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Six years of marriage to Zuko, and still there were mornings where you woke up beside him and stared.
Stared at the long dark lashes brushing his cheeks. Long hair falling gracefully even in his sleep.
At the faded scar that had once frightened an entire nation into silence.
At the way his brow furrowed even in sleep, as if being Fire Lord had taught his body to never truly rest.
And every single time, your chest filled with the same warmth.
Mine.
Not because he was Fire Lord.
Not because he was the hero who ended a century of war.
But because beneath all the titles and ceremony and royal robes, he was just your husband.
Quiet
Gentle
A little awkward.
And so full of love it sometimes startled you.
That love had given you two children.
Two very different, very loud, very exhausting children.
And yet somehow both entirely his.
Your eldest, five year old Iroh Jr., was the living, breathing image of Zuko as a boy.
It was almost absurd.
The same dark hair that never sat flat no matter how many servants tried to tame it.
The same golden eyes.
The same little pout when things didn’t go his way.
Even his anger was familiar quick, fiery, explosive, but gone just as quickly when soothed.
He felt hard
He loved hard
He cried hard
He tried hard
Too hard sometimes.
His firebending was clumsy and sputtering still, little sparks and smoke more often than flame, but he never gave up.
Never.
He would stand in the training yard, fists clenched, face red, lower lip trembling with frustration, trying over and over until his tiny shoulders sagged.
And then he’d look at you.
“Mama… did you see that one? Was that better?”
Your heart melted every time.
Because yes yes, it was.
Even when it wasn’t
Especially when it wasn’t.
He was your little boy.
Your mama’s boy
He still crawled into your lap whenever he got sleepy. Still reached for your hand in hallways. Still buried his face in your neck when he got scared.
How could anyone not drown in loving him?
Then there was Zumi.
Four years old.
Four.
And already everyone in the palace whispered in amused admiration that she had more control over her bending than her older brother.
Her flames came smooth.
Sharp and precise.
Elegant little arcs from tiny fingers. Even the masters laughed in surprise.
“A natural talent.”
“She has Fire Lord precision.”
“Princess Zumi may be a prodigy.”
You smiled politely every time.
But inside?
It irritated you.
Because Zumi knew it.
Oh, she knew it.
That little raised brow. That tiny smug tilt of her mouth.
The way she corrected Iroh Jr. every chance she got.
“No, brother, that is not how you stand.”
“No, brother, Father said breathe first.”
“No, brother, you said that word wrong.”
A little smart mouth in silk robes. Always doing things herself. Always refusing help. Always walking around like she had something to prove.
And maybe if she had been softer or if she had been clingier or even if she had run to you with scraped knees and tears the way Iroh Jr. did.. maybe it would have been easier.
But she didn’t.
Zumi rarely asked for affection.
Rarely cried
Rarely cuddled.
She preferred corners, books, puzzles, and practicing tiny disciplined firebursts until she got them right.
Independent.
Sharp-tongued.
Detached.
You told yourself that was simply her nature.
And when she teased her brother, you scolded her.
When she rolled her eyes, you snapped.
When she stood there staring blankly after being corrected, you assumed she did not care.
So your attention naturally returned to Iroh Jr.
The child who needed you the child who wanted you and the child who loved you loudly.
You never thought much of it.
Not really.
But someone did..
Zuko noticed everything.
Every. Single. Thing.
Because fathers noticed things mothers sometimes missed when mothers were too busy loving and also because Zuko had lived this before.
He would watch from doorways.
From council halls
From the garden
From behind open screens
Silent.
Observing.
Iroh Jr. scrambling into your lap while you laughed and kissed his hair.
Zumi standing a few feet away with her hands behind her back, expression unreadable.
You asking your son ten questions about his day. You asking your daughter one.
You kissing Iroh Jr. goodnight three times because he asked for “one more.” You tucking Zumi in with a distracted “sleep well.”
Small things.
Tiny things.
Harmless things.
But Zuko knew better than anyone.. children were built from tiny things.
Not grand cruelties not dramatic hatred.
Tiny things.
Who got looked at first.
Who got forgiven faster.
Who got held longer.
Sometimes, while watching, his stomach would turn cold.
And suddenly he wasn’t in the palace courtyard anymore.
He was eight years old again.
Standing beside Azula.
Watching his father praise her perfect lightning stance.
Watching himself fail.
Watching his mother rush to him afterward with soft hands and worried eyes.
Watching Azula stand farther away.
Not talking.
Never asking.
Smirking because she had learned early that asking got you nowhere.
His mother loved Azula. He knew she did. But love given unevenly still leaves bruises. Azula had sharpened herself on every bruise until she became a blade.
And Zuko…
Zuko had spent years believing he was simply the easier child to love alwayss the wounded one the needy one. The one who reached.
Azula never reached.
So eventually people stopped extending their hands.
That memory haunted him.
Because now..
now when he looked at Zumi, standing too straight for a toddler, too composed, too proud to cry
he saw a little girl teaching herself not to need.
And that terrified him...
The incident happened on a bright afternoon.
One of those warm palace days where the stone floors held sunlight and children’s laughter echoed through every corridor.
Zuko had been in the garden reviewing reports when he heard giggling from inside.
He smiled automatically.
Your laugh was in there.
Iroh Jr.’s shrieking little laugh too.
He moved closer, unseen through the open carved doors.
He saw you walking out of your chambers.
Saw Iroh Jr. crouched beside the doorway, barely hidden.
The boy jumped.
“RAAAH!”
You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest.
“Oh no! A terrifying dragon!”
Iroh Jr. collapsed into hysterical laughter.
You lunged, tickling him until he squealed and kicked.
Zuko leaned against the pillar, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
This.
This was everything he had wanted when he was a child.
Joy without fear and love without conditions.
Then Iroh Jr. caught his foot in your robe, pitched forward and hit the floor.
The laughter shattered into a cry.
Instantly you dropped down.
“Oh baby oh sweetheart, let me see”
He sobbed over a scraped knee and reddened palms. You scooped him up immediately, kissing tears from his cheeks, blowing over the scratches, murmuring soothing nonsense.
“It’s alright, mama’s got you, mama’s got you…”
Zuko’s smile softened.
He loved you most in moments like these.
Tender.
Instinctive.
Safe.
You carried the boy toward the washroom to clean him up.
And behind the opposite door
small feet shifted.
Zuko’s eyes moved.
Zumi.
She had been watching.
Quiet as always.
Half-hidden.
Studying and learning.
