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Before settling into comfy clothes, you turn on the living room lamp to keep the ambiance low, throw last night's leftovers in the microwave to finally eat something, and pour yourself a glass of wine to lighten your load. Your work clothes hit the floor so you can slip into your boyfriend's boxers and t-shirt he “accidentally” left at your house - before your recent fight.

It wasn't anything serious. Alfie had seen a TikTok about how some women are secret freaks who are just scared to admit to their kinks so he had asked you about it… and you were honest. Unfortunately, admitting to being into primal play and consensual non-consent and knife play and wanting to be pinned down and fucked within an inch of your life weren't exactly things he could process in one night. It had been four days, and the only interactions you had were “good morning” and “good night” texts. He said he needed some time, and you anxiously waited for him to talk about it this weekend.

He didn't live too far from you - about a 10 minute tube ride on a good day - so seeing each other around your mutually crazy schedules was still manageable, but sometimes you work too late or he has an early morning and it's just too much work to figure out the logistics. So despite wishing he could be there with you tonight, you give him his space until tomorrow.

You slide your feet into your fuzzy slippers and follow the beep of the microwave back through your apartment with your glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other. The plush couch and pillows in the living room engulf you as you settle in with leftover risotto, your glass of boxed wine, and mindless reality TV for the night. Alfie asks if you made it home safe from the storm so you send him a selfie snuggled under a blanket with your dinner, wishing he was there. Unfortunately, it's already 11 pm and as much as you want to discuss everything tonight and fall asleep with his arms around you, you can't ask him to come out in this type of weather.

As if on cue, a loud rumble of thunder rattles your windows before a bright bolt of lightning plunges your flat into darkness. Of course your relaxing night is quickly shut down by a power outage. You use your phone flashlight to get to the kitchen, rummaging around in the junk drawer for your lighter. The candle on your kitchen counter doesn't offer much light, but it's good enough for now. Your phone guides your way back into the living room to light your coffee table candle and then one more in your bedroom.

Your slippers softly pad against the wood floors as you put the lighter back and grab your wine again. You let out a long sigh and take a short sip when your phone starts buzzing in your hand.

Unknown Number.

You usually ignore spam calls but figure you've got nothing else to do right now with no electricity to watch TV and no sufficient light to read.

“Hello?” you answer sweetly.

“Hello?” the familiar voice on the other line echoes, deep and ragged.

You pause. “Hi?”

“Who is this?” he asks.

“Who are you trying to reach?” you ask, bringing the glass of wine back to your lips as you sit back on your couch in the candlelight glow.

“That depends. What's your name?”

You smirk to yourself, knowing exactly where this is going and choosing to play along. This has to be a good sign, right?

“Who are you looking for?”

“You, once I know your name.” You bite your lip and tell the “stranger” your name.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Why? Do you want to ask me out?”

“Maybe. Do you like movies, Reader?”

“Of course,” you respond casually.

“What's your favorite scary movie?” he asks, his voice rough.

You bite your lip again to stop from giggling out loud.

“‘Scream,’” you respond softly.

“‘Scream,’ huh?” he taunts. “Perfect, because that's what you're going to be doing tonight when I rearrange your guts.”

This time, you audibly giggle.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

You sigh. “It's just so stormy out. How do you think you're going to get to me?”

That's when you hear the click of a lock - not through the phone, but from the end of your entry hall. Your blood freezes as you abruptly end the call and set your wine on the coffee table. You stand slowly and step out of your slippers to creep around your apartment more easily. Should you go following a noise in the middle of the night? Usually, no, but there's only one person other than you who has a key.

“Alfie?” you call softly.

You peek around the corner but don't see anything - the candlelight doesn't reach the end of the hall so you're technically not totally sure if anyone's down there. There were no footsteps, but he could've slipped his shoes off like you did with your slippers. You take the risk and dash into your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you, but you don't catch a glimpse of anything moving before the door closes. Pressing your ear against the wood, the only thing you hear is your shaky breathing.

As you step back from the door, a familiar hand wraps around your throat and pulls you back into a warm, toned body. Your hands instinctively both latch onto his arm even though you know you won't have to fight back.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as the sharp chill of a dull blade slides along your cheek and down your jaw, stopping to rest against the base of your throat as Alfie's hand slides under your - his - shirt to grab at your breasts. You're able to turn your head just enough to make out the black and white mask in the flickering candlelight, explaining why you hadn't felt his lips on you like normal.

“Please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface,” you say quietly as you continue to play his game, “I want to be in the sequel.”

With his hands kneading your tits, you take it upon yourself to reach back and wrap your fingers around his clothed dick. But when you press against the rough fabric of his dark jeans, his hand suddenly leaves your breast and instead lands a slap against your cheek. You can't help the moan that slips from your lips. Alfie takes this opportunity to shove two fingers into your open mouth, and uses his newfound leverage to shove you to your knees.

Now that he's standing in front of you, you get a complete look at what he's wearing. The dark and intimidating Ghostface mask, a tight black shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose his tattoos, and dark fitted jeans that cling to his delectable thighs. You're already drooling at the thought of those jeans dropping.

It's like Alfie can read it on your face, because with one hand still sitting between your teeth, he undoes his belt and pops open the button, stepping out of his jeans with only his boxers keeping his cock from being enveloped in the sweet heat of your mouth. He takes a step closer and stoops down to your level, shoving his fingers even deeper into your mouth until you're nearly gagging. You look into the dark abyss of the masked eyes as tears unintentionally spring to your own.

