio itself is covered by the green plants, climbing up the rails of the fence and curling over the patio roof over them. The plants are lined with fairy lights, a soft, romantic ambiance that’s accompanied by the gentle hum of the other customers at the restaurant. 

Harry pulls out her chair for her, then takes a seat across from her. Their table is set up beautifully, with a single rose sitting in a vase as the centerpiece, surrounded by tea candles that burn softly. 

“Harry,” she whispers, still looking around and taking it all in, “this place is so pretty.” 

He smiles proudly. “One of my friends owns it,” he says, grabbing his napkin and draping it across his lap. “We went to culinary school together.” 

Y/n copies him, happy to be here but a little out of place. She’s just a college kid, she doesn’t really go to fancy restaurants… so she needs Harry to hold her hand a bit and tell her what to order. “What kind of food do they have here?” she says, confused that she hasn’t been given a menu yet.

“S’not the food we’re here for, s’the wine,” he explains with a soft smile.

Her mouth rounds out in a soft o, and she looks around, understanding the whole aesthetic. The vineyard, the wine glasses, the wall of wine bottles that they walked past… obviously this place is a winery. 

“Excited to try some wine? Get a little educated?” he teases. She’s reminded of how the first time she went over to his apartment and he cooked for her, he’d brought out wine for her and she’d admitted that she didn’t know anything about wine. 

Harry, being the sophisticated chef he is, is some sort of wine connoisseur who manages to pick out wines that y/n actually likes, since she usually finds them to be bitter and dull.

She’d rather have a shot of tequila and get drunk quickly instead of having to sip on some yucky wine. But drinking wine with Harry is always fun, and she’s excited for whatever he’s got planned. He has good taste and she has no doubt she’s gonna love everything they try tonight. 

+++

“Harryyy,” y/n giggles, tugging at the lapels of his suit. She’s leaning all of her weight into him, arms wrapped around his neck in a clingy way. Harry wraps an arm around her waist, trying to hold her steady as he chuckles softly to himself. She is such a lightweight.

During the wine tasting, their waiter brought out four different types of wine for them to try, each served with a different meal. The first was a wine meant to pair well with their appetizer of fancy french cheese and fruit, the second a palate cleanser, the third a deep red wine served with their pasta dish, and the final one a sweet dessert wine that y/n really liked. All of those glasses, especially that last one, have made y/n tipsy and super clingy. She’s busy suckling a love mark.

“Baby, c’mon, we gotta go,” he chuckles, trying to coax her out of his neck where she’s busy suckling a love mark.

She bites down on his skin, then presses a soft kiss over the mark she made at the base of his throat. “You look so hot in this suit,” she murmurs, gasping softly in his ear as his grip on her hip tightens. Holding onto him tightly, she feels his biceps bulging under his suit as he tries to guide her discreetly out of the restaurant and into the car. Feeling how strong and muscled he is… mmm it makes her feel things. She leans in for another kiss to his jaw, then bites down on his earlobe seductively.

“Puppy…” he warns, voice low and daunting. “S’not the time f’that.” 

She trails a hand down his chest, teasing at the buckle of his belt, “But I want you daddy.” 

His jaw clenches and he tries not to react, looking around to make sure that nobody’s paying attention to how dangerously close y/n’s fingers are getting to his crotch. Luckily, they’re the only two standing outside of the winery entrance, but he still grabs her wandering hands and stops them from teasing him any further. Holding both of her wrists in front of her in one of his hands, he looks down at her wide, dreamy eyes. She bites her lip playfully and blinks up at him, feigning innocence. 

“Need you to behave,” he coos, the hand not holding her wrists coming up to thumb at her bottom lip. “If you’re good… then I have a surprise for you at home.”

Her eyes widen excitedly. “What is it?” she asks breathlessly.

“S’a surprise,” he says again, eyes glimmering teasingly. He loves his tipsy girlfriend, so sweet and easily excited like a little puppy. He just needs to get them home without her trying to strip him in public. “Can you do that for daddy? Be a good girl until we get home?”

She nods eagerly. 

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss her lips softly, like a little treat for her obedience. She looks up at him with these wide, dreamy eyes, and it makes Harry smile to himself. His little overexcited, easy to please puppy. 

“Now,” he smooths a hand over her hair, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Need to go say hi to Leo before we leave, do you want to come with me?”

She nods sweetly, on her best behavior. 

“No funny business, m’kay?” he warns. “Or else you're in for it when we get home.” 

+++

“Will you pour me a glass too?” y/n asks sweetly, sitting patiently on Harry’s couch as he uncorks the new bottle of wine. 

Leo, Harry’s old culinary school friend who owned the vineyard, had gifted them a bottle of the expensive dessert wine that y/n had loved so much as a thank you for coming to try his restaurant. This was perfect, as Harry, who hadn’t drank that much since he was gonna drive the two of them home, was ready to really indulge in the wine that he’d only taken a sip of at dinner. 

Y/n, despite already being tipsy from her four glasses of wine, is insistent on having another glass. The wine was just so yummy and sweet, with the aroma of berries and chocolate, it barely felt like she was drinking wine!

“I think you’ve had enough, puppy,” Harry says, pouring only one glass. If she has any more wine, she won’t be sober enough to even open the gifts he has for her. 

She pouts petulantly, “Who are you to tell me how much wine I can drink?”

He chuckles, beyond amused by her silly antics. She’s so cute when she’s drunk. “How about we just share this one puppy?” he tries to ration, “Won’t that be easier?”

She mulls it over, and remembers how sexy it was last time when he fed her wine from his glass. “Fine,” she sighs, leaning into him when he takes a seat next to her on the couch. The thought of sharing a glass with him and getting to suck the remnants off of his wine stained lips is the only thing that makes her agree. 

From behind his back, Harry reveals a small, Tiffany blue box. Y/n’s eyes widen and her heart stutters. “Harry,” she says, sitting up straight as he presents her with the gift. “Is this for me?”

He nods. “Open it,” he says with a soft dimple in his cheek.

She takes the box from him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know we were doing gifts,” she says with a pout. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

“Didn’t want you t’get me anything, baby,” he murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Just saw it and thought of you. Valentine’s day was just an excuse for me t’give it to you.” 

She takes the small box from him and opens it gently, as though she’s afraid of breaking it. Inside is a delicate, heart shaped pendant on a dainty chain, resting softly atop the pillowy satin interior of the box. She traces over the soft detailing on the small pendant, in awe. Harry, thankful, has good taste, and hasn’t gotten her an obnoxiously large or colorful piece of jewelry. No, this necklace is dainty and subtle, just the way she likes, and as cheesy as the heart shaped pendant is… it makes her chest grow warm with love.

Harry’s large fingers pluck the necklace out of its box, and toy with the pendant for a second. The heart opens up, and reveals a picture of the two of them. “Look, it’s a locket,” he says proudly, showing her the tiny picture hidden in the heart of the pendant. She gasps and holds the pendant up to her face. The picture he’s chosen is one of her favorites, from one of their dates in the park when she’d randomly asked an elderly woman near them to take a picture of herself and Harry. 