Zuko saw realization light in her face
Oh. 'This is how we play'
Tiny excitement.
Tiny hope.
Before he could speak, she darted out.
You had just adjusted Iroh Jr. higher on your hip when
“RAAH!”
Zumi threw herself at your back (the same way iroh has just done a few minutes ago).
You stumbled, catching yourself. Iroh Jr. wailed louder.
And your reaction came sharp, immediate, stressed.
“Zumi, for goodness’ sake! What are you doing? Iroh is hurt! oh gods…”
Annoyance.
Dismissal.
No laugh.
No tickles.
No playful gasp.
You hurried away with Iroh Jr. in your arms.
Leaving Zumi standing there
Frozen
Zuko felt his heart stop.
Because children understand faster than adults think.
He watched his daughter’s face as the pieces clicked together.
That game was only funny when brother did it.
Brother gets kisses.
Brother gets held.
Brother gets mama.
Her lip trembled.
She blinked hard.
One tear slid down before she angrily wiped it away. Trying to pretend no one saw. Trying to be composed. Trying not to need.
Four years old.
And already trying not to need.
Zuko saw not Zumi.
He saw Azula.
He saw the little girl who had once laughed too loudly and boasted too proudly because pride was easier than asking why no one came after her.
His chest caved in.
Just as Zumi turned toward her room, shoulders stiff, Zuko stepped through the doorway.
“BOO.”
She squeaked and jumped.
His hands were under her arms before she could protest, lifting her high.
She gasped.
“Daddy!”
“Oh? Princess Zumi was scared?” he teased.
“No! I'm not!” she huffed.
He attacked her cheeks with kisses.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until a startled laugh burst out of her.
A real laugh. Loud and bright and childlike.
There it is, he thought desperately.
There’s my little girl.
He held her close, tighter than usual.
And while she buried her face in his shoulder pretending she was too dignified for this, Zuko closed his eyes.
I see you.
Even if others miss it, I see you.
That night, after both children were asleep, Zuko stood outside your shared chamber for a long time.
Long enough that the servants passing pretended not to notice their Fire Lord staring at a door like it was an enemy general.
He dreaded this conversation.
Because he knew you loved your children.
He knew you were not cruel.
And somehow that made it harder.
Cruelty could be fought.
Blindness required tenderness.
He entered.
You were in bed reading.
You smiled softly when you saw him.
“There you are. You look exhausted. Come here, I’ll massage your shoulders.”
His heart twisted.
Gods, he loved you.
This would hurt.
“I’m alright,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made you set the book aside.
“What is it?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Hands clasped
The unclasped
Clasped again.
For a while he just stared at the floor.
Then he said, “Can we talk about the children?”
You blinked.
“Of course.”
"was zumi picking on iroh again?" You said ready to get up to check the kid's bedroom.
"No no, it's something different" he said quickly
"alright, I'm listening"
He inhaled shakily.
And began with a story.
He told you about being young. About always feeling too much. About failing in front of his father. About his mother pulling him close after every humiliation.
About Azula standing there with that strange little smile. He told you how he used to think Azula didn’t care. That she was simply mean by nature.
Proud.
Cold
sharp.
Self-sufficient.
Until years later he realized children do not become hard for no reason. They become hard because softness goes unanswered.
Your face slowly changed.
Confusion.
Then discomfort.
Then dawning horror.
Zuko’s voice broke.
“Sometimes… I wish my mother had tried harder with Azula.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“She loved us both. I know she did. But she worried about me more. Held me more. Defended me more. And Azula…” he swallowed, “Azula learned that no one was coming when she stood quietly.”
You whispered, “Zuko…”
He looked up at you, eyes glassy.
“When I watch Zumi stand there after you walk away from her ” his breath shuddered, “—I feel like I’m watching ghosts.”
You went still.
Completely still.
He pressed on before courage left him.
“You are an incredible mother,” he said quickly, tears spilling now. “This is not me accusing you. I know how much you love them. I know how much you love our son.”
His voice cracked on our son.
“But Zumi is still a baby too.”
That shattered something in you.
“She doesn’t ask,” you whispered weakly.
Zuko nodded, crying openly now.
“I know.”
His hand found yours.
“That’s exactly why she needs us to offer.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
You remembered every clipped response.
Every impatient sigh.
Every time Zumi stood there expressionless and you assumed she was unaffected.
You remembered her little face that afternoon.
You had not even turned around.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh my god…”
Tears blurred your sight.
“I didn’t see it.”
“I know,” Zuko whispered.
You covered your mouth with shaking fingers.
“I didn’t see it.”
And that was somehow worse than if you had.
Because neglect born from accident still leaves the same wound.
You began sobbing.
“I love her, I really do.. so much—”
“I know,” Zuko said immediately, crawling onto the bed and gathering you into his arms.
“I know you do.”
You clutched his robe like drowning.
“I failed her.”
“No,” he murmured into your hair, though his own tears soaked your temple. “No. You are seeing her now. That matters.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face.
“Please,” he whispered, forehead against yours, voice shaking with every ounce of fatherly fear he had carried for months, “I cannot watch one of my children grow up believing they must earn their mother.”
That sentence broke you. Completely.
Because suddenly you saw it all.
Zumi’s independence.
Her sarcasm.
Her perfectionism.
Her refusal to cry.
Not confidence.
Armor. Tiny little armor. And she was only four.
That night neither of you slept much. You lay against Zuko’s chest listening to his heartbeat while guilt hollowed you out.
His fingers stayed threaded in your hair. Protective and steady.
As if he was holding together not just you
but the family he was terrified to lose to old patterns.
In the nursery down the hall, two children slept.
One loved loudly.
One loved quietly.
And tomorrow, you swore to yourself with tears still wet on your cheeks
you would learn how to hear both...
Ok guys, I just took a break from the series to make this. When I thought about this story, I just couldn't wait to write it down.
(And yes, I used a part of atla for the children, where zuko and azula were kids)
I hope it was ok. Let me know if you want me to think about part 2.
i think zuko is very much the type to nuzzle into you during sex.
he’s on top, chest pressed flush to yours, one hand laced tightly with yours so your fingers are interlocked above your head. his face is buried in the curve of your neck, nose pressed right against your racing pulse, lips parted as he breathes hot and shaky against your skin.
you’ve got one hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him there while you moan softly with every slow, deep roll of his hips. your toes curl against his back, heels digging in like you’re trying to pull him even closer.
and he’s completely mesmerized.
he’s lost in the way you sound—those pretty little whimpers and gasps that make his stomach tighten; lost in the way you look all flushed and wrecked beneath him, but also completely overwhelmed by the pleasure flooding his own body. every time you clench around him he lets out this soft, broken sound against your throat, like he can’t believe how good it feels.
he doesn’t thrust hard. he just rocks into you slow and deep, nuzzling closer, lips brushing your pulse like he’s trying to memorize the way your heart beats for him.