He pulls his fingers out at the sight of your watery eyes and briefly breaks character.

“What's your safe word?”

You gasp for breath now that your airways aren't blocked by Alfie.

“Beetlejuice,” you say breathily.

“Just once?”

You can hear the teasing in his voice and nod with a smile.

“And you're okay right now?” he clarifies.

You nod again and try to reach for his cock again, but he grabs your wrist and uses it to throw you onto the floor, thankfully a short fall from your spot on your knees. He kneels over your thighs and grabs both wrists to hold them above your head, pinning you to your bedroom carpet. He's too strong for you to get any leverage, but you're not sure you want any when you feel him grinding his length between your cheeks. You moan loudly as you feel yourself get wetter with each stroke. You'd never used anything other than a finger or two in the back but if he keeps this up, you might let him try it tonight.

In an instant, your boxers are yanked off and the weight and warmth of Alfie leaves your legs and wrists, but only for a second. Just as you start to move, he's back on you, forcefully pushing your chest to the floor and holding it there with one hand while his other hand scoops coconut oil from the jar you keep in your bedside table. You don't have to ask what he’s doing as you feel him smooth the silky substance all over your ass. Is he actually going to try it?

You tense when you feel his cock press against your puckered hole, but he knows it's too soon with nowhere near enough prep. He teases you again by pressing his tip against you, but takes his hand off your back to squeeze your ass cheeks together and grind his cock between them. That's what the oil was for. He uses your body and ruts into your ass, still refusing to enter you and pleasure you both.

Until he does.

With both hands still gripping your cheeks, he slides one a little lower and teases the outside of your asshole with his thumb. You whine softly and try to lift your hips to meet him.

“You want me in here soon?” he practically growls. “I like the sound of that, girl. But we'll keep it simple for now.”

With that, he pushes his thumb just a little bit harder and with the help of all the coconut oil, he's able to slide right in and eases further until he's knuckle deep. You let out a loud moan at the intrusion and feel your legs start to shake. He switches from rutting up into your ass to sliding down against the warm, wet heat of your pussy. Another quieter moan leaves your lips as his cock slides against you, grazing your clit before teasing you again. The pressure of his finger inside of you combined with the rushed pumping of his cock along your slick folds pushes you to the brink and you cum for the first time of the night.

Your legs shake even harder than before, and you're confident you'll get a noise complaint by morning with how your moans of pleasure echo through your flat. Alfie lets you ride it out and slowly eases his finger out of your ass, but continues rubbing his cock against you until your shoulders relax.

You realize too late that you let yourself get too comfortable when Alfie stands and grips your hair to pull you to your feet. He tosses you onto the bed upside down and sideways, then grabs under your shoulders to pull you to the edge of the mattress.

Once your head is dangling off the side of the bed, Alfie takes his shirt off - careful to leave the Ghostface mask undisturbed - and stands over you. Without a word, he presses his cock to your lips and you immediately open for him. Just like with his fingers earlier, you nearly choke on him as he slides into your eager mouth. You can feel his thick length stretching your throat, his hand resting against the column of your neck to feel how your body accommodates his size. He takes slow but deep thrusts into your mouth, allowing you to take short breaths after forcing his way into your throat. It's bringing more tears to your eyes and making it hard to not cough around him, but the mess he's making of your face is half the fun.

You can feel your mascara smudging around your eyes and excess saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth before covering your cheeks every time Alfie pulls out. And when he pushes all the way in and stretches your throat, it's so hard for you to not try swallowing him down.

So you do it.

When he opens your throat next, you tilt your head a bit and swallow, constricting tightly around his thick length. He groans loudly above you and holds still, keeping his hand over the bulge in your neck. When your throat relaxes, you quickly swallow again to keep him there, not worrying about your rapidly depleting oxygen.

“Oh fuck, girl,” he groans. “Yeah, just like that - fuck - you're so good to me.”

Your eyes water more with your lungs’ desperate attempt to breathe, and you're thankful Alfie pulls out completely and lets you catch your breath for a minute. He lifts your head gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you up so you don't get a headache. Even in the middle of a good rough fuck, he keeps your comfort at the forefront of his mind.

But once you have your breathing under control, he lets your head drop back down and he's at it again, this time keeping his movements shallow, though you can't tell if it's to make sure you can breathe this time or to edge himself so he doesn't cum too quickly. His cock is barely making it a couple inches into your mouth, let alone reaching your throat. It's fine, but it's not the kind of rough and tumble you've been hoping for since you saw the mask.

You reach up and pull his thighs toward you, bringing his cock back into your throat and inadvertently coughing at the expected intrusion. He holds himself there almost as a punishment for trying to take control, but quickly takes on the same steady pace as before, once again gripping your neck to feel the way he stretches you out.

When he finally pulls away, he gently lifts your head and checks to make sure you're okay. With tears and saliva covering your face and an unfortunate runny nose, he's reasonably concerned. But when all you do is reach toward the tissue box, he realizes a quick 30-second refresh is all you need.

You wipe off your face and blow your nose and try to sort out your hair a bit, all under Alfie's watchful eye.

“You can be rougher,” you say, voice a bit ragged from the throat fucking you just endured. “I'll warn you if I'm going to break.”

He stands at the side of the bed, silently watching you and processing your words. Then he grabs the knife off the bedside table and climbs over you. Even without the dark clothes on, he looks so intimidating. His muscles flex as he holds himself up on his elbows, and you can't stop yourself from leaning over and biting his bicep. He hisses quietly behind the mask but doesn't slap you or chastise you. Instead, he shifts his weight and rests the tip of the blade on your temple, forcing you to stay still with your teeth still scraping the skin of his arm.