The two of them don’t have many pictures together, in full honesty, just because they’re often just spending time with each other and don’t have any reason to take pictures. But that day, there was just something that made her want to remember the way she was feeling. In the picture, Harry stands behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Y/n holds onto his forearms, giving a huge, cheesy smile to the camera while Harry gives a kiss to her cheek.

This perfect moment in time, captured and stored in this heart shaped locket that she could wear right on top of her own heart… it makes her lower lip wobble and her eyes start to tear up. “Harry,” she barely manages to whisper around the thickness in her throat.

Harry’s quick to put the wine glass onto the coffee table in front of him as soon as he sees the tears. “Sweetheart?” he’s confused as she climbs into his lap, settling herself on his thighs and burying her face in his neck.

“I love you,” she sniffles into his chest, her tears rolling down her cheeks silently. “I love you so much. You’re the best, you’re so special to me, I love you.” This entire valentines day has made her so happy, and the fact that she’s tipsy on wine certainly doesn’t help her control over emotions. 

He lets out a chuckle that's a mixed sigh of relief, “Oh, sweetheart.” His hands smooth over her hair, and he pulls her up so that she’s no longer hiding in his neck and he can see her teary eyes. “I love you, you know I do,” he says, rubbing his thumb under her eyes and wiping away her tears. “My sweet girl, I love you more than you know.” 

She sniffles, and more tears come rolling down her face. “You do?” 

“F’course, m’love. Love seeing you, love being with you.” He kisses her cheek. “Please don’t cry, precious,” he whispers, “it hurts me. Don’t want t’see you crying.” 

“S-sorry.” She tries to gain control over her emotions, but every time she looks into Harry’s eyes and sees the warmth and adoration pouring from them, a new round of tears comes. “Harry, I love you,” she says again, holding onto his shirt to really make her point. “Wanted to tell you for so long, I-I love you so much. M’so glad you love me,” she sobs.

“Oh baby, you’re gonna make me start crying too,” he coos, running his thumb over her red bitten lips. “Can I put the necklace on for you? V’been wanting to see it on ever since I got it for you.”

She nods, sitting back and letting the last of her tears fall. Moving her hair out of the way, she bares her neck to him so that he can clasp the dainty chain at the nape of her neck. The heart shaped pendant rests delicately atop her chest, right below her collarbones and only a few inches away from her beating heart. She looks down at the necklace, playing with the locket and clicking it open to stare at the sweet picture inside.

“I love it,” she mumbles, letting it fall back down on her chest so that she can wrap her arms around Harry once more. 

He kisses her, “I love you.”

+++

After the tears, comes lots of wine. 

Harry genuinely finds it impossible to say no to y/n when she asks for a sip from his glass, especially when she climbs on his lap and blinks up at him so prettily. “Please?” she asks, resting her hands on his chest and watching as he sips from the glass. She bites her lip, watching as his tongue darts out to lick the remnants of the cherry wine off of his lips. 

“Y’sure you can handle more, baby?” he teases, his thumb tugging her lip out from between her teeth and watching it bounce back into place. His eyes flicker down to where his locket sits prettily atop her chest. This was his girl, sitting in his lap with his heart hanging around her neck. He looks back up at her, and she’s staring at him–puppy eyes and all–begging for a sip of the sweet wine. “Not sure a little girl like you should be having so much wine...” 

“M’not a little girl!” she grumbles, though she pouts like a little baby. 

He hums, amused, pressing small, wet kisses up the column of her throat. She tries to be mad at Harry’s teasing, eyebrows furrowed with an upset frown planted on her lips, but she can’t help the whine that bubbles from her throat when Harry licks and sucks at her neck so seductively. He whispers against her skin, “you think you deserve it?” 

“I-I do,” she barely manages to whimper out. 

“Let’s see then,” he murmurs, bringing the glass up to her lips. One of his large palms rests on her hip, holding her steady while his thumb draws soothing circles against the bare skin of her thigh. Her head is spinning from Harry’s constant teasing, and her mouth is dry from the way she was panting while Harry was kissing up her throat. The wine is a welcome refreshment, the sweet, aromatic liquid trickling into her mouth slowly as Harry feeds it to her. Her eyes flutter shut as she swallows. She feels Harry move underneath her hips and tries to sneakily get one last sip in before he pulls away the wine glass… but she ends up choking as Harry’s fingers graze against her clit.

She turns her head away, coughing harshly, clearing the wine that had snuck into her wind pipes and using the back of her hand to wipe away the wine that had sputtered out of her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart,” Harry pouts, mockingly, “you’ve made a mess.” She tries to glare at him, but can’t as another round of coughs takes over. He pats her back soothingly as she clears her throat some more, his thumb wiping away the tears that escape the corner of her eyes. 

“You see?” he says when she’s breathing properly again. “Daddy was right. You’re just a messy little baby. Y’need daddy to take care of you.”

“You’re mean,” she sniffles. 

“I’m mean?” he scoffs, “How m’I mean, darling?” 

“Y-You’re teasing.” 

“M’not teasing, puppy,” he says, cupping her jaw romantically, despite his mocking tone. “I just know what’s best for you. You’re too messy.”

She humphs, looking away from him.

“Don’t be like that, puppy,” he coos, voice low and smooth, pressing a sticky kiss to her cheek with his wine stained lips. “Y’know I’m right.” 

She feels her resolve crumbling as his hands slide up and down her thighs, his breath tickling her ear and lips skimming the shell of it. She can feel herself getting wet as Harry presses more hot kisses against her skin, her breath catching in her throat. When his hand slides into her hair and tilts her face towards his, she shows no resistance. His lips find hers and he kisses her, slow and hot. She sighs into his mouth, always finding pleasure in the feeling of his lips against hers, even if she might be mad at him for being stingy with the wine. 

He tastes like the sweet berries of the wine, his tongue slipping into her mouth and sliding against hers hotly. She supposes this will have to do, sucking on his tongue and moaning at the sweet taste of the wine that she’s so excited for. Her legs squeeze around his hips as she presses herself down, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She pulls off of his lips with a quiet moan as she feels Harry’s palm grinding against her clit over her soaked panties. He buries his face in her neck, kissing and sucking while she throws her head back and rubs herself down on her hand. 

“All this for me, puppy?” Harry groans into her skin. “Soaked through your panties already, n’I barely even touched you.” 

She whimpers, embarrassed but not embarrassed enough to stop rubbing herself on his hand.

“What’s got you so worked up, hm?” His fingers pinch her clit through her panties, then slide down to finger her dripping slit. She hides her face in his neck, turned on and overwhelmed. 

“Maybe you like it when Daddy’s a little bit mean,” he murmurs, his voice nothing more than a dark rumble in his chest. Her cheeks burn at how easily he figured out the truth, how she gave herself away by getting so wet when he teased her, mocked her, called her a little girl who needed Daddy to take care of her.

The tightening of y/n’s fingers on his shirt and the fact that she refuses to take her face out of his neck while rubbing herself on his fingers tells him his answer. He chuckles lowly, trying to softly coax her out of hiding, “S’okay baby. Don’t be embarrassed.” 

When she whines petulantly and refuses to look at him, his voice turns stern. “Come on, puppy. Stop hiding.”