I started this as an easy background drawing because I lost the energy to do a character today. But it ended up really motivating me and became a much better painting than I expected!
.
Daily drawing 2236
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.” Niall answered, his voice lowered while they sat across from each other in a cafe booth. It was a relatively nice day, the weather was beautiful, so they were planning on doing something – what that would be, they weren’t sure, but they started it with lattes and croissants and discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed in public (but what’s new), “Seriously, like – and I just need to take a deep breath because you’re finally listening to me. I don’t know how to tell you this but I bought you a collar like a month ago because I knew you’d pussy out.”
Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!”
“I did,” he nodded, “I didn’t get the rest of all the things because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” he swallowed, then shook his head, “No, I’m lying, I wanted you to fully commit to the bit so I ordered everything. Leash, tail. . .I mean, fuck it, I got ears too.”
or
Y/N likes Harry, and that's convenient, because Harry likes her too
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
(8.4k+ words)
vi.
Y/N has never been very good at science.
Life sciences, like biology, she could figure out easily enough if there were pictures, and chemistry, she could fumble her way through after spending at least an hour screaming into her pillow about how much she didn’t want to do it. Things like physics, though, always zipped right over her head. With a limited understanding of whatever the hell Newton and Einstein were talking about also came a limited understanding of anything that may have to do with space. It was interesting, but actually learning about the concepts that shape their whole universe? Terrifying. Y/N would rather not know how big the galaxies are, because then she needs to start considering the existence of extraterrestrial life, and she feels like as soon as you go down that rabbit hole, you’re asking to get abducted.
But she does know about supernovas. Only because of a song that she really liked mentioned them, and she had to see what it was. There was a long, intricate explanation as to why they happen, but what Y/N took away from it was that they were an explosion, and it was so bright, it could outshine galaxies. Beautiful colors emerge, blues, purples, pinks, greens, oranges, impressive and intense.
Whatever is happening in her chest right now, Y/N thinks is close to a supernova. It feels just as colorful and complex. As bewitching, and as dazzling. As captivating, and as terrifying. Her heart races with it, confused, excited, overjoyed, hopelessly giddy. She probably needed a moment to sort through all the thoughts spinning around in her head, but right now, she knew she wouldn’t get one. She didn’t mind that either – not right now. Not when this is a version of Harry that she’d never been privy to. One that she’d never believed she’d ever get to witness.
Harry, from the moment he’d stepped through her door, was more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. And she’d seen him with his cock out and everything, consumed by lust, his bare bum walking to her bathroom – all pretty vulnerable positions, she’d say. Like, he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught by a bear in that state. But this emotional vulnerability was something else entirely for such a typically emotionally guarded, closed-off person. The impassive and at times apathetic man that she had come to know had been dipped in honey and set before her. Or, better yet, maybe dipped in an acid, to erode the outer shell and reveal the honeyed center beneath.
He’d taken her to the sofa immediately, sat down across from her, his hands held out with his palms facing upward, and Y/N wasn’t sure if it’d been a silent request or a silent offering. Maybe both – she took it, no matter what it was, and slid her fingers between his own. Their hands were tight around one another's, as Harry curled his over her knuckles, his thumb stroked her where it lay.
“I wanted to apologize to you,” Harry started, measured and sure, despite the way his cheeks flamed hot and fiery with what she could only imagine was immense embarrassment. Not that she thought his reaction was anything to be embarrassed about – had roles been reversed, she probably would have cried the moment she saw him then tried to crawl up under his shirt or something. But she knew that Harry wasn’t used to expressing himself or his feelings this intensely, so she understood the nerves behind it. “I should have warned you that Maren would be there, but I wasn’t sure how. . .how to explain why I was telling you? I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. And I really didn’t think she’d be a problem – she’s always been a thorn in my ass, but she usually isn’t so pointed with her advances.” He shook his head with a soft sigh, “But that’s beside the point. You mentioned me not messaging you as much?” Y/N nodded, and Harry nodded with her, “That had nothing to do with Maren,” he explained, “I was. . .if I’m honest, I was worried that I had been too overbearing while you were out for that week.”
Y/N tilted her head, “Overbearing? I didn’t think so.” She shook her head, “You really took care of me. If you want to see overbearing, you need to meet Ni’s aunt – she checks his forehead like 5 times in the span of 10 minutes to make sure he isn’t too warm.”
A small smile wormed onto his mouth, warmed and soothed the worry off of his face, “That’s good to know,” he replied, “I suppose I got into my head too, about it all. Especially when you didn’t want to talk to me.”
With a grimace, Y/N explained herself, “Yeah, that – I didn’t handle that well, I don’t think,” she swallowed hard, “I just – um. . .like I was – I kind of thought I walked in on you two kissing?” Then she hurriedly adds, “Which is within your right to do! You aren’t not allowed to do what you want, I just didn't –” she huffed a sigh, unsure of how to articulate it beyond the easiest way, which happened to be the most humiliating, “I know we aren’t technically together or anything, but it made me jealous. I was jealous, and petty, and wanted to ignore you until I could sort myself out. I get it if the whole jealousy thing makes you uncomfortable, and like...I mean, I want to promise that it won’t happen again, but I don’t know if I can.” She swallowed even harder, chin tipped down, staring at their hands. Even just two weeks ago, Y/N would have rather worked with notoriously difficult Chhurpi cheese than tell Harry that she was jealous. To even allude to the fact that her feelings for him might be beyond what they had started this with.
But tonight, it didn’t feel so hard. It took her a while to spit it out, sure, but she still was able to get there. Part of what encouraged her was the way his hands felt against hers, the expanse of their palms pressed together so warmly that it thaws out her usually cold fingers. Another part was the blatant, and unremitted display of affection he’d doled out to her as soon as he stepped through the threshold of her flat, as if he didn’t peck her face with a hundred kisses, she’d disappear in a puff of smoke. And another – the way he was looking at her. His eyes were softened in a way she only vaguely recalls after they had sex, when she’s only a couple of minutes from passing out, pressed tightly to his side.