He flicks a strand of hair back and then trails the blade over your cheek, down your throat, around each breast, and circles your navel. The lower he gets, the more of a thrill you feel. You're able to pull away from his arm, but you don't dare move any other part of your body.

He taps the knife against your lower tummy, right over your uterus. Then he looks up, mask still on, and says, “I'm going to put this to work someday. Maybe we'll start today.”

You hadn't discussed kids extensively yet, nothing beyond knowing you both wanted kids. And even though you were only a year into dating, the idea of waking up carrying Alfie's baby sent a thrill down your spine.

Your heart is racing at the unexpected - but not unwelcome - breeding kink, but nearly stops when he slides off the bed and stabs the knife into the corner of your mattress, the entire blade sinking deep into the cushion.

“Alfie!” you shout. “What the fuck? That's my bed!”

He leans forward to get closer to you and says, “I'll buy you a better one tomorrow - relax.” Then he grabs you by the ankles and yanks you down the mattress.

He makes himself comfortable in your cozy reading chair at the end of your bed and starts stroking his cock while watching you, waiting. But your mind can't connect the dots and comprehend what he's asking. He can't possibly mean -

“Ride it.”

You look down at the knife handle between your legs. It's not as big as Alfie - maybe 4 or 5 inches long and much thinner. You could easily handle it, no pun intended, but -

“The knife?!” you exclaim.

“It's just the handle,” he calmly clarifies. “You'll be fine.”

You glare at him as you contemplate whether to listen or not. The brat in you wants to disobey and snap back, but the sub side wants to give in and see what he offers as a reward. Your curiosity for pleasure wins out. You settle your knees on either side and lower your body, jolting a bit at the cold temperature of the plastic handle. It's nowhere near your preferred size, especially since you've gotten so used to Alfie by now, but you bounce your hips anyway. It does feel good, finally having something to fill you up. But you know how much better it would feel if this were Alfie's cock and the thought makes you whimper as you keep shifting your hips. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his grip on his length tightening as he watches you get off on the knife.

“You,” you whine. “I'm thinking of how good you feel and how this isn't enough.”

He groans and drops his head forward for a second before standing and walking back to you. 

His movements feel aggressive - not quite violent, but like a man who knows exactly what he needs and exactly how to get it. He grips your waist and hoists you off the handle of the blade before tossing you toward the top of the bed as if you weigh nothing. As he makes his way up the mattress to meet you, he pulls the knife out and carries it up with him. You watch with wide eyes as he practically crawls to you, prowling like a predator hunting its prey - except he already has you in his clutches.

You lie back as he looms over you, his broad shoulders and thick biceps caging you in. The mask just adds to how naturally intimidating he is with a body like that. He gently presses the tip of the blade to your lip as he speaks. 

“On all fours. Now.”

You meet his eyes through the mask and flick your tongue out against the blade before listening and flipping around to your elbows and knees, your back arched and your soaking wet cunt on full display for him. You feel the flat edge of the blade slide over the curve of your ass and a shiver runs down your spine.

Alfie teases you by barely breaching your pussy with the head of his cock, knowing you can't fight back. Not with the knife still resting against your skin.

“Please,” you whimper quietly.

He continues sliding in no more than the tip, leaving you clenching around nothing and begging to be filled. He uses the blade to flick your hair off your back and over your shoulder so he can press down on your upper back and keep you exactly where he wants you.

“It's actually unbelievably sexy how much you trust me right now,” Alfie says earnestly.

You just whine in response.

And that's not good enough for him. 

He finally gives you what you want and pushes in until his hips meet your cheeks, savoring your warm heat. Without warning, he uses one hand to grip the back of your neck and pull your back to his chest, bringing the blade up to rest at the base of your throat.

Goosebumps cover your skin as his hand slides over the side of your neck to grip your jaw. Your nails dig into his forearm, desperate for something to hold onto.

Your heart is pounding.

You should be scared.

Alfie could easily overpower you in any situation, but the knife at your neck and his tight grip on your jaw just make your pussy clench around him. He gives an experimental thrust, tightening his hold on you when you moan at the small relief.

“You really like this, don't you?” he says, surprised. “You like not having any power?” He thrusts again. “Like letting me throw you around, have my way with you?”

He tosses the knife onto the floor and uses his now-free hand to grip your waist and hold you still while he sets a rhythm. His hips smack against your ass with every move, pushing you closer to the edge each time. You're moaning and whimpering in his hold, and he has your claw marks on his arm to prove it.

He may be marking his territory with you, but you're doing it right back.

Behind you, your only warning is a quiet “fuck it” before Alfie pulls out and flips you onto your back, manhandling you easily. He rips off the Ghostface mask and sends it flying across the room before his lips crash against yours, frantic and messy and perfect. His kiss is all-consuming, and you feel yourself fall further and further into mindlessness with every touch. Now it's just you and him. No masks, no props, no extras.

He blindly aligns himself with your core and pushes in again, dropping to his forearms and nuzzling his face in your neck. At this angle, every stroke rubs against your clit, and the sloppy kisses and lazy hickeys he's leaving on your neck just send more of a thrill through your body.

“Harder,” you manage to mutter.

And he delivers, snapping his hips to yours just as fast as before, but now hard enough to leave delightfully achy bruises. Your combined moans fill your dark apartment, accompanied only by the slap of skin meeting skin as he fucks you mercilessly. 

You know you'll be sore by morning, but the delicious stretch of him inside you and absolute beating he's giving you already make it worth it.