Oh and that voice… he’s just found out her weakness and is using it against her! She goes moony for Harry when his voice goes low and his grip grows heavy. She pulls herself out of his neck and looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, petting her face, “Such a good girl for daddy, hm?” She stays humble, simply blinking up at him innocently, even though she wants to whine at him that she’s the best girl and that he shouldn’t be teasing her so much. She doesn’t need to beg, though, as he mutters to himself, “I think you deserve a reward.” 

His thumb, which had been tracing over her bottom lip softly, sinks into her mouth, her pretty lips parting around his thick finger as he pulls her mouth open. “Keep it open, m’kay?” he whispers. Her eyes glimmer excitedly as he slips the finger out. 

Reaching for the long abandoned wine glass, he takes a sip– but doesn’t swallow. Instead, he leans towards y/n’s open mouth and connects their lips, letting the dark wine spill from his mouth into hers. Y/n squeaks excitedly, finally understanding what he’s doing and lapping up the wine from his mouth quickly. Her fingers twist into his shirt unconsciously and she grinds down on his lap like an eager little puppy, trying to get as close to him as possible. She licks and sucks on his tongue, kisses him to lap up any of the wine left over on his lips, and swallows it down sweetly. When she pulls off, her eyes are blown out and her lips are stained red. 

That was more of a treat for him than for her, he thinks, with how eagerly she kissed him and rubbed herself on his lap. Harry can’t help the chuckle that falls from his lips, his cocky dimple popping out on his cheek. “See how much better it is when Daddy does it?”

She doesn’t even have it in her to process his mocking words, mesmerized by him. She wants to keep kissing him, feel his hands all over her skin, drown in him. She leans in for a kiss, but each time her lips graze his he jerks his head back, mouth open in a teasing smirk. She pouts, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Only when she’s sitting patiently does he give in, pressing his lips against hers and kissing her top lip. She presses herself into the kiss, her eyebrows furrowing with need as her hands grip the lapels of his shirt. A soft whimper escapes her when Harry’s fingers are back on her core, fingering up and down her soaked panties and tracing over her clit. He sneaks his hand into the front of her panties, his palm sliding slowly over her mound until his fingers feel the soft bud of her clit. 

She gasps into his mouth as his fingers start circling, soft and gentle swipes that make her twitch. His touch is so light, his fingers barely pressing down… but still it makes her whine and whimper, a burning feeling bubbling in her tummy. She’s already so close, but can you blame her? She’s been aching for him all night, literally has been yearning to feel his hands since they left the winery. She’s been eyeing his hands, with his strong fingers and thick knuckles and veins running up to his tattooed forearms. His warm palm, which he’d rested on her thigh the entire drive home. His soft thumb, which he’s been circling on her hip all night. 

And god, he’d looked so good tonight!!! It might be the wine that’s making her so extra horny, but Harry’s just so… hot. Not only is he smart and polite and gentlemanly, he’s also the most attractive man to walk the face of this earth. With his stubble and his broad back and strong arms… his pretty green eyes and his lips… his cocky smirk… he’s just such a man. He’s not like the stupid boys at school… he’s her sexy older boyfriend who takes her out for dinner and then fucks her til she’s crying. 

His tongue slips into her mouth at the same time that he slides a finger into her slit, the thick digit wiggling its way through her plushy walls to pet at the spot that makes her clench around him. He can only fit one of his big fingers into her tight hole, and the fit is so snug that it makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. His mouth is open as he kisses her, half of his mind focused on making sure to pet her in all the right places, while the other half tries to keep up with her eager kisses. He’s breathing her in, lips puckering around anything he can reach and his tongue sliding against hers, desperate to just taste her even if it makes their kiss a little messy.

Her breathing stutters and a high pitched squeak escapes her when he starts trying to work a second finger into her. She squeezes tight at the anticipation of it, making it hard for him to get another finger in there without hurting her. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs against her lips, retreating the second finger and rubbing at her clit a little bit more until she’s no longer clenching around him so hard. 

“Feels really good, daddy,” she whispers, her mouth in an open pout, too overwhelmed to try and keep kissing him. 

“I know sweetheart,” he murmurs back, lips skimming over her neck as he breathes in her sweet scent, before migrating back to her lips. He groans out lightly as he attempts to sink a second finger again, this time proving more successful as her pussy flutters open for him. He curls his fingers against her front wall while his thumb continues rolling against her clit, a motion that she’s never able to recreate when she’s trying to do it herself. Any form of pleasure has been ruined for her if it’s not coming from Harry’s hands, or his mouth, or his cock… he’s set the bar too high. 

Their mouths just hang open together, panting into each other’s mouths as Harry’s fingers work her towards her end, their tongues touching and lips puckering every once in a while as they attempt a really messy kiss. 

There’s a ringing in her ears as her heart starts to pound faster in her chest, Harry’s fingers setting a rhythm that sends jolts up her spine. She falls into his chest, fingers digging into his suit and her face burying in his neck as she tries to catch her breath.

“Doesn’t it feel nice when Daddy takes care of you?” Harry murmurs in her ear. The wine in his system and his love for y/n have got him going heavy on the words… but she obviously loves it. 

“So good,” she whimpers into his throat.

“Y’like my fingers in your little pussy, hm? Like it when I rub your pretty clit like this?” 

She whines again, nodding her head but unable to formulate any words.

“Come on, puppy, use your words… tell daddy how much you love it.”

“Love you, daddy,” she says, fuzzy headed, just seconds away from her climax.

He chuckles warmly. That wasn’t what he asked for, but it’ll do. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her head. “Come on, cum for daddy. Let me hear you.” 

She moans loudly, fluttering round his fingers and rutting her hips as an orgasm takes over her body. With her head thrown back, she feels no shyness in whining out, as she cums, daddy falling from her lips desperately, which he swallows up in a kiss, soothing her through her peak. 

+++

The next morning, she surprisingly wakes up clear headed and well rested. With how wine drunk she was the night before, she’d expected to wake up with a pounding headache and her stomach turning uneasily. 

But then she remembers how Harry tucked her into bed the night before, how he’d taken her into the bathroom and brushed her teeth for her because she was too loose-limbed to do it herself. And then he’d slipped her out of her dress, kissed her shoulders gently as he dressed her in one of his big t-shirts, and given her a pair of clean panties to sleep in. He’d let her rest her head on his chest when they climbed in bed, and petted her hair while she whined about how much she loved him, chuckled sweetly when she started kissing his chest even though she was on the brink of sleep.

When she started to get fussy again, her pressed to his chest, “you’re the most precious thing in my life.”irt in an attempt to get him naked again in a haze of drunk horniness, he slipped his thumb into her mouth, let her suckle on his finger to distract her. He talked to her with a soft voice, murmured sweet words about how much he loved her. “Love you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered as she fell asleep with her ear words muffled by his thumb.

“Love you,” she whispered back sleepily, her words muffled by his thumb.

When he thought she’d fallen asleep, he stopped petting at her hair and tried to get up to brush his own teeth – but she whined in her sleep at that, her legs wrapping around his thigh to keep him in bed and her eyebrows furrowing as though she was going to start crying in her sleep. He’d hushed her, resuming his previous position as though he hadn’t even tried to leave, and stayed like that, just watching her sleep, until her grip on him loosened and he was finally able to slip away silently. 

