sabsberries

He calmed his mind with the excuse that he was 'studying', which, in hindsight, he really should be doing, but could you blame him? You were heavenly in his eyes; a delicate, ethereal being.

He didn't truly realise how long he had been staring for until a customer ordering a drink blocked his view, and he realised his eyes were dry and starting to sting. He blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time, before turning his head back towards his mess of books on the small table. He forced his eyes back to the textbook in front of him, pretending to read the words on the page, but they blurred into a mess of letters. His mind kept drifting back to her—how she’d laugh when a customer told a terrible joke, how she’d hum under her breath as she steamed the milk.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, mumbling the word 'focus' under his breath until he felt his brain clear itself of any lingering thoughts of her.

"Can I take your cup?" Harry's head shot up, his eyes widening and heart jumping. It wasn't her. His chest loosened ever so slightly, and his fists unclenched.

"Sure. Thanks." He said, offering the woman - who he believed to be the café manager - a tight lipped smile. He was fairly certain her name was Myriam, though their interactions had never gone beyond a few polite smiles or waves of acknowledgement, so he wasn't too sure.

"I'm Miranda." She smiled. Close enough.

He nodded. "Harry. 'S nice to meet you." He offered a hand to her, and watched as she scrambled to shake it, clearly not expecting such a friendly gesture.

"Well, Harry, you're in here practically every day with your pile of books, and I've only seen you actually write something a handful of times, and read a book, let alone even pick one up, even less!" Miranda teased, pointing her mug cladded hand in his direction, almost like an accusatory finger.

"Do you want me to leave?" Harry questioned, his heart dropping at the thought of not seeing her, whatever her name was, again.

"Pick up one of these books for once and learn some context clues! I'm asking you if you need any help with anything!" Miranda scoffed, though her facial expressions told him she meant well. He looked away briefly, trying to fight off the heat rising to his cheeks.

"I'm okay. Thank you, though." Harry smiled, nodding his head slightly. Miranda smiled and nodded slowly, hesitantly, before stepping away from the table, the empty mug clutched tightly in her hand, and walking away.

He closed his eyes once more, allowing the scent of freshly baked croissants and overly sweet lemon tarts fill his nose and bring a strange sense of comfort to his racing mind. The café always smelled like this—warm, buttery pastries mixed with the sharp citrus of lemon and the unmistakable bitterness of freshly brewed coffee. It was a scent that had become familiar, grounding.

He let out a slow breath, steadying himself before daring to glance up again. His eyes found her instantly, as if they were drawn to her presence by some unseen force. She was smiling at a customer, hands moving effortlessly as she poured steamed milk into a cup, creating a delicate heart in the foam.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be the one she smiled at like that. Would she tilt her head ever so slightly in amusement? Would her eyes linger on him just a second longer than necessary? Her eyes snapped to his before he could look away, and his heart dropped. The chest clenching anxiety returning in an instant and emptying his finally calm mind, causing waves of seething hot embarrassment to run up his neck and into his cheeks.

But then—she smiled. A soft, friendly smile that he could tell was different from her usual polite customer smile. Her eyes were soft and sparkling slightly, her cheeks slightly red from the heat radiating off of the coffee machine, and her eyebrows furrowed at his flustered state.

His breath hitched. Did he imagine it? Was she just being polite? He barely had time to process it before she turned back to her task, wiping down the counter and moving on as if nothing had happened.

But Harry felt it. A small yet sharp spark in his chest, a tiny ember of possibility.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look down at his book again. But the words still blurred together, and all he could think about was that look, that second, that smile.

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His words fell on deaf ears as Y/N cried out once again, this time reaching up to clutch onto his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin through his shirt, and smirking at the way he hissed.

"That's a good girl. Come on, now, don't be hasty." He hissed, slapping her naked hip when she began to slow down, before forcing her hips to speed up, rolling them in a speed she wouldn't have been able to reach by herself.

Her head dropped into the crook of his neck, her breath shuddering against his skin as if she could inhale him—breathe him in and make him a part of her. Her mouth found its place, hovering just above his collarbone, open, aching, desperate for something she couldn’t name. She latched on, lips parting around soft flesh, and bit.

She bit, and bit, and bit, chasing the burn beneath his skin, the pulse beneath her teeth, needing to feel him. His fingers curled at her waist, sharp inhales breaking through the silence, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in.

And then—finally—she felt it. The give of skin, the taste of him, coppery and electric on her tongue. She gasped against him, lips trembling over the wound she’d left, her hands clutching at his shirt as if to anchor herself, to stop herself from falling into whatever this was.

Would he pull away now? Would he tell her she’d gone too far?

But then—his hand at the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, holding her there, against him. As if he wanted more. As if he didn’t mind being devoured.

She nudged her head back, wiping the blood and saliva off of his neck, and showing him the remnants on her hand. "Harry, shit! You're bleeding." She panted.

"It's fine. Continue." He dismissed, shifting himself slightly lower down the chair, pulling her waist back down onto his thigh, and her head back to his neck.

She latched back on, this time slightly higher up, and trailed the veins of his neck with her tongue, peppering kisses and biting down any time she felt the urge to moan.