“When I called you the other night and you were with Youngjae, I was so jealous that I could barely see straight,” he admitted suddenly, honestly, “Surely, you realized that? I threw a fit, practically – covered you in all of those marks. Even before then, when he’d only just complimented your meal, invited you to practice under him, and I was just so mad that he’d asked right in front of me. So I took you home and I fucked you that night. Don’t you remember?”
Y/N nodded, but still, she considered his words, “I kind of figured. Or, well, at least Niall kind of figured and then told me that you were jealous.”
“Niall is smarter than he looks.”
“But I guess I just wondered what it was you even had to be jealous of? I mean, you and YoungJae are kind of carbon copies of each other, only he’s Korean!”
Harry clicked his tongue, “No,” he disagreed, “That’s not the only difference. He’s more personable, more gentle, he seems sweeter, and more patient. Adam told me you had a dedicated crying corner to go to when I yelled at you. It’s different,” he seemed stressed, remembering it, “He’s different than me, and I figured that you’d go and realize that you could learn with someone nicer, who was attractive, and probably had a crush on you.”
“A crush on me?” Y/N gaped, then sat up straighter, “What the hell? What made you think that?”
His eyes go wide, “What, you don’t think he likes you? He looked at you like you’d given him a star or something. It was so irritating.” Y/N couldn’t help it when she snorted, a giggle bubbled from her throat, and she had to slip one of her hands from his to cover her mouth, “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not!” She bit down on her lip to suppress it, but it still slipped free, “It’s just – Harry, he looks at everyone like that! He even looks at you like that – actually, he looks downright dreamy when he even thinks about you.”
Y/N has never seen Harry truly, genuinely pout until tonight. His bottom lip jutted out, and he still looked grumpy, but Y/N wanted so badly to slip her hands onto his face and pull him to her mouth. To dig her teeth into his lip and nibble and pull at it until he whines, too. She took his hand again, then chanced pulling his hand up to her face, running her cheek along his knuckles, “You’re just saying that.” He muttered.
“You’re so silly,” Y/N replied. This is such a refreshing development, she thinks. Never would she have expected this from Harry – this pouting, jealous, slightly insecure version of him that thinks she’d run off with Youngjae because he was nice to her. She doesn’t even have time to consider being mad at Niall for exposing her crying corner to Adam, because all she can think about is how upset Harry seemed that it even had to exist. There was a guilt clear on his features, but whispered between his words. Honestly, Y/N hadn’t even thought about how Harry used to yell at her for a long time. “I’m not just saying it! He didn’t give me any vibes like he might like me.”
Harry tipped his chin up and looked to the side, and wow, she wondered if she reached out and touched his ear, if it’d feel as hot as it looked, “Well, I don’t know how much I trust your detection skills, if I’m being honest.” He mumbled, “It seems like Niall has to do most of the ground work.” Still, despite a grumbled reply, he flipped his hand around so that he cradled her cheek instead, resting it against his palm.
This giddy feeling that overruns her is nice. It’s fun – she likes it, after so long of being so upset and confused and distraught. She thinks she’s finally starting to understand, though. . .that she’s finally getting it. What Niall had been seeing this entire time.
“Harry?” She inquired, and he hummed, eyes following Hazelnut as she sat across from them, and looped her tail around her bottom paws. When she doesn’t say anything to immediately follow it, Harry turned to look at her, his green eyes bright, “If I asked to see you and we didn’t have sex, and we didn’t cook something. . .would you be okay with that?”
Harry answered without hesitation, “Yes.”
“And if I. . .if I said that I only wanted you to do stuff like this with me? Sex, and…and seeing each other outside of it?” The nerves almost stop her from saying it, threatening to clog her throat.
“Then I’d tell you that it’s been like that from the start,” he replied again, immediately, “I’d tell you that you’re the only person I want to see. The only one I want to sleep with. The only person I’d like to be with.”
Y/N grinned. She scooted across the sofa to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and Harry slid his arms around her waist. It was warm — Y/N wondered when the last time they hugged like this was. If they’ve ever even hugged like this. There’s so much that they have done together, but still so much they hadn’t, and if this was them opening the door to all of that, she was more than enthusiastic.
With her chin hooked around his shoulder, Harry’s face is dipped into her throat. He takes a deep breath, then a slow exhale, “This is a lot, for me,” he told her, “I wish that you could just siphon information from my brain instead of me having to say it.”
“Ah, you might need to get used to saying it, though. I’m kind of dense – Niall says so at least.”
Somehow, they had ended up in her bed. Nothing crazy, nothing sexual, just the two of them tangled up in each other’s limbs, and for the first time, Harry falls asleep first. He had all but demanded that she let him spoon her, so she didn’t get to look at his face, but with the way his breathing had slowed and how heavy his arm felt around her waist, she knew he was resting. This is a sort of content that she seldom gets to feel and still be all in her head to truly enjoy it. Harry’s body is pressed warm against her back, he sounds sweet with little snores, and Y/N can’t help but melt into him entirely.
All the vulnerability must have tuckered him right out. Y/N smiled to herself, stretching her arm over his, her hand resting over his hand. Even in his dreams, he raises two fingers for her to curl around. Twists his fingers up in hers.
Her insides feel bright, wicked, an ebullition of colors that rival a supernova.
. . .
The thing is, Y/N feels bad.
Listen, she knows she shouldn’t! She and Harry have discussed their feelings, and they’ve communicated relatively decently about the entire situation and how to avoid it in the future. Harry only implores her that if she has an issue, she bring it to him directly, no matter how intimidating she might think he is. Whether it be work-related or not, Harry is not the type to let issues fester. He’d like to nip it in the bud immediately, as soon as possible, even if he’s the one who is upset.
So they’d discussed it, and they’d apologized for the misunderstandings, and it should be in the dust by now. Just something they had learned and grown from – something in the past.
But Y/N replays how Harry had walked into her flat, how he’d cradled her face, kissed her a thousand times, told her to never completely ice him out again. To never not speak to him, to leave him in the dark, and it’d only been a few days – barely.
She feels bad, though. He’s told her dozens of times that she shouldn’t feel bad, because it wasn’t her fault – the situation was just an incorrect interpretation of the other’s thoughts and feelings at the time. That he wasn’t upset, to stop apologizing, that if she said sorry to him one more time, he would get upset.
So she has an idea. And she takes her idea to Niall, because he hadn’t steered her wrong at this point, and he would let her know if it was stupid or not. If she would look ridiculous doing it. If she should just make him a meal or something to quell the ache in her chest.