He returned as soon as he brushed his teeth and took off his expensive suit, now lying next to y/n with his lips pursed in a sleepy pout and his eyebrows furrowed. Even in his sleep, he looks grumpy… it makes y/n smile. She smooths her thumb over the wrinkle between his brows, and he evidently relaxes in his sleep. 

She presses a kiss to his cheek, thinking that she’s being sneaky and sneaking a kiss before he wakes up, but when she tries to pull away he grabs her wrist. “Another one,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

She giggles, and presses a soft kiss to his other cheek. “Another,” he repeats, and she kisses his nose. “Another,” and she kisses his jaw. 

“Another–” he tries to say again, but she cuts him off. 

“Oh my gosh, Harry,” she laughs. “Just wake up already.” 

He smiles at the sound of her laugh, a sleepy smile that's soft enough so only one of his dimples pops out. His eyes flutter open, eyelashes like delicate little butterflies, and his green eyes meet hers. They look so clear and bright in the morning, a spring green that glimmers in the morning light. “Hi,” he says, staring up at her, “I love you.”

Her heart jumps at those three words, and she has to restrain herself from jumping out of the bed to have a total freak out over the fact that Harry loves her. Obviously she loves him – she has for a while. But she worried that she’d been nervous that Harry wouldn’t feel the same way. Maybe she was just this over-emotional little girl who fell in love way too quickly, and if she told him… he’d be grossed out or something and break up with her. 

If she were in her right mind, she never would’ve confessed that she loved him in such a vulnerable moment. She curses her drunk self for being so loose-lipped… but at least it ended in a happy way. Harry loved her back! 

And it’s the first thing he wants to tell her in the morning.

“I love you,” she whispers back bashfully. Harry can tell that the three words make her shy, and it only makes him love her even more. He pulls her into his chest for a bear hug, arms wrapping around her and completely engulfing her. 

He doesn’t want to let go of her, wants to hold her in his arms forever and just fall back asleep like this… but then her tummy rumbles. Her stomach is always making some type of noise, and even though it embarrasses her, he can’t help the laugh that tumbles out of his chest.

“Pancakes?” he asks.

She hums, “Mm, yeah. Can I make coffee with your fancy machine?”

“Only if you promise not to burn yourself.”

+++

lmk if u enjoyed! check out my patreon for early access to the next pleasingrry blurb! :)

[daaydreamy]

harry styles masterlist vol. 2 . . . 🎀

here’s my second harry styles masterlist where you’ll find all my writings about harry styles!

★︎☆ ONESHOTS

photoshoot

- harry surprises y/n.

darling, i will always cherish you

- it’s valentine’s day.

nasty

- y/n loves harry’s ass.

greedy

- harry’s so… well, what do you think?

★︎☆ BLURBS

winner

hours & hours

pink all over

good morning

sight for sore eyes

proposal

all fun

just give me your body

look at me

love!

my love is yours

limits

such a tease

hot and bothered

little bug

after a long day of work

gentle

first time

always near

my only angel

i just want love

make romance

pillows

eyes only

pda

welcome home

all to myself

L-bomb

night out

make you want more

deeper and deeper and deeper

so blue

can’t live without you

compatibility

divine

sharing a bed

extra-terrestrial

not so tough

haircuts…

your mouth, my rosary

strange bliss

eyes filled with nothing but love

love can be so simple

your smile is so infectious

breathe me in

appetite

all for attention

sick to my stomach

unsaid words

[chainmailchalamet]

sugar high 🍒

synopsis: sugar daddy hs, always black n non-binary reader, established dynamic w/ some power play, possessive language, lil degradation, spit kink, mean dom(ish) hs, yktfv

Harry is…complex, by nature. He is a well curated structure of contradictions. He is a rockstar, an animal, a glossy beastly thing on stage. He glows under the spotlight, basking in all that concentrated attention with the air of a man who deserves every last drop. He is a hip roller, a tongue wagger, a dark eyed pretty boy dream. He’s sharp cut hips, tatted all over and wrapped up in glitter.

He is also a cream puff — that’s the version of him you met first, assisting a stylist on a Gucci suiting campaign. You’d steamed his double breasted coat, matched the ties to his green-glass eyes, buttoned him up all snug in his dress-shirt. And he’d blushed and dimpled his way through all of it. Told you that you didn’t have to do all that (“I kind of do, darling, it’s my job”), said please and thank you and stood where he was supposed to stand and made everyone laugh and look at him all fond because he was a professional sweetheart, an actual dream to work with. With the way he acted, you couldn’t tell he found you attractive until after the shoot wrapped and he walked up to you all bashful to ask for your number. It was the way he stated his intentions that got you, the way he said, soft and steady “anything you want, we can do anything you want as long as I can keep you company”.

He took you for squid ink pasta for the first date, because you’d never had it. He showed you how he liked his oysters (“a little lemon, just a squeeze..”) and how to tip them back into your mouth to taste them, and he watched the way your lips wrapped round the shell with a low heat gaze, kept his desire on the simmer like he didn’t want to scare him away. You let your inhibitions sink away into a glass of champagne, flirted with him in the same breath you talked his ear off about your job, about the books you were reading, about your vision for the future. He was so like you — the same raw ambition, the same comfort in the way you wore your skin that you’d both fought tooth and nail for, the same wicked tongue. You liked to make him blush, to tease him until he was giggling in faux offense (“it is not a whore house, it’s a family show, that’s the whole point!” “sir, at last show you sang the words “if you’re getting yourself wet for me”, and then rubbed your fingers together to demonstrate said wetness, those are the actions of a whore!”), until he let some of that babygirl cupcake act drop long enough to thumb some passion fruit sorbet from the corner of your lip and take it into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning a little under his breath like you just tasted that good.

The second date was a flea market in the south of France. He prepared you with a simple instruction to pack light, and in response to your question about the cost of the train and accommodation and time off work he responded the same — kissed you on the temple and said “I’ll take care of all of it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, you can have anything you want, sweetheart”.

And then he did, took care of every detail — told your boss he was borrowing you for a shoot (“bring them back in one piece, styles, they’re one of our best” “mm, no promises”), got the both of you a private carriage so you could watch the grey London skyline fade away into lush fields of lavender, held your hand all the way, looked at you like you were the best view in sight, whisked you away to a cute little hostel where no one but the owners recognized him (the lady of the house absolutely fawned over him, called him strawberry boy, chided him for being gone for so long).

You used maybe two braincells that weekend — he made sure of that. Every whim, he tended to. If you wanted coffee, he went to the market and fetched you something freshly ground with notes of toffee and dark chocolate. If your stomach rumbled, he sat you down on the kitchen counter and fixed you lemon pasta, fed you dates by hand while the sauce settled, stole kisses in-between bites — cupped your face in his hands and licked into your mouth and said “feel so lucky, can’t believe your here, are you happy, what do you need, whatever you want, wanna give you everything…”.