“Fuck, I'm not gonna last much longer,” he rasps into your ear. “Y'feel too good.”

You whine at his words and can feel yourself getting closer too. But then Alfie shifts again and you feel like you're about to explode. He pulls both of your thighs onto his chest and practically folds you in half.

“Fuck,” you whine, “you're so - deep.”

He groans in response and continues his brutal pace, now hitting that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You swear your vision gets darker and darker the more he moves, and the look in his eyes is enough to send you reeling. You dig your nails into his biceps as the wave of euphoria you've been chasing all night finally washes over you.

“Alfie - yes - more,” you beg.

Alfie's eyes never leave your face as he watches you come undone. Your pussy pulses around his cock, squeezing him just right. He picks up his pace and would swear he hits even deeper as he chases his own high. You're still shaking and jolting as more shocks of pleasure wrack your body. He fucks you through it all and then some, only stiffening moments later as he empties inside of you.

You feel his cock pulsing in your sensitive cunt, and you involuntarily whine at the feeling.

“Oh hush, girl, you can take it,” Alfie groans.

His hips stutter to a stop until he's fully spent, sweat lining his forehead until he's done pumping you full of his cum. He only takes a second to breathe before he's pulling your thighs off his chest and letting them fall to the bed. He leans down to give you another messy kiss before slowly pulling out and watching his cum drip out of you. You can feel it leaking onto the sheets, but he doesn't care. You watch with half open eyes as he reluctantly stands and goes into the en suite bathroom.

You're exhausted. Work already wore out your mind, then Alfie showed up and wore out your body. You can barely keep your eyes open when he steps back into the room and cleans you up with a warm washcloth. He gently uses one between your legs, and switches to another to wipe the makeup off your face and soothe the marks he left everywhere.

“Jesus,” he mutters to himself. “You might have to wear long sleeves and pants for a couple weeks - for my sake.” Your eyes flutter open a little bit more. “Looks like I oughtta be in prison.”

You smile up at him and sleepily set a hand on his cheek to bring him in for a kiss. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “I'm glad I didn't scare you away.”

He huffs out a laugh as he climbs into bed beside you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back as you lie together.

“I was nervous about this, honestly. Wasn't sure how you'd react. But then you played along with the phone call.” He pauses for a beat before continuing. “I actually had a lot of fun.”

You shift your gaze up to him and meet his eyes. “Did you not expect to?”

He shrugs. “Not really. Just thought I'd give it a try for you.”

You smile again and nuzzle into his chest. “Well thank you for taking that risk for me.”

He laughs out loud. “Thank you for trusting me to hold a knife to your throat.”

GOING TO THE doctors and having them confirm the pregnancy was one less weight off of your shoulders. You no longer had to worry about whether or not you were actually pregnant, you no longer had to worry about whether or not the tests were faulty, and you no longer had to worry about being unhealthy. The doctor had cleared everything over, telling you you were in good shape and everything was progressing as it should. The first few months were easy, besides the morning sickness and constant mood swings.

But that was then, and now you were in your second trimester.

You now looked pregnant, and most definitely felt it. You swore you'd never had such an appetite before. You were waking up in the middle of the night, sweating from being so warm, and begging Alfie to go and buy you whatever you were craving.

And he did. Now without complaint. At first he was hesitant, asking you if you genuinely needed a microwaveable mac n cheese at two in the morning, but then he saw the tears blossoming in your eyes and he got up, kissed your forehead and then returned within thirty minutes with your requested meal in his hands.

Some days were really good, where the only downside was the back pain, and you would even feel the baby kick when it wanted. The first time that happened, you were on the toilet and you screamed. Alfie came rushing into the bathroom, pure panic written on his face. When you told him you felt the baby kick with watering eyes, he let out the deepest sigh of relief known to man and dropped to his knees before you, putting his hand where you gestured to.

the bad days ༊*·˚

However, with good days, came bad days, and they really seemed to be getting the best of you. Sometimes, you'd just lie in bed for hours on end, only getting up to go to the toilet.

Other times, you'd break down in his arms first thing in the morning, stressing over every little possibility that could happen.

"What if this was a mistake?" You croaked into the darkness of your shared bedroom one night.

You were on one side of the bed, Alfie on the other, giving you the space you needed and wanted. You heard the bedsheets shuffling as he rolled over, barely making out your features through the thin slip of moonlight peaking through the curtains.

"Do you regret keeping it?" He asked.

"... I don't know." You sniffled, feeling like a horrible person for even contemplating the possibility of if you hadn't agreed to keep it.

"C'mere." He sighed, opening his arms.

You shuffled into them, burying your face into his chest and letting your tears roll down your screwed up face and soak into his skin.

He held you every time without hesitation, cradling you to his chest and not saying anything. Just letting you get it out of your system. He knew these weren't mood swings anymore.

Those passed along with the first trimester. These were your genuine emotions shining through and breaking you down.

You would cover your head and face with your arms, as if you were trying to block out the rest of the world and hide within yourself, but he pulled you out each time.

"I don't wanna die!" You'd wail loudly, and he'd double his strength around you while being wary of the baby.

"You won't, angel. You'll be okay. I promise you. It'll all be okay." Alfie would reassure you.

Every. Single. Time.

"I feel ugly."

"You're beautiful."

"I've put on so much weight."

"You're bringing life into this world. I don't care. You're carrying our baby. Your body is doing mental things right now."

"What if something bad happens?"

"Then we'll deal with it, if it happens."

"Please don't leave me."