“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.” Niall answered, his voice lowered while they sat across from each other in a cafe booth. It was a relatively nice day, the weather was beautiful, so they were planning on doing something – what that would be, they weren’t sure, but they started it with lattes and croissants and discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed in public (but what’s new), “Seriously, like – and I just need to take a deep breath because you’re finally listening to me. I don’t know how to tell you this but I bought you a collar like a month ago because I knew you’d pussy out.”
Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!”
“I did,” he nodded, “I didn’t get the rest of all the things because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” he swallowed, then shook his head, “No, I’m lying, I wanted you to fully commit to the bit so I ordered everything. Leash, tail. . .I mean, fuck it, I got ears too.”
“Niall!” She exclaims, but he pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly drags up the link from an email, “How much was – why am I so shocked?”
Niall clicked his tongue. “I don’t know why you’re shocked at all, actually, I told you I was going to,” he spun the phone around, sliding it across the table, “S’crazy right? It wasn’t that pricey, consider it a birthday present. So, I’ll kind of guide you through this because I know you’ll get in your head and freak out. I was actually intensely into pet play like three years ago, so this is perfect.”
That’s how Y/N ended up here, after extensive teachings from Niall, examples, and demonstrations that make her face feel so hot it might melt off. It all led to her inviting Harry over to her flat on their day off, with a medium-sized collar around her throat that had his name stitched into it. A leash was clipped to the metal clasp at the back of it, which she looped around her wrist while she moved around so she didn’t get tangled in it. She had a set of ears clipped in neatly on her head, flopping, similar to her hair color, but stuck out enough that it was clear what they were. The most shocking of all, however, and the most time spent between her and Niall, was him teaching her how to open herself up for a plug.
He showed her how to on his Fleshlight, which looked like a bum, and he’d promised her he’d cleaned it out before he pulled it out for their “fingering-lesson” as he continued to call it. Y/N thinks that if she had said it was okay, Adam would have been on the phone guiding her as well, but she was feeling way too bashful for that. Hell, even talking about it with Niall was a lot, as he described how much lube, the depth she should start with, how many fingers, but even before that – her diet and how to clean herself out to prepare for it. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever stared so hard at a fleshlight in her life, as she watched him spread it open, talk about the right and wrong way to do it.
So, spreading her open, a plug with a tail fixed to the end of it caressed the insides of her thighs every time she moved. It was insane, all of this, but they had talked about it before – briefly. Discussed what they wanted to do, how he wanted her to be a proper puppy, and Y/N wanted that too. She just wishes she could skip to the part where she was so cock dumb and empty-headed that she didn’t feel all the anxious, jittering nerves inside of her.
Because what if Harry was just saying that as pillow talk? What if he’d just been trying to work her and himself up, but the actual thought of it he didn’t want. Maybe they needed to sit and have a proper chat about it, before she just balls to the wall went all in and dressed like a fucking dog then invited him over to her flat. This is actually insane work, honestly, and yeah Niall is right about most things but he’s also a horny freak who typically has partners equally freaky and horny as him. She doesn’t think he’s ever not thoroughly discussed a scene before he did something new with someone either, so when Y/N had mentioned that they’d spoken about it, he probably thought she’d meant actually discussed it. Like sitting across from each other, going through hard nos, dos, and don’ts, and not when Harry was twisting a hand around his prick, and she was a hairpin trigger away from cumming untouched.
Y/N has nearly completely talked herself out of it by the time she hears her front door open and completely stills. She was sitting on her bed, feeling stupid, silly, and a ton of other negative adjectives that did not instill any confidence in her before something she probably needed a lot of confidence for. She was trembling, her stomach turning, her heart kind of felt like it might be thudding in her throat, and her blood roared through her ears when Harry called for her. First, just her name. Then, “Baby?” Which is a new development – a welcomed one, but one that gets her all fuzzy inside, no matter how many times he’d begun to casually refer to her as such.
Eventually, she hears his footsteps get further inside. The floorboards shift at the beginning of her hallway, then again right outside of her door, and his hand presses against the wood as he swings it open quietly. He probably thought she had fallen asleep waiting for him or something, which would explain why he was attempting to be so quiet. Instead, he is met with her, sitting on her knees, her hands were supposed to be in her lap per Niall’s instructions, but instead they were curled up in the blankets at her side.
Harry’s gaze falls upon hers. He blinks a couple of times, like he might be trying to adjust his eyesight to the lower lighting of the room. Or maybe he’s just trying to make sure that this wasn’t some elaborate hallucination that he’d suddenly uncovered. When he stops blinking, the image of her stops disappearing and reappearing before his eyes, and there she still stays. Did he think this was embarrassing? Maybe he was experiencing the world’s greatest second-hand embarrassment – so bad that they could put it in a world record book. Or maybe he was trying not to laugh at her. She probably looked ridiculous, didn’t she? She’d barely looked herself in the mirror once she put the ears in – just enough to make sure they were level with one another before she fucked off into the bedroom. There’s no bra, there’s no underwear – she’s stark naked, just sitting, waiting, like a dog would. Like a puppy.
“Ohhhh, I see,” his voice is careful, as he takes a step forward, “My baby isn’t here, hm? I just have a sweet little puppy instead.”
Y/N swallows hard, dipping her head down and lowering her front half against the mattress. When Harry outstretches his hand, she rubs her face into his open palm; her cheek, her nose, her mouth. It felt good, especially when he curled his fingers up in her hair and scratched gently at her hairline, caressing upward through it, to stop at the ears. There’s a soft tug, and her head jerks with it before she settles again, letting his hands explore and move around her new accessories.
It’s when his fingers dance from her head, along her human ears, down to her neck that the pads trace around the collar. He follows the border of it, the threading, slips two fingers between her throat and the leather. It’s tight–not so tight that it’ll choke her, but it’s definitely a weighty presence–one that’s hard to ignore. That must be when he sees it, though, as he strips around the material, because he pauses, he reads, his breathing hitches, and –
– he moans. Something loud, a little whiny, erupting from the back of his throat.
“Fuck,” he mumbles out, dragging his thumb along the embroidery, “Oh my fucking god.” YN lets him continue to pet her but shifts forward, nudging the back of her head against his hand. He slides his fingers to the front of the collar again, twists the thin leash around his knuckles, and gives a soft, gentle tug, “C’mon, you know better. No puppies on the bed.” He helps guide her down, on hands and knees, carefully dismounting from the mattress in the most awkward, limb-filled way she could have. Eventually, she is on the floor, the carpet digging into her nails and into her knees, her face flaming hot when she rubs her cheek against his calf, which may be more of a kitten thing than a dog thing. Niall told her that it could be interchangeable a bit, because typically, all the non-geared-up person in the dynamic cared about was that the other person was giving in to base desires and acting like an animal.