You let him fuck you during that trip. After a dreamy morning picnicking with a jar of strawberry preserves and fresh bread and heavenly salted butter, and a whole day at the markets where he bought you a whole new wardrobe, gently insisting that he wanted to do this for you. “Harry, this is vintage alaïa, I don’t need that” you’d said. “You’re a stylist, sweetheart, might come in handy — and you’ve been eyeing it up since you saw it, at least try it on, yeah? See how you feel after”.

You’d tried it on, and it fit so perfect your mouth went a little dry — and his eyes on you, the way he smoothed his hands over your hips and told you that “you look so pretty, angel, prettiest fucking thing I ever saw” made you light-headed, running your thighs together in the dressing room. He liked doing that to you, putting you in pretty things, seeing you admire yourself. He bought you the alaïa, the cavalli handbag, a silk Gucci scarf — he was still polite, still your sweet thoughtful boy, but you could see through the cracks to what lay beneath that. The power he held over you, the obvious pleasure he took in being able to take care of you, showering you in nice things, the way he made you feel you didn’t have to think about anything when you were with him because he could do the thinking for you.

That’s the man that took you to bed. The one that told you to put your pretty new things away and wait for him in the bedroom while he tucked the groceries away. The one who met you with hungry eyes when he found you stripped down to your new chocolate brown agent provocateur set and kneeling on the bed and just clicked his tongue and asked you if he told you to do that. Tutted when you looked at him all confused and tried to explain yourself, shushed you and said (with the same quiet intensity as the first day he met you), “not your fault baby, didn’t have to think at all today, you’re just my pretty little doll, huh?”

that’s the Harry that felt every bit of your mouth with his fingers, pressed down on your tongue until you drooled a little and then made fun of you for it. The one that wouldn’t let you touch his dick until he worked you up so good that you thought you would cry, ran his tongue over the lace on your body, teased over every single sensitive inch of you until you were shaking and begging (“please, Harry please, just touch me, anything, anything” “look at you — pretty fucking mess for me, huh? wanna see you cry, baby, can’t give you my dick unless you ask real nice for me”).

He fucked you slow and deep with a hand wrapped around your neck, told you that one day he’d buy you something shiny to lay where his hand had been, but until then you’d just have to wear his fingers around your throat — told you that it was his favorite thing you’d tried on all day, called you his doll, his baby, his perfect little slut. “M’gonna give you everything you fucking want,” he said, licking the salt off your skin as it trailed down your cheek, pulling your head back to spit in your mouth and rub it into your tongue (“filthy thing, you like that? nuh-uh? you got real tight on me, baby, you must really like that”), rolling his hips and driving in hard until your eyes rolled back and you couldn’t even find your voice to beg him for more. “And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you? Not gonna fight me, are you baby? Just gonna let me take care of everything, I know what you need, daddy’s gonna give you fucking everything — that’s it, angel, just shut the fuck up and take it, you’re so good at that”.

He made you come like that, and then flipped you over, lifted your hips up and licked you out from the back, slapped you across the clit if you tried to run away from it, told you to “take it, don’t fucking run, gonna make a big mess aren’t you, show me, fuckin’ show me, that’s so good, you’re so good”, and then fucked you like that — pushed your face into the mattress and laid into you until you did make a mess, till you were drooling with it.

He was back in full sweetheart mode when he was done with you — ran you a bath and toweled you dry and held you in his arms till you fell asleep, kissed your head and said “thank you, baby, did so good for me, gave me everything I’ll ever need”. He was complex like that — a menace, an angel, a demon, a fucking fairytale prince. And you were lucky enough that you got to see every inch of it, bask in the flow of it.

[1800titz]

TDIAG MASTERLIST

The one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, an exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and and two evident sides to a very interesting man.

TDIAG things | TDIAG asks | NSFW ALPHABET | TDIAG extras | THE MAIN MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 1

The pilot episode feat. a gangbang

When Harry was twenty two, if a dangerously overconfident, time-hopping doppelgänger had pulled up in a freaky, rubber balaclava ('listen, mate' — hand on the shoulder and everything, like the reenactment of a cliché, time-honored rite of passage), and told him that in the very near future, his Friday nights would be indefinitely spent wearing a Greek moniker in the form of a fetishized allusion, that he’d be garbed by a latex mask to protect the sacred, fragile veil of secrecy— Well. He'd probably get a head start for padded walls and a straight jacket. Consider he was doing himself a favor with that one. But if he were told the same thing at twenty three, he'd probably choose to overlook the minor detail of reality imploding and sit back in his armchair, swirling his whiskey with excitement. Twenty three was an eventful year. He’d started casually enjoying whiskey after a long workday (honestly, a palate milestone in and of itself) and became enlightened on the fine art of tactically-applied suffering (and with it, gained a whole new appreciation for high-quality restraints). Because sometimes, a well-placed bruise and bliss just happened to go hand-in-hand.

A/N: Slowly reworking this one but. IT’S officially BACK ON WATTPAD

[0oolookitsme]

So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

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As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

[enalovesharry]

Always a Fineline

warnings - little angstyyy blurb!

summary - basically just you and harry divorcing. lol.

—————————————————————————

There sat the divorce papers between you and your husband, Harry.

Nothing had worked, you’d both been doing couples counselling and tried to build the love back up with endless dates and nights with just the two of you.

Still nothing.

You two weren’t toxic to each other, no, the spark between you both just wasn’t there anymore. It’s like the love between you and Harry had died down, all that was left was an empty hole in both of your hearts.

You met Harry while he was alone at a bar in 2013, from there you both built a really good relationship that soon turned romantic with Harry finally getting down onto one knee in 2016. Now, 2 years later you were both sat at the table Anne gave you and Harry after you’d both moved into the new house.

Harry stared down at the piece of paper, a sad gloomy dew clouding his eyes, the green appearing almost a dark grey colour.

Signing this paper was the last thing you’d have to do before parting ways for good.

“Who gets the house..?” Harry asks, holding the tip of the pen just above the signature box on the form, a frown prominent on his lips, eyes never leaving the paper.

“H, we already talked about this. I’m okay with staying with my parents till I get my new apartment.” You lean back in your chair slightly, eyes still on the curly headed boy you’d thought you’d always call home.

Harry nods sadly, bringing the pen down onto the paper, signing his name slowly before dropping it onto the page, sliding it across to the middle of the table. Yet, he still doesn’t look at you, his eyes still find his way to either the table, the wall behind you or the piece of paper.

“So.. that’s it?” He almost whispers, shrugging one shoulder, finally his eyes meet yours, both your hearts almost break, seeing the visible pain and tiredness on both of your faces, dark circles under your eyes from the lack of sleep due to the build up of this moment.

“You’ll be okay, Harry. I’m still gonna be here for you.” You smile sadly, trying to lighten the mood, even though there’s nothing light about this.

He shakes his head. “It won’t be the same as it was, Y/N. You know that.” He frowns, his head bowing down once again to avoid eye contact.

You stand up, walking around to his side of the table, hands softly coming in contact with his jaw, picking his face up so he’s looking up at you, like he’d always do when you were sad. “I know it won’t be the same, H. But we have to do this, do it for the sake of our mental health. All we’re doing is going around in circles, It’s an endless cycle of this.. of us.” You choke on a sob at the end, tears finally spilling out of your eyes.