"Reader, I will never, ever leave you. Not right now, not when our baby's born, not when our baby's a snotty little toddler that cries every night because they can't have cuddles. I will be here every step of the way."

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Alfie had put off a lot of things for you. But he didn't blame you for them, not one bit. He'd been invited to two brand trips with YoungLA, and had turned them both down. He was fully willing to go, but when he saw your crushed expression when he'd told you, he knew he couldn't leave you at home on your own.

He'd also had a lot of phone calls with his mum, mainly asking what the fuck he's supposed to do in certain situations and how to deal with this, that and the other. On the days when your back was killing and you couldn't be bothered to cook, you two would go and have dinner with his mum.

She was incredibly supportive, always greeting you with a great big smile and a hug. She knew what it was like, after all.

"You ever need a day away from him, you let me know." She would say at dinner, patting your knee.

Alfie didn't vlog much during your pregnancy, too afraid that he would start on a good day which would traipse into a bad day. He didn't want to subject you to any unwanted media attention while you were so vulnerable, so if he did vlog, it was only the parts where he was out on his own (not very much) or where you were actually playing an active roll in the clip and not being some sort of ghost figure in the background, walking around the grotto in one of his shirts.

The good days were the best days. You would prance around the kitchen, blasting music on the Alexa, looking simultaneously cute and sexy in just his shirt and some plain knickers. He would have some tv show that you were rewatching on in the background while you baked whatever you felt like doing.

the gender reveal ༊*·˚

You even baked your own gender reveal cupcakes, but had his mum fill them with the colour icing corresponding to the gender of the baby. The gender reveal was quiet and small, including a handful of your friends from college, a handful of his friends from sixth form, and family members you felt particularly comforted by and close to.

You'd always wanted a big, extravagant gender reveal party, but considering the emotional state you'd been in so far, you didn't want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of a group of people.

Thankfully the day went smoothly, and you burst into tears at the sight of pink sprinkles on the middle of the vanilla cupcake.

He hugged you tightly, lifting you into his arms as you latched your legs around his waist.

night time ༊*·˚

Going to bed had become increasingly more difficult. You would weak up in hot sweats in the middle of the night, your body overheating and overworking to maintain the healthiness of your baby.

Alfie would try to cuddle you in an attempt to provide comfort and a sense of homeliness, but you would always end up pushing him off, hating the feeling of being touched in your warm state. But sometimes all you needed was his embrace.

There were times when you would lay on his chest, letting him doodle with his finger along the expanse of your back, having you guess whatever he was drawing. Other times you would lie on your back, trying to relieve your spine of any pressure, and he would rest a hand on your bump, gently caressing it.

He kept the windows open, bought a fan and even changed the bedsheets into thinner ones for you.

If you needed anything in the middle of the night, he wouldn't hesitate to grab it for you. Whether it was food, a drink or if the fan needed the settings increased. He did it all.

preparing for the baby ༊*·˚

He'd bought all the furniture needed. A crib, a changing station, a new wardrobe and chest of draws, and even a plush rocking chair for you to sit in in the case of late-night feeds. He turned that day into a vlog as you'd walked into the living room with a pep in your step and declared that nothing would ruin your mood.

You'd sat with him whilst he built it all, complaining to the camera about how complicated this all was for no reason. You laughed at him, handing him certain nuts and bolts when he asked for them or the parts of the furniture.

The clothes were all down to you. He took you out, card at the ready while you went through the aisles of the store, getting borderline emotional at the thought of your baby girl in all these dainty little clothes.

"Get her a nike tech. Have her rocking up to the function like one of the mandem." Alfie suggested jokingly, camera on you

as your eyes scanned the articles.

You glared at him over your shoulder, "No, Alfie. She's gonna be a dainty little princess, not 'one of the mandem'."'

"Ey, you never know, girl. She might grow up and think 'fuck the pink, I wanna rock black and grey’!"

"Then she can do that when she's old enough, but for now—“

Oh my God, look at these little shoes!" You exclaimed, picking them up.

Alfie gave a deadpanned look to the camera before switching it back to you, filming your awed expression as you held the shoes up, showing the viewers.

The toys you started buying after the baby shower, not wanting to buy doubles of anything. You refused to buy anything that she might accidentally swallow or consume. He once held up a dainty kitchen set with miniature wooden food.

You snatched it off of him and put it back.

"It's literally got a choking hazard sticker on it." You shook your head, tutting.

"I'll show you a choking hazard in a minute, girl." Alfie smirked, grabbing your waist.

You slapped his stomach lightly, "Don't be dirty in public."

He moved his streaming set up to the dining room so the office could be the nursery. He let you decorate the room however you wanted, standing around in case you needed help. You adjusted everything so it was perfect, laying a heart shaped rug in the middle of the room and tucked the drawer and changing table under the slanted roof. The crib went where Alfie's desk was previously, slotting in perfectly.

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After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.

Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.

“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile

Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.

“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!

“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.

He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.

Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.

It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.

She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.

She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.

She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.

Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.

Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.

This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.

Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.

“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.

Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.

She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.

She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.

She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.

She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.

But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.

She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.

Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.

“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.

She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.

A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.

She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.

“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.

She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.

Time to start stress baking.

For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.

White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.

She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.

She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.

After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.

Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.

She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.

Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.

“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.

“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.

He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.

They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.

Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.

She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.

“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.

Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”

Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”

Y/n nods, “a cure.”

“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.

“Go get to it, baby.”

She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.

It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.

Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”

He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.

“Celebrate?” He nods, basically snoring. “I'll finally fuck you, promise, baby.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.