From this angle, he must be able to see the tail because another murmured curse slips from his mouth, before she feels the same gentle, prodding fingers that usually nudge at her lips, move around her bum. The rim is stretched and messy with lube, so when Harry carefully pushes into it, Y/N whines and lurches forward. Her skin is sensitive, where it’s soft and slick, and he goes from moving around the plug to letting his fingers drag through the tail, “Such a filthy fucking thing. Where did you even get toys like this?”
Y/N doesn’t answer, because she’s a dog and dogs don’t speak. She does shake her bum, though, move her hips from side to side so the tail swings and tickles the back of her thighs. It’s humiliating in a way that she can’t describe but the way Harry is looking at her, the heat that flurries through his gaze, the lump in his trousers where his cock is pressing up against the zipper. It’s worth it. It’s well worth the way part of her wants to crawl her way right under the bed and not let him pull her out until science can figure out a way to wipe her memory clean.
But it also feels. . .good. Kind of, she doesn’t know – she needs to stay like this for a little longer. To really get the feel for it. Really see how deep into puppy space she could get.
Y/N, let’s Harry guide her out of the bedroom. He leads her carefully, doesn’t tug or pull, and Y/N appreciates it. Since they weren’t able to sit down and discuss every avenue of this, she could tell that Harry was approaching it cautiously. He doesn’t just automatically start tugging her around because he doesn’t know that she’s okay with that yet. Doesn’t start spanking her and fucking her with her plug because he doesn’t know that she’d like that. Doesn’t shove her nose into his crotch and make her mouth at him wetly, because he has no clue that the thought makes her want to start drooling.
He guides her to the sofa, and when he sits down, Y/N sits pretty beside his feet. Harry pets her head like she really is a puppy, cooing at her sweetly, “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to her jaw, his fingers caressing her skin, “Knows exactly how to be a good puppy already, don’t you? Might not even have to train you.” He hums, “But if my puppy wants to stop this at any time, all she has to say is Duck, okay? And if you can’t talk, then just squeeze my hand three times.”
Y/N nods and shudders, dips her face against his knee, and nudges against him. Harry chuckles, grabs a pillow off her couch, and sets it on the floor between his spread feet. Once again, he gives the leash a little pull and coaxes her with sweet words, “Knees on the pillow, Pup. Why don’t you rest your head on my thigh for a little bit?”
That’s easy enough, Y/N could do that. Niall had told her the brunt of this – what makes this all so sexy – is the complete control that Harry would have over her. If he told her to bark, then bark, if he wanted her to pant with her tongue hanging out and drool all over his cock, then she’d do it. Of course, she doesn’t think they’d get too intense tonight, because Harry is – above all else – a good, dominant partner in the dynamic. He knows when to lead and when to step back, how far to take it, and what to relax with.
So she trusts him implicitly. Even more so when his fingers press against her lips, Y/N opens them eagerly so that he can feed them into her mouth. She sucks on them, licks around his knuckles and sighs contently – it’d been a while since he’d had his fingers in her mouth like this. Y/N forgot how much she liked it; the weight of his fingers against her tongue, the scrape of her teeth along his nails, the salty taste of his skin. She likes how full she felt with only two of them in there. Even more than that, she likes that two of her holes were plugged, and wondered how it might feel to have all three of them. The thought alone makes her shiver.
They stay like this for a while. Harry turns the telly onto something, but she can’t tell if he’s really paying attention or not. Just feels him stroke the top of her head, fuck his fingers inside of her mouth every so often, stretch them against the inside of her cheeks. It’s mind-numbing in a good way, lulling her somewhere else–somewhere sweeter and softer, as the insides of her legs get sticky from how much she’s leaking down between them. Y/N had been good at first, perfectly still just sucking on his fingers, but she starts to wriggle more. Adjusting her hips, pawing at his calves as she slowly began to get restless.
Y/N doesn’t realize she’s whining until she feels her throat vibrate with it, and Harry clicks his tongue softly, “What is it, puppy?” He inquired, and Y/N’s brain is full of cotton and clouds when she looks up at him. There’s drool building up at the corner of her mouth, dribbling out of the sides that Harry drags away with his thumb, “Hm? Are you feeling needy?” He pressed down on her tongue before slipping his fingers out of her mouth entirely. Y/N whines, chasing after them, but he uses his grip on the leash to keep her in place, “You can talk, Honey. Can my dumb puppy speak?”
She opens her mouth, “Please,” her voice sounds wrecked already, “Please, I want – I need it, daddy.”
There’s a flash in his eyes that has her clench around the plug, only making her more painfully aware of how empty her pussy was. “Yeah, you need it?” Harry repeated, biting down hard enough on his lip that the flesh blanched around the indents of his teeth. She swears she saw his cock twitch in his bottoms, which were doing very little to hide how worked up he was. “Okay, baby, show daddy how much you need it, hm?” But when Y/N starts to lift her hands toward his thighs, Harry grabs for both of them, curling his fingers around each one, “Mm, no, no, Sweetheart. Remember, puppies don’t use their hands.”
Y/N nods, swallowing hard, not even worried about it. She could do it without her hands – she didn’t need them. All she needed to do was stretch forward and rub her face into his crotch, which should be more embarrassing than it feels right now. The way she buries her nose against him, breathing in deep, mewling when the pure scent of Harry slithers through her. Her mouth is wide open, tongue pressed out against the fabric of his thin linen trousers – the lavender ones that she was fond of – and soaking it around his cock. How he’d had it trapped against his body had made it hard at first, but the harder he got, the easier it was for her to find the head, to lull her tongue around it. She whimpers, brows curling, lips pursing at the tip and suckling through the fabric like it was all she knew how to do.
Her hands are slid beneath the sofa cushion, so she really wouldn’t use them, but her neck and jaw start getting a little tired from how she has to move without any support. Harry must be able to tell because he tucks his fingers around the back of the collar where it lay against her nape and pulls her away. He laughs when she whines at him, her tongue hanging from her mouth, drool spilling from her, “Wow,” he murmured, “I thought it might take a bit more to get you into a sweet little spot like this, but I forgot how easy you were for it, hm? You trust me, baby?” Y/N nodded – she trusted him more than anything, “Yeah? G’na let me make you feel good?”