Harry had tried so hard to be strong and not breakdown in front of you, but seeing you cry did it for him. Endless tears are shared between the two of you in what seems to be your last moments close to each other. “I still love you though Y/N.”

“Do you really love me or do you just love the thought of me being around you. Think about it Harry, our love is gone.” You lean down, pressing your forehead against his as you both cry, thumbs caressing the pads of his cheeks.

“I really wanted forever.” He whispers.

“Forever in another lifetime, i promise. We’ll be alright.”

————————————

2021, Las Vegas.

The screams of fans roar through the MGM Grand Garden Arena, it was his first show of Love On Tour where he’d debut his latest Fineline album.

Taking the place onto the centre of the stage, a crew member passes him his guitar as the stage rises up slightly, “This is a special one to me, i know a lot of you have been dying to hear it. I hope you love this song as much as I do.” He smiles, clapping and awes can be heard all around the stage.

The first strum of the guitar to the beat of Fineline is played, Harry takes a deep breath, a sudden emotion coming over him in a flashback of how this song was made. Who inspired this special song to him.

“Put a price on emotion, I’m looking for something to buy.”

“You’ve got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes.”

Singing from the crowd can be heard, harmonising Harry in a way no other concert could compare.

“We’ll be a fineline.”

“We’ll be a fineline.”

“We’ll be a fineline.”

Somewhere through the song Harry had closed his eyes, he finally opened them, looking out to the crowd, something in him tells him to take a quick glance up to the VIP box, so he does.

It takes time for him to recognise the person peering over the edge, before it clicks. Y/N.

The person that inspired him to make this album was watching Harry like a hunter show this special album of his to the world.

A small smile cracks at his lips before returning his eyes back to the crowd.

Maybe they will be a fineline.

————————————————————

TBH THIS WAS REALLY BAD AND SHORT CONSIDERING BUT IT IS MY FIRST EVERY WRITING PIECE SO DONT FEEL BAD IF YOU CRINGE BAHAHA!! PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK LOVE YA! I AM ALSO NEW TO WRITING SO THERES PROBS ALOT OF GRAMMAR ISSUES ALSO COS I RUSHED THIS WHILE LISTENING TO MONTELL FISH 😭

i dont exactly like this so feel free to skip like the whole thing!! this is my first time writing a piece like this even though i have many drafts put away, but I wanna say a big thank you to my kind friend @harringtons-honey for quite literally helping me for tips with my writing, i want to truly give you the world for that!!

[daaydreamy]

breathe me in

summary: harry can’t get enough of y/n’s hand around his throat. 

warnings: coarse language, smut, pegging, breathplay (!!!)

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

“Again.” 

“Harry-”

“No, again, please.” Harry whined, blindly searching for Y/N’s hand as an attempt of placing it back against his throat for her to squeeze and grip until he was on the verge of passing out. He wanted his eyes to roll to the back of his head once she takes her hand off, to feel himself trying to bring air back into his lungs desperately while she fucks him so hard he can barely even try. He wants her to be rough, he wants her to be so fucking rough he’s reduced to a mess that can barely even speak he’s so fucked out when they’re done. 

“You’re really just a stupid little whore now, aren’t you?” Her worried tone had dissipated and her hand was pressed against his throat once more, getting tighter and tighter while his wide, wet eyes were looking up at her, still moaning while growing stupider and stupider. He squeezed his eyes shut, the hand he had around her wrist slowly loosening its grip while her harsh thrusts punched even more air out of his lungs. 

After a little bit, Y/N took her hand off of Harry, watching him pant heavily while whining, pushing his head back against the pillow beneath it while having the duvet fisted tightly in his hands. Y/N leaned back against her calves, placing her hand against the back of Harry’s knee, moving it so his leg was propped up against her shoulder, his foot bobbing back and forth beside her head with each thrust she gave him. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Y/N leaned over a bit, giving him a few light slaps against his cheek to get him to open his eyes. He blinked his eyes open and looked up at her, mouth slightly open and his lips wet, drool threatening to run down the side of his cheek. She gave him another slap, just a bit harsher this time, toying with him a little bit. She squeezed his cheeks together, stuck two fingers down his throat, grasped his hair and tugged at it. 

“More?” She asked, smiling at him. He nodded, like he always would. 

a/n: umm

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @sadqn1, @judesgfirl, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @phoebebridgersforqueen, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @harrysgoth, @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite, @cinnamonlola, @youcan-nolonger-run, @velvetrylie, @vamprry, @ellie-luvsfics, @gorlsinmultifandoms, @littlenatilda, @straightontilmornin

[nottsangel]

HP — NSFW + SFW DAYDREAMS

a collection of all the nsfw + sfw thoughts people have shared with me. reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated!

for more thoughts, click ‘more’ behind a character’s name…

…still want more?! check out AU DRABBLES MASTERLIST

*drabbles are organised from newest to oldest

back to the nav.

— THEODORE NOTT ( more. )

NSFW

sex with theo after not seeing each other for a while

theo fucking you in ron’s bed

theo with a piss kink 3

repeating ‘thank you’ when theo’s fucking you

threesome with ron and theo 2

theo with a piss kink 2

double penetration with mattheo and theo

threesome with ron and theo

threesome with pansy and theo

theo being a munch

threesome with mattheo and theo

theo with a piss kink

theo overstimulating you

warm afternoon cuddle with theo

drunk hookup with ex-boyfriend!theo

theo being rough and gentle at the same time

theo comforting you after a bad test

theo eating you out

cockwarming theo in the common room

theo proving others wrong by making you scream

SFW

theo making you addicted to nicotine by kissing him

theo and pregnant reader

theo calls you a slut and apologises

— DRACO MALFOY ( more. )

NSFW

distracting draco during a study session

anal sex with draco

sub!draco being embarrassed of his moans

pervy roommate!draco

draco teaching you how to ride him

toxic and possessive draco

SFW

stay-at-home dad!draco

— DRAGONOTT ( more. )

NSFW

another rough theo and soft draco

rough theo and soft draco

— FRED WEASLEY ( more. )

NSFW

thigh riding with fred

fred fingering you in the common room

enemies to lovers with fred

fred being a perv

fred getting jealous

fred fucking you in the burrow

soft sex with fred

SFW

fred getting touchy after a quidditch match/practice

fred and his slytherin girl

stargazing with fred

fred trying different accents

— GEORGE WEASLEY ( more. )

NSFW

dom!george walking in on you humping your pillow

george being obsessed with your boobs

george fucking you with fred sleeping in the same room

george getting off to eating you out

george pounding into you when you’re on top

SFW

praising george after a quidditch match/practice

— HARRY POTTER ( more. )

NSFW

mean dom!harry

harry being whiny and moany in bed

harry loving his s/o sitting on his face

car sex with harry

— MATTHEO RIDDLE ( more. )

NSFW

threesome with enzo and mattheo

knifeplay with mattheo

double penetration with mattheo and theo

mattheo getting distracted during movie night

overstimulation with mattheo

sucking off sub!mattheo

mattheo being a munch

threesome with mattheo and theo

cockwarming mattheo while doing his makeup

SFW

licking up mattheo’s blood after a fight

cleaning up bloody mattheo after a fight

— RON WEASLEY ( more. )

NSFW

threesome with ron and theo 2

threesome with ron and theo

sub!ron fingering you for the first time

sub!ron cumming in his pants

— LORENZO BERKSHIRE ( more. )

NSFW

threesome with mattheo and enzo

tying lorenzo up during sex

SFW

fuck buddy!lorenzo falling for you

bsf!lorenzo comforting you after a break up

lorenzo having control over you

— TOM RIDDLE ( more. )

NSFW

tom being obsessed with your ass

tom eating you out

© nottsangel.tumblr 2024. do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[hesbunnies]

✨️ here's a list of my favorite harry styles smut one-shots ✨️

* this is part 1! part 2 here! part 3 here! part 4 here! part 5 here! part 6 here!