“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.

He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.

His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.

He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.

His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.

“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.

Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.

He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.

“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.

Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.

Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.

She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.

His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.

“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.

“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”

She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.

“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.

“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”

She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”

She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.

Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.

He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.

He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”

He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.

She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.

He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.

Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.

She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.

She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.

“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.

“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.

They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.

Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.

“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”

They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.

“Round three in the shower?”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.

“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.

“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.

After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.

She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.

“That was your cure, huh?”

She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”

Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”

He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.

“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.

He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.

Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.

“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.

Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.

She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.

“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.

He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.

He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.

He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.

She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.

“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.

He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.

She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.

“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.

He’s always been the cure.

A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!

I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️

BEING ASKED TO present the Sidemen Charity Match alongside Munya was truly the highlight of your day, but being there with a microphone in your hand was way more excitable than receiving the wish.

Luckily, the pair of you bounced off of each other perfectly, jokes swinging and landing in just the right way.

However, your ex-boyfriend was playing.

There was no bad blood between the two of you, and the break up was somewhat mutual (despite your sadness about it). But, just because you weren’t together didn’t mean you couldn’t flirt, and he really took that and ran with it.

Alfie was in your Instagram DM’s all the time, responding to your stories with heart eye emojis and always messaging you about where you were going, who with and whether you would be okay getting home on your own.

He wasn’t toxic, but he was always there, a bit like a shadow you can’t seem to get rid of.

You weren’t mad about it, and quite frankly, you encouraged his behaviour sometimes, sending him pictures of your outfit before even posting it on your story.

It was blatantly obvious to both of your friend groups that the pair of you were still dangerously in love with each other.

Watching him vlog on the sidelines made you smile a little.

His YouTube career dream was to play in the Charity Match, and he was finally here.

You could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t remotely upset to not be playing, but more so soaking in the atmosphere of simply just being on the pitch and surrounded by hundreds of supporters.

You interviewed a range of players throughout the first half, but the second half and the end was when you really struck gold.

Somehow, miraculously, after missing a practically open goal in the first half, he managed to redeem himself with an excellent goal in the second.

Him and his friends were jumping around, and you were practically buzzing from suppressing your excitement for him. You wanted to leap up in victory and cheer alongside him, but that was entirely unprofessional.

But, it seemed like he didn’t care.

He came jogging up to you while blowing kisses and pumping his fist toward the crowd as they screamed for him.

“You okay?” You giggled as he neared you, his smile bright and beaming.

“Yeah, uhh …” He seemed to hesitate for a second, weighing out the pros and cons of whatever thought was running through his mind before committing to it.

His lips were on yours so fast you couldn’t even register the moment they started moving together as one.

You ended up dropping the microphone out of shock and feeding your arms around his neck.

You didn’t expect the crowd to get any louder than it did, but they exceeded your expectations vastly.

“Alfie!” You exclaimed, gobsmacked when he pulled away.

“Sorry, I just … y’know …”

You were kinda grateful that the microphone was on the floor and had rolled off along the astroturf.

“Well, the goal was good.” You hummed.

“Yeah … Thanks.” He nodded, a little breathless from adrenaline. “Swing by after?”

Even if you wanted to, your brain couldn’t compute how to say no, “Okay.”

And then he was off, joining his friends back on the pitch as the game commenced once more.

You crouched down to pick up the microphone and collected yourself again, rubbing your lips together and silently praying that your lip liner wasn’t too messy.

“Well, you guys better enjoy my presence now, because I can’t guarantee I’ll be here next year now. How very unprofessional.” You joked.

The game continued on, and you managed to get around to a few more interviews before the penalty shoot out, which announced YouTube All Stars as the winners.

Of course you had to pull Alfie to the side afterwards, and it certainly wasn’t because you wanted an excuse to talk to him.

“How do you feel about the loss AB?” You asked, directing the microphone towards his mouth.

“Honestly, I’m— I’m really not arsed, like, I scored and it was insane, like, that’s— I don’t think I’ll ever get over that, so …”

“So, the loss is nothing to you?”

“I mean, at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter who wins, right? Like, it’s for charity and entertainment, so.” He shrugged before making eye contact, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You arsed that I lost?” He smirked, crossing his arms across his chest and causing his biceps to bulge a little too arousingly.

“No, but I’m shocked you didn’t vomit everywhere.”

He threw his head back in laughter, and it was suddenly like the cameras and thousands of people weren’t there. You were in front of him, the microphone dangling uselessly between you as you went back and forth, sharing flirtatious glances and sentences that had a lick of an innuendo or teasing tone beneath them.

“Sorry, AB, I’ve gotta cut this short and interview some other people, but thank you and congratulations.”

“Alright, see you later, girl.” He said casually, briefly pecking your cheek before jogging off to join Arthur and Niko.

You tried to brush it off and put it in the back of your mind as you interviewed more players, but the feeling of his lips on your skin lingered, and the unconcerned way he showed you, his ex-girlfriend, attention made your stomach dance and flutter.

Getting home had to be the most relieving part of the day. You loved your heeled boots, but they were not ideal when you were standing around on astroturf for four hours of your day.

You took them off with a huff, flopping down onto your sofa and finally scrolling through your phone.

Your TV was playing, just a random show for the sake of background noise, not really paying attention to it.

You went through Instagram stories, liking anything related to you or the Charity Match, and even shared a couple stories onto your own from fans who had posted about you.

The last thing you predicted you would receive was a phone call from Alfie.

A cheeky text message, maybe even a voice note, was on the cards, but certainly not a phone call.