"Fuck, you feel too good!" She cried, dropping her head against his chest and speeding her hips up again. From the vibrations of his chest as he laughed, to the slight buckling of his hips every few thrusts, she was getting closer, and Harry would tell.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me, pretty girl." He whispered in her ear, biting onto her earlobe and nibbling gently.

"I'm so close!" She moaned, her breath shaking and voice high pitched.

"I know, and you've been such a good girl." Harry mumbled, focusing on kissing just below her jawline, sucking hickey upon hickey, before dropping his hand back down to her hip to guide her movements once again.

Y/N was making incoherent noises—somewhat between a moan and a yell, as she grew closer, her fingernails digging into his biceps and her eyes rolling back into her head. Her own thighs were starting to burn from overuse, her belly hurting from the way she had been clenching in her core, and her face red, puffy, and drenched in a mix of tears and sweat.

When the coil in her belly finally snapped, she was far from quiet. Her moans got louder and higher pitched, her fingers dug deeper into his biceps, and her thighs clenched around his as though she were riding a horse and trying to keep steady. Harry chuckled in her ear, his hand reaching up to press on her lower stomach whilst mumbling words of encouragement to her, calling her his 'good girl', and that she was such a 'pretty princess'.

He waited until her hips finally stilled to say anything, and even then, he waited some more. His hands, steady and warm, traced slow, absentminded patterns along the dip of her spine, grounding her, holding her in the quiet. The only sounds between them were the sharp inhales still fading from her lips, the slow, unsteady rhythm of their breathing as they came down together.

"You okay?" he finally murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her damp forehead. His touch was impossibly soft, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

She blinked up at him, dazed, lips parting as if she meant to answer, but all she managed was a breathless little laugh before she collapsed fully onto his chest. “Holy shit.”

His chest rumbled beneath her, a low chuckle that she felt more than heard, his arm tightening around her back as if he needed to keep her there—to keep this moment from slipping away too soon.

She pressed her ear to his heart, listening to the steady thump-thump-thump beneath her cheek, her fingers tracing idle circles against his ribs. There was something so intoxicating about this—about him. The warmth of his skin, the way his hand cradled the back of her head, the way he made her feel like she was safe

Neither of them spoke for a while. They didn’t need to.

Outside, the world carried on without them; cars passing in the distance, the faint hum of life beyond the walls of this dimly lit room. The curtains swayed gently in the night breeze, moonlight pooling in silver streaks across tangled sheets, casting shadows that stretched and curled around them like whispers.

"What do you want for dinner?" Harry whispered, breaking the silence.

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Of course, he would never admit it—not to his family, not to his friends, and especially not to me. But I saw it in the smallest of ways. The way his lip quivered when he spoke about the future, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched, as if bracing for impact. He talked about growing old with me like it was a dream, but his body betrayed him. He hated it.

Now, though, he looked at peace. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows over his face as he slept, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. For a few quiet moments, there was no fear, no tension—just him, lost in sleep, untouched by the weight of the day ahead. But today was his birthday.

I watched him, my fingers tracing invisible patterns against the sheets as I ran through every idea I had. I could make him breakfast, of course. Or maybe we could find a new café to try. Or we could even stay in and order something special. That’d be nice. But none of it felt enough. None of it could shield him from the inevitable, the thing he was dreading so much. I wanted today to be perfect for him, but how do you make peace with something that’s impossible to avoid?

He shifted slightly, his fingers twitching as if searching for something. A faint sigh escaped his lips, his eyes fluttering open just a crack before closing again, as though trying to hold on to the last remnants of sleep. His eyes slowly opened, the brightness of the room pulling him fully awake. For a moment, he lay still, blinking at the ceiling as if waiting for the world to make sense again. Then, his gaze drifted to me—soft, familiar, but there was something else in it today, something hidden, almost hesitant.

"Good morning, Birthday Boy." I mumbled, watching as his eyes fluttered shut again, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Morning, my love." His voice was husky, tinged with humour. "What time is it?"

"Only half nine, or something. Way too early to be awake on a Saturday."

He yawned and nodded slightly, rubbing his eye. "Come here." His hand found my waist, pulling me on top of him, his grin never fading.

I laughed as he pulled me onto his stomach, my legs straddling his waist, the duvet tangled around us. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes hazy with sleep, and his lips stretched into a wide, easy grin. "What do you want to do today?" I whispered, grabbing his hands and absently fiddling with his ringless fingers.

"Dunno. Nothing, really." His grin deepened, and his gaze never wavered from mine. His fingers twitched, almost as if he wanted to hold onto mine, but he stopped himself.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." He reaffirmed, voice soft. "I'd quite like to spend it doing fuck all with my fiancé. Who, by the way, hasn’t even given me my birthday kiss yet."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to let you wake up before bombarding you." I laughed, placing a hand on his chest and pushing it down when he tried to lean up to meet me.

I leaned down instead, brushing my lips against his, soft at first—just a gentle pressure, a playful reminder that I was here. His breath caught for a second, as if he hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon, but he melted into it, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction. His hands found their way to my back, pulling me closer, as if testing the distance between us.

The kiss deepened, slow and easy, like it had a quiet promise behind it. His lips moved against mine with a delicate urgency, as though making sure this moment would be just ours. I let myself get lost in it, closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.

For a while, neither of us spoke, the world outside fading into nothing but the softness of the kiss, the comfort of knowing the other