@gurugirl

• the scientist & the stripper | part 2 | part 3

• again & again

• the work call quickie

• a public nuisance

• dirty & rough

• the italy blurb

• bad morning

• next door neighbors | part 2

• daddy's pretty girl

• little flower

• use me up

• assistance needed

@lukesaprince

• best friend’s brother | part 2

• eavesdropper | part 2

• double booked

• bad idea, right?

• painted on your back

• daddy does it better

• ruin me

• the other man

• “that’s it … that’s my girl one"

• "aw, it hurts? too bad. you're gonna keep taking it until i’m satisfied"

@jarofstyles

• waterfalls

• crush

• watermelon sugar

• toxic | do you fell me now?

• throug my eyes

• sea view

• one more night of freedom

• cowboy!harry pickup truck sex

• dom!harry knowing someone can hear

• cock worship

• dom!harry talking dirty at dinner with their friends

• harry can’t keep his hands out of y/n’s panties

• mean!dom can’t swallow

• hickey

• bffrry daddy

• mean!dom h

• glasses

• thinking about a fan

• mean dom blowie

• shy y/n saying ‘daddy’ 1st time

• size kink

• mean dom

• nerdrry overstimulating

check out all my lists here!!

[sundrop-writes]

The Way You Miss Me

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.

Use my body against me - and all of our history.

I hate the way you miss me. 

Summary:

Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.

And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.

So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.

Word Count: 18,500

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).

For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.

A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.

...

Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated. 

It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world. 

These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you. 

You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple. 

Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures. 

You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together. 

But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone. 

Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.) 

You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks. 

So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all. 

And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited. 

You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again. 

By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it. 

You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk. 

From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way. 

Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley. 

You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’. 

You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go. 

This left you with only one glaring problem. 

You had a crippling fear of heights. 

It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it. 

The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely. 

When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were. 

Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved. 

But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.  

Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again. 

When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear. 

You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was. 

But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds. 

You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension. 

“You alright?” Fred asked you simply. 

“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it. 

You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up. 

So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet. 

This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. 

Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy. 

And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.  

“Y/N,” 

He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling. 

“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,” 

Of course. Just as you had predicted. 

“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-” 

You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly: 

“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-” 

“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.” 

Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever. 

“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?” 

You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body. 

Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side. 

“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.” 

Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward. 

“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.” 

“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him. 

You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. 

And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.) 

Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed. 

This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said: 

“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.” 

This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore. 

Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you. 

But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up. 

He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes. 

The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you. 

It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together. 

So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping. 

You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face. 

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him. 

Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you. 

What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up? 

What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious? 

“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second. 

“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-” 

“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true. 

He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you. 

“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply. 

Your insides became heavy. 

You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned. 

It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it. 

It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it. 

So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread? 

“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next. 

You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face. 

“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly. 

“Why not?” You argued gently. 

You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George. 

He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him. 

Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind? 

“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed. 

He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way. 

“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words. 

You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say. 

“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?” 

Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him. 

“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-” 

“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again. 

‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’ 

“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.” 

He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left. 

But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him. 

“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears. 

You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry. 

You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye. 

For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate. 

So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started. 

“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.” 

With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug. 

You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now. 

You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley. 

You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again. 

It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis. 

The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys. 

You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart. 

But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak. 

It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. 

According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort. 

You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now. 

“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him. 

“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone. 

You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you. 

Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing. 

“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?” 

“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?” 

His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you. 

You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold. 

“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-” 

“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?” 

Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play. 

“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you. 

“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.” 

It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry. 

Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of. 

The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup. 

Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him. 

Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight. 

But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off. 

It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair. 

It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking: 

“Good?” 

To which you replied: 

“m fine.” 

The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off. 

When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes. 

Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life. 

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-” 

“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-” 

“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead. 

Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one. 

They were targeting Fred. 

That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred. 

“Y/N-?” 

“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!” 

You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what. 

You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud. 

You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect. 

You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did. 

You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life. 

Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death. 

He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes. 

It was only you. 

He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.  

He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse. 

He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight. 

You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you. 

As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you. 

“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!” 

“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.” 

Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet. 

His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer. 

He had to pull you up. 

“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-” 

He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely. 

Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you. 

Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care. 

The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground. 

Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state. 

Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs. 

You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” 

Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred. 

But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air. 

You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear. 

“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.” 

Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him. 

“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise. 

He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt. 

You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat. 

Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head. 

“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly. 

Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch. 

It was a horror show. 

The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch. 

“Georgie?” 

There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart. 

But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified. 

“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly. 

At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief. 

“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked. 

“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line. 

You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed. 

“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively. 

Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death. 

Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply. 

“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?” 

Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh. 

“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.” 

You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane. 

���Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly. 

“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist. 

When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here. 

“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.” 

It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves. 

“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off. 

“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.” 

… 

You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process). 

Mad-Eye had been killed. 

You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed. 

You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer. 

When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet. 

Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside. 

Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors. 

“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs. 

He couldn’t possibly be talking about…? 

No. 

No, he wasn’t. 

You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion. 

You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there. 

But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him. 

The sight you saw made your heart ache. 

Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off. 

His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night. 

“Freddie?” 

You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long. 

“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness. 

It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before. 

You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed). 

You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world. 

He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears. 

“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him. 

You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could. 

“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.” 

Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought. 

It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now. 

“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.” 

A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you. 

“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.” 

“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?” 

Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-? 

“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…” 

He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out. 

“I can’t lose you.” 

The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear. 

You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself. 

“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.” 

He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself. 

His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done. 

You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before. 

“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.” 

He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively. 

You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling. 

“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.” 

So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up? 

Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you? 

A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining. 

“I let you go once before.” 

He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up. 

“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.” 

“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew. 

“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours. 

You had missed him so damn much. 

Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out. 

When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare. 

He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.) 

Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival. 

He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him. 

He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them. 

“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once. 

All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length. 

And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-

He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away. 

“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.” 

You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate. 

Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging. 

“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock. 

All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.) 

You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long. 

“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips. 

You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger. 

“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent. 

“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled. 

As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried. 

During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way. 

Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair. 

Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something. 

You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger. 

Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him. 

“Fuck, darling, shite-” 

You quickly became drunk on the feeling. 

Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles. 

The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft. 

“Goddammit, please, please, oh-” 

You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely. 