You answered anyway, bringing the device to your ear.

“Hi, Alfie. You okay?”

“I’m good, you?”

“Great, thanks.”

“Cool.” He said and then cut right to the chase, “You coming over?”

You were stunned momentarily, “… What?”

“I told you to come by after the match. Are you coming?”

“I mean, I can? I thought you were joking about that?”

“Nah, you can come ‘round. Miss you.”

You chuckled breathily, “You saw me an hour ago.”

“And? I ain’t seen you in time since that.”

It caused a little wave of sadness to roll through you at the time you’d spent apart due to not being together. You really and truly missed him more than anything, and you’d be willing to try again if he asked you seriously.

“When do you want me there?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Give me ten.”

“Alright, darlin’, I’ll send you my address. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

You could envision the smirk on his face right now, and you were 99% sure that the grin on your face was audible through your tone.

Shoving your heeled boots back on, you swiped your keys up off the counter and made your way down the stairs of your apartment building whilst calling for an uber.

Ten minutes was generous, because he didn’t live nearly as far as you thought, and you were standing in front of him within seven.

“Hi.” You smiled.

“Hey.” He smiled back, welcoming you in and shutting the door behind you.

Alfie had a blunt hanging from his lips, stood in his grey YoungLA joggers (as usual) and his charity match shirt. He smelled vaguely of aftershave, but the smell of weed overpowered it. His slightly damp hair told you that he’d just gotten out of the shower.

He had an old fellas podcast episode playing on his ridiculously large TV.

“Nice place. Haven’t seen this yet.” You hummed, looking around before chuckling a little at the metallic monkey dangling off of his staircase.

“He actually convinced me to get this gaff.” Alfie snorted, flopping back onto his green sofa as he took a drag.

“‘Course he did.” You shook your head, leaving your shoes by the door and joining him, tucking your feet up under yourself, “So, how you been? You did Inside, now the Charity Match. What’s next?”

“God, got no idea.” He hummed, slinging an arm around the back of his sofa and offering you his blunt. “Think just chill for now, work on good vlogs and the pod. Going America in the summer so should get out some good content. You?”

You took the pre-roll between your fingers, only taking a little drag because it had been a while, “Uhh … I dunno, I’m not really doing much recently, just chilling. Doing brand deals, occasional vlogs, y’know?”

“You should come back on my channel.” He offered, smirking as smoke billowed from your lips and he plucked it back off of you.

You clicked your tongue, shrugging teasingly, “Maybe, I dunno, you’ll have to convince me to.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smirked, sitting up now and shuffling a little closer.

“Mhm.” You hummed, pursing your lips to suppress your smirk, “Y’know, I feel kinda stupid. You’re here in your match shirt and joggers, and I’m, what? Still dressed up.”

His response was quick, like if he thought about it any longer he wouldn’t actually say it.

“Take it off then.”

You scoffed out laughter at his audacity, “Alfie.”

He shrugged, “I’m serious. It’s just us.”

“You say that like we’re still together.”

“We should be.” He hummed, taking a long drag and then ushering you even closer until your knees were touching.

He leant forwards, and with his free hand, he pried your mouth open, thumb hooked into your lower jaw and holding it in place.

Smoke passed from his mouth into yours, and your brain went hazy, but the drug wasn’t the only thing to blame.

His thumb in your mouth sent you a little wild, and your brain subconsciously told your tongue to swipe at his skin.

When you did, he smirked, pushing further into your mouth until he was pressing down directly onto your tongue. You hummed around it, hollowing your cheeks and rolling the wet muscle over his thumb.

“Haven’t changed much, have you?” He muttered, pulling away.

“I don’t think so. Why? Wanna test out your theory?” You quipped, tilting your head.

“Yeah, take your tights off.” He nodded, pressing the blunt out onto a plate that he was using as a makeshift ashtray and left it on the side.

“What? You not gonna kiss me first?”

“Alright, c’mere then.” He swiftly switched the TV off and then beckoned you forward with his hand, having his arms out for you to clamber into his lap.

Your knees bracketed his thighs, your crotch pressing down on his as he slid his hand into the back of your head, bringing you forwards so your lips were dancing across his.

“You want this?” He murmured, eyes trained solely on your mouth.

You nodded breathlessly, “I want you.”

He grinned at that, slotting his lips against yours and holding you close. His free hand hung over the top of your thigh, casually resting on the curve of your ass over the skirt of your dress.

You hummed into it, sandwiching his neck between your palms and stroking your thumbs over the column of it. The tips of your nails lightly scratched at his skin, causing goosebumps to erupt along it.

His tongue licked across your bottom lip, and a buck of his hips up towards yours caused a gasp to fly free, allowing him to enter your mouth.

From that point on, your hips continued to clash, with you grinding down onto his lap in smooth rolls, his grip tightening on you.

A moan slipped free from your mouth, heat pooling in your abdomen in a way that you were sure mirrored the wetness seeping out of you.

You could feel him beneath you, rock hard and just as needy.

Still, he flipped you over, keeping you propped up against the back of the sofa as he kissed down your neck, hands finding your thighs and sliding your skirt up while he sunk to his knees.

“Can you take your dress off?” He requested in a breath.

You nodded, slipping your arms out of the holes and pushing the skin-tight fabric down your body until it pooled at your ankles. He pulled it off, throwing it to the side somewhere and hooked his fingers into your tights and underwear simultaneously, tugging them down and tossing them in the general direction that your dress had headed.