Again, she nods, leaning forward when he slackens his grip and runs her tongue over his cock several times, in wet, long strokes. The fabric’s taste isn’t what she wants, though, and Harry lifts his hips and pushes the bottoms down so that his cock is out.
He’s hard. The tip is red, leaking already, and it sways a little with the motion of him pulling it free. Y/N barely waits for permission to get her mouth on him, and while she thinks on a different day, when Harry was more prepared for a scene like this – he might have scolded her. Instead, today, he just lets her do what she wants. Laughs through his nose and strokes the side of her head as she mouths out at his cock, which feels bigger right now for some reason, than it usually does. Especially when she can’t use her hands to help guide it, she just has to part her lips and chase after it. She thinks she probably looks dumb, but she doesn’t care. She wants him in her mouth – needs it, actually.
“Ah, maybe I will have to train a greedy puppy like you after all,” he hums thoughtfully as she slurps around his cock, taking him deep, deep, deep until it touches the back of her throat and it convulses around the intrusion. Y/N slips off, takes barely a breath to compose herself, then goes right back in, “But it’s your first time being my puppy for real, isn’t it? I’ll be more lenient now than I will in the future,” he murmurs and it sounds a little like a warning, when she drools over his cock, down to his balls, lapping at them. He groans, wanton and loud, needy as she was, “God – fuck, c’mon, g’na take care of you. Bet that pussy is so messy, isn’t it baby?”
There’s some maneuvering involved, but Harry ends up on the floor with her, slipping out of his trousers the rest of the way. When he pulls his top over his head and tosses it to the side, Y/N reaches out for it, grabs for it – she doesn’t know why, but she wants it near her, kind of. Lays it next to her head so she could smell him some more, and if she were more in her head, then she’d realize how very omega-like of her this was, and how prideful Niall would be if he realized she’d done this. But she’s nowhere near that level of conscious thought right now. She’s swimming somewhere so beautiful and brainless that she doesn’t even feel shy to press the fabric to her nose and breathe in deeply. Smell his cologne and his sweat from the day.
Harry’s cock twitches when he watches her, and he splits her thighs and looks between her legs. She probably is messy right now, lube and her arousal dripping all over the place. Y/N had been worked up after stretching herself open and sliding the plug in, imagining what Harry’s reaction would be to her, and how hard he might fuck her made her touch herself a little bit too. She’d only gotten to two fingers and only did enough to get herself a little more needy, so she feels deprived and restless right now.
He starts with one fingers, and when her hole sucks him in greedily, he gives her two, right down to the knuckle, “Always so ready for it. Slutty fucking pussy,” he is tentative as he preps her, and with the plug in her bum, it somehow feels more intense. There’s more pressure everywhere, so much so that three of his fingers feel like four, and four of his fingers feel like five. Still, Y/N moans, keens, whines, whimpers – does every sound but bark for him – as he splits her open. It’s so good, she feels so fucking good right now, but all she wants is his cock. Wants him to fill her up and fuck her dumb, even stupider than she is right now. Wants to drool, wants him to fuck her hard and deep, and split around him, and feel the head nudge against her g-spot. She wants to squirt on him and get him messy. She wants him to keep going even when she’s too sensitive and is wiggling away, she wants him to drag her right back to him.
Y/N starts fucking her hips down into him, her arms slung beneath her knees to keep them spread but her hips moving tirelessly. Harry places a hand on her thigh, fingers stretched wide, but he doesn’t stop her from moving. He almost seems amused by it, above anything else, his eyes watching closely, his lips curled into a smile, cooing little encouragement like, “Yeah, there we go, baby, that feels good, doesn’t it?” She nods helplessly, and he curls his fingers relentlessly as her legs tremble, getting tired, “Why don’t I give you something a little bigger, hm?”
This time, she nods as enthusiastically as she can. As soon as his fingers slip from her, she rolls onto her belly unprompted, lifts herself onto her knees, and presents herself for him. Years of omegaverse lore aid her subconsciously as she rests herself on her shoulders, reaching back and pulling herself apart to show him where she’s wet and needy for him. Nobody can ever resist that, and at the end of the day, Harry is only a man. He makes a sound kind of close to a growl behind her, cursing beneath his breath when his left hand covers hers to keep her steady, and his right hand guides his prick to her hole. Even though they both knew she was more than ready enough, Harry is still slow about sliding into her. Makes sure she feels every single inch that slides inside of her, stretches her out further. Y/N wonders if it feels tighter because of the plug inside of her. Harry does show an interest in the tail, smoothing it out of his way so that he could look at her again, where she’s stretched taut around the plug.
“Can’t stop thinking about you getting ready for me,” Harry grinds inside of her deep, and Y/N cries out, her fingers digging deeper into her flesh, “How did I find such a naughty, greedy puppy, hm? Fuck, you were made for this,” he prods at the skin around the plug, threatens to dip his thumb in too as his he slowly starts to build up a rhythm. Y/N wishes she could see him – even if she craned her neck, it would do the view no justice. She wants to watch him from the side, from the back, from between her legs – wants to see how big his cock is, how far it stretches her, how his balls slap against her with every stroke he bottoms out in.
She can feel herself drooling, and later on, she would cringe about it, and how it smears against her cheek while her face rubs against his shirt. Oh! His shirt, she’d forgotten – she slides her hands from holding herself open and curls her arms around his shirt. Presses her nose into it and breathes in so deeply, taking in every lick of Harry’s scent that she can from it. For some reason, it made Harry’s hips stutter behind her, his fingernails digging into her skin as he paused deep inside of her. Y/N whines, and he must be able to feel that she’s going to move her hips again because he tightens his grip, “No, just – fuck, just give me a minute. You almost made me cum.”
“Want it,” she whines, “Want it, want it, want it –”
Harry stretches himself across her back, slips his fingers into her mouth, and muffles her mid-beg, “Shh, dumb puppies like you don’t need to talk or think,” he groans as he slides out of her, slowly rolling his hips, wary to start where he left off right away, “God, you love being my little doggy, don’t you? You’re so fucking wet,” Y/N quivers, holding his fingers uselessly in her mouth, unable to suck or lick or bite, just pant and drool around them, “You wanna cum for, Daddy, Sweetheart? Get me all nice and sticky with it?”