You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue. 

“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-” 

Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. 

It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks. 

He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first. 

He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling. 

Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh. 

“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?” 

You moaned loudly at this. 

You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak. 

“I need you, pretty girl.” 

He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time). 

“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-” 

He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet. 

“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own. 

He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers. 

“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone. 

“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims. 

“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point. 

“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver. 

You hated that he was right. 

You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself. 

“Go on, good girl.” 

You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well. 

“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra. 

“Oh darling, if only that were true.” 

He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this. 

Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long. 

“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-” 

“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee. 

His words caused you to choke on another moan. 

You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return. 

You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel. 

“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes. 

Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it. 

He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes. 

“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with. 

“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.” 

He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights. 

“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-” 

Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year. 

“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-” 

“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,” 

You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you. 

Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer. 

Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back. 

He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest. 

The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you. 

“Freddie,” 

You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell. 

“Good?” He asked, smirking at you. 

“Yes, but what about-?” 

You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him. 

The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it. 

He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes. 

In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world. 

As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.  

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,” 

You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too. 

But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was: 

“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!” 

“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-” 

Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words. 

Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.) 

“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-” 

“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.” 

He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue. 

You were close. 

Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours. 

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?” 

His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response. 

“Good girl. Come on,” 

He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long. 

“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-” 

His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again. 

“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat. 

As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt. 

“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips. 

“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-” 

He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt. 

“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-” 

He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. 

“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him. 

It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe. 

When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you. 

“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.” 

“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer. 

It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted. 

When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back. 

You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“My things are in Ginny’s room…” 

You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her. 

Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there. 

Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely. 

He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job. 

“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes. 

“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing. 

“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.” 

You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate. 

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,” 

You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted. 

“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,” 

Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you. 

“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness. 

You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier. 

He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you. 

Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed. 

When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking. 

It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind. 

“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream. 

“Goodnight, Freddie.” 

… 

You wondered if all of it had been a dream. 

Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred. 

You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir. 

“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again. 

Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning. 

“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells. 

“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck. 

Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled. 

“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed. 

You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness. 

“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up. 

When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.) 

Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves. 

“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper. 

Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before. 

“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?” 

You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great. 

“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-” 

An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good. 

“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-” 

“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there. 

“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught. 

You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in. 

“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.” 

“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” 

“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored. 

You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill. 

“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him. 

“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?” 

“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned. 

Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen. 

“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.

...

A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!

[1800titz]

for patreon blurb night… elaborate on any of the TDIAG concepts you’ve posted before (please i beg)

Hi bestie!! I did 4.2K for the cold shower concept :O

You can find it on patreon :)

preview

And it begins. He trails to the bathroom, lugging her behind with his hand fisted over her wrist. Flicks the light on. Shuts the door. Doesn’t say much, until—

“What’s your safeword?” as he tugs her close by her belt loops (maneuvering— he always moves her so easy, stuttering on her toes, lugged along, and she just goes). 

“…Red.”

And that’s all, with careful eye contact, before he begins to discard.

“What if I get hypothermia—“

The pads of his nimble digits pop the button of her jeans through its slit. It’s a doomy rustle of fabric in the lull.

“You’re not going to.” 

Isla’s face creases.

“How would you know? I take scalding showers,” (his little dolly) she lets him pry her denim apart and yank, limbs loose, “This is gonna be, like, so bad for my body.”

Harry sighs. Cocks his head. (The paradigm of insouciance— it makes her teeth catch on her bottom lip until the flesh teems white). 

“They’re actually really good for you.”

It makes her marrow itch; the way his thumbs wriggle down under the sides of her panties and so unceremoniously denude. All in one fatal sweep (she turns her chin and stares at the door, with her face spuming heat). He lugs her jeans over the swell of her thighs until he’s kneeling her ankles. A periphery where he cocks his visage up in an inclination for her to step out. 

Isla murmurs, “Not for me.” 

—Until her legs are bare, and her cunt, and her denim (along with her panties— Harry traces the sticky, wet spot with his thumb and it makes her innards spume heat), gets wadded and scraped aside. 

She doesn’t have time to flush harder before his fingers are at the sliver of skin under her tank where underbelly turns to pelvis to mons, beckoning, “Arms up, please.”

It’s humiliating. Shameful— because he’s seen her naked loads, and loads, and loads of times, but sex is different, sex is—

Not this. Not being softly touched over and disrobed for a punishment, like a twisted anomaly that muddles everything behind her skull.

[jarofstyles]

hiiii could we get a really really meandom!Harry who’s very cocky & likes to manhandle y/n please please please 🙏🏻

Yall love a mean h huh? Here’s a baby blurb!!

Patreon

Warnings- mean don obviously, lots of degradation, gagging, slight dumbification,

——-

“I’ve had enough of looking at you disobey me.” He snarled. Her breath was stolen as his hands gripped her hips, physically tossing her on to her knees, not giving her any time to recover as he tugged her up to where he wanted her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She cried out, spitting hair out of her mouth as she tried to plead her case. “I tried to hold it, I really did. It felt t-too good.” Reaching her orgasm without permission was not something the man took kindly to. Not after he made it explicitly clear that he owned every drop of her pleasure.

“Sorry isn’t fucking good enough, is it?” There was little time to think before his cock impaled her again, sliding all the way inside and stealing her breath. A broken moan left her swollen mouth as he pulled out and slammed back in again, jostling her on the bed. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time? Can’t believe I have t’keep teaching you how to be good.”

She knew it was pathetic but she loved when he got like this. When he spoke mean to her, his tone low and sharp as his cock fucked into her. Being used like this was the thing she wanted most of all and Harry gave it to her so good, she couldn’t stop coming back. “I-I….” The girl had attempted to say something, but the thrusts had fucked any thought she had right out of her head.

“You what? Fucking whore… god, it’s a good thing your cunt feels this good. I’d have no use for you if it wasn’t.” He could tell she liked it from how wet she god, gushing around his prick and soaking him more than any other woman had. The sloppy sounds of her ruined cunt getting deep fucked were loud and welcomed, next to her little whines each time he thrust all the way in. “Yeah… good little pussy, takes me so well. At least she works properly, unlike that empty little head of yours. Just lay there and let me use you to get off.”

That had her cunt fluttering around his cock again, clueing him in to just how much she liked the degrading. “Pathetic.” Fingers pressed into her mouth, making her moans muffle as she attempted to suck on them. “Need all your holes filled just t’make you happy. Lucky I’m so nice to you and let you be my fucktoy. I have options, y’know sweets? Could get my dick wet whenever I leave the house but…” he felt her moan on his digits as his other hand dipped his thumb into her ass. “None of them let me toss ‘em around quite like you. You know your place as my pretty set of holes, don’t you?”

There was a feeble attempt at a nod but she was hindered by the fingers she had stroking her tongue, eyes tearing up again as he got deep into her. It felt like he was in her stomach, the intrusion on her ass only adding to the full feeling she’d been craving. “Good. I don’t want t’have to replace you, sweetheart. Don’t think anyone else would get this wet from having their sweet cunt bullied by a cock that’s a bit too big for them to take.”