You weren’t particularly fussed at where it was, because Alfie was staring at your pussy with a look of need and desperation. A little, nibbling part of your brain told you to feel self conscious under his watchful gaze, but when he spread your legs and slung them over his shoulders to kiss up your thighs, any insecurities you had flew out of the window.

As thrilling and excitable as it was to be hooking up with your ex-boyfriend, there was still love and care behind every kiss and caress.

The moment his lips grazed your clit, a breathy whine shuddered free, your hands immediately clenching around the cushions of his sofa.

From that action alone, he committed immediately.

His tongue lathed over you, collecting your slick with a pleased groan and sucking on your clit. His skills certainly hadn’t dwindled in the time you’d spent apart.

He was unabashed and messy, practically making out with your pussy, burying his face in it with his tongue dipping in and out of your hole before gliding back up to flick over your bundle of nerves. The wet, lewd sounds of his lips suctioning filled the room.

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open as your face was stuck in an expression of unadulterated pleasure. You let out shuddered breaths and pants, a moan coming through occasionally when your heels dug into his back and thighs squeezing around his head, pressing him closer.

“Alfie …” You whispered as that familiar, fizzling bubble started at the base of your spine.

He hummed against you, sending waves of vibrations through your body.

His eyes flickered up, green rings staring you down as you whined.

Alfie’s hands came clamping down on your hips, keeping them pinned to the sofa when they tried to buck up.

“Oh, God …” You murmured, the knuckle of your first finger getting pressed between your teeth.

One hand continued to keep you in place as the other slid up your body, tugging the cup of your bra down and freeing your breast. He palmed and massaged it, and with a tweak of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you came hard.

He continued to lick at you, gliding his tongue through your folds and suckling at your clit, causing you to cry out and pat at the top of his head, urging him to stop because you were too overstimulated.

He pressed a kiss to your pussy before pulling away, standing to his full height and lifting you up into his arms.

Your legs locked around his waist, arms around his neck as he lathered your neck and cheek with kisses while taking you up the stairs.

He laid you down on his bed ever-so carefully, keeping his lips on your skin.

Alfie tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head and handing it to you.

“What?” You frowned, taking it.

“Put it on.” He said, wiping his lower chin.

You sat up then, unclasping your bra and dropping it to the floor and then slid his shirt over your head.

The sight of you in nothing but a football shirt that had his name and number on the back made him harder than ever, precum leaking out of his tip. He desperately tugged his joggers down, needing to be freed from the confines of fabric.

“Jesus, Alf.” You whispered, looking down at him and taking him onto your palm, wrapping your fingers around his length.

Your thumb swiped over his tip, collecting the bead of precum and stroking it down his cock, pumping your fist in slow, controlled movements.

He groaned, dropping his head down to your collarbone and letting it rest there as you continued with your ministrations.

After a little, he swatted your hand away, gripping himself at the base and sliding through your slick folds before notching himself at your entrance.

You shivered at the feeling, bringing your knees up and out so he had space.

With a hand braced on your inner thigh, he pushed forwards slowly, filling you with his thick cock. You had no idea you were holding your breath until he bottomed out and you let go, harsh pants escaping your mouth as your nails dug into his biceps.

“Fuckin’ hell, you feel so good.” He grunted, rutting forwards slightly as if to get impossibly deeper than he already was.

“Please move. Please.” You begged through a whimper.

He pulled out until just his tip was resting inside of you, and then thrust all the way back in.

His actions forced a harsh moan from you, your knees trying to fly together and clamp your legs shut.

“None of that.” He shook his head, taking his hands and holding your inner thighs at the very top, keeping them spread eagle.

He slid out and back in, creating a solid rhythm that began to pick up pace until you were clinging to him.

“Fuck, Alf—“ You whined as he sucked on the sensitive skin of your neck, most definitely leaving a mark in some shade of red that would fade dark and prominent.

“I love you.” He groaned into you after a particularly harsh thrust.

“I love you too.” You replied, nails raking down his back sharply.

Your ankles locked at his lower back as his thrusts became quick and sloppy with your walls clenching around him, a signal of both of your impending orgasms.

“Wait, wait.” He panted, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. “Turn over.”

“On my front?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

He remembered.

He knew you had a thing about feeling disconnected when you couldn’t see him and he couldn’t see you, and he remembered.

You nodded, smiling gently, “Yeah.”

He kissed your cheek, pulling out and letting you roll onto your front, hiking one leg up on the mattress.

Alfie slid a pillow beneath your hips, keeping you propped up just a little.

When he slid back in, you felt him deeper, the angle pushing him so, and his thrusts were harder. Not quicker, harder.

You moaned shamelessly every time his tip hit your spot, toes curling up as you felt a second orgasm incoming.

“Alfie!” You cried out.

“I know, I know, me too.” He nodded, curls flopping.

He kept his eyes trained on your back,

Having you wearing his name and number on your frame with you crying out his name is what finished him off.

He pulled out swiftly, quickly bunching your shirt up and letting his release spread over your back as your thighs trembled from the force of your own orgasm.

Your back was riding and falling with heavy breaths, similar to his.

He reached over to his bedside table, taking some tissue and cleaning up your back and the inside of your thighs, which were smeared in your own arousal.

Alfie helped roll you onto your back again, flopping down beside you after tugging his boxers back on and pulling you into his arms.

Your breaths evened out together, your hand trembling on its place on his chest until you pressed the pads of your fingers into his pec, grounding yourself.

“You good?” He whispered, tilting your head up and brushing the hair from your face.

His eyes were full of reverence, lips coming down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Perfect. You?”