His pace picks up again, the slide of it easier as he makes more space for himself inside of her. It’s much more intense with Harry pressed up against her like this, and it doubles when his fingers slip between her thighs and swirl around the swollen bud of her clit. It flicks beneath his touch, stiff and engorged, and just the press of his index and middle finger pads against it makes her cry out. The ears are flopping against her head with each thrust. Her legs want to close, but there’s no easy way to, and her back arches against him. But her mouth is full, her clit is being played with, the plug still sits inside of her and Harry rocks his hips into her like he’s trying to make sure the shape of him never leaves, hard and deep, an impression of himself in her insides.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she sounds around his fingers, and it’s muffled, a staccato sound with every collision of their hips together. Words escape her; she just feels, and she feels everything so intensely right now.
Her whole body shakes when she cums. It starts with her thighs, shaking hard, making the rest of her legs tremble, and the heat of her arousal swells into a tight balloon that expands rapidly, the latex filling out until it pops, and the warm wave of water that was inside of it flows through her. Washes over her whole body as she pulsates around him, milking him, and Harry fucks her through it, despite how difficult it gets when she squeezes so tightly around him, “Yeah, that’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmured, “I’m not g’na stop, baby, not unless you say your special word.”
Duck, Y/N remembers, or to squeeze his hand three times. Both are far away from her now though, even as she comes down from her first orgasm, she feels oversensitive as he fucks into her but not in the way where she’d need to shove him off. So she starts working her hips back against him again and Harry curses beneath his breath, then starts fucking her earnestly again.
She’s unsure for how long it goes on, or how many times she cums. She just knew that around her fourth orgasm, Harry had flipped her around so that she was facing him and had pulled her nipple into his mouth. And she knew that he had started fucking the plug in and out of her bum too, and Y/N felt a bubble in her belly that popped, forcing Harry out of her body when a swell of liquid followed his cock’s exit. He’s made her squirt before, and Y/N had wondered if it was just a one-and-done type of thing, but clearly not. It’s fully within his capability to do it, and leave her breathless, shaking, gasping.
This time, Harry isn’t able to slip back into her. He peels the condom off, slips his hand through the mess of her pussy and uses that as lube to fuck himself with. Y/N watches through lidded eyes as he strokes his cock, “Yes, yes, such a messy fucking puppy, so perfect for me,” he rambles, “So good, and fucking perfect, made for me, shit – only me,” before he starts to cum, all over her belly, in thick spurts that land heavy on the skin. Some of it even reaches her neck, and the knowledge of it makes her open her mouth, let her tongue hang out in hopes of catching more of it. None comes organically like that, but Harry does smear his fingers through the mess on her belly and feeds it into her mouth. Y/N licks it away, the taste heady and Harry, and so good because of it.
Y/N can barely move. Her muscles are kind of achy, and her head is so feather-filled she might as well be a pillow. Harry, above anything else, drops to her side and pulls her into his body, not caring about the sticky, drying cum on her skin when he pulls her into him. Rolls her over and maneuvers her limbs until she’s lying on top of him, running one of his hands up and down her back, “That was so beautiful, baby,” he says it so gently, Y/N almost wants to cry for some reason. She feels emotional and exhausted and like, maybe in love, a little bit, she doesn’t know – maybe it was just post-orgasm endorphins or maybe Harry was actually her soulmate, who could tell right then. “Did so well for me, for your first time. So perfect.”
As he is with all things, Harry is more than careful as he removes the floppy ear clips from her hair, unbuckles the collar, and slowly slips the plug out of her bum. For a moment, one of his fingers does slide around into the little gape that was left, and when she twitches and whines, he kisses the side of her head, “Sorry, Honey, couldn’t help myself,” before slipping it away, “We’ll have to play with that pretty hole too, it was getting jealous.” Y/N manages a laugh, though it’s just breathless and soundless enough to sound like a puff of air through her nose.
They stay there for a while, until Y/N feels like she can move, but even then, words haven’t come back to her yet. This was the deepest into subspace she thinks she’s ever been, but she isn’t scared of it. Y/N revels in it. With Harry there, she feels safe, and cared for, like she doesn’t need to worry about a thing at all. And she’s right, because he takes her to the shower with him and they get clean together. Harry wipes her down first, tenderly, slowly, and goes quickly for himself so that she isn’t standing there for too long. He coaxes water into her, too, at least half a bottle until she’s pulling her face away. Eventually, they find themselves in her bed, Y/N in a big shirt, her favorite band’s last album cover on the front, and Harry in one of her big shirts with a bunny on the front. He slid her underwear onto her, tucked them nicely around her hips, and then brought her up under the covers. Harry rubs her elbows and knees for a little bit, where they were rubbing against the carpet kind of hurt, and the skin was irritated. He pushes kisses to all the spots that seemed sore.
“I liked that,” she finally spoke, after what might have been 20 to 30 minutes of silence. Harry doesn’t seem startled, and she wonders if it usually took her a while to start talking anyway, “A lot.”
“Me too, Sweetheart. You play the role of a greedy puppy very well,” he rubs up and down her arm, where it’s stretched across his chest, “And you were very cute. I’ll probably touch myself to that for weeks.”
Y/N makes a noise in her throat and tips her face into his chest, “Shut up,” she grumbles, then continues, “I – um – like you a lot,” she sighed out, her lips rewarming, preparing for a ramble that she just knew was going to happen soon. Not that she had anything in particular to ramble about, except the fact that she’d seen a really pretty garden today, before she’d puppy-fied herself.
Harry, who had begun to play with her fingers, seemed delighted. “Is that so? That’s convenient, because I like you too.”
“Yeah, and we should probably plant a garden together,” she rumples her lips, “But neither of us has any yard to plant a garden, so we’d have to steal someone’s yard or something. Or buy like a little patch of dirt on someone’s property. Do you know anyone who has a yard?”
“I’m sure I could find someone,” he replies, amused, “You like gardening?”
“I’m so bad at it, actually, but you seem like you’d be good at it, so that’s why we should plant together. Are you good at planting?” Y/N feels him nuzzle his nose against her temple, “I feel like you’re good at everything.”
Harry hums, “No, m’not,” he murmured, “I’m actually not great at folding laundry.”
“Really?” She tilted her head to look at him, “Like – how?”
He shrugged, “Dunno, it always looks messy though. You haven’t seen my drawers?”
“No, was I supposed to see them? Should I be looking through your drawers?”
“If you wanted to, you could,” he offered, then immediately took it back, “Actually, no, I want you to pretend I’m good at everything still, I don’t need you to see my folding.”
Y/N laughed, then nestled close to him again, “You’re silly,” she murmurs, sighing again, letting sleep weigh heavy in her bones, “I’m glad I was delusional enough to think that you were obsessed with me.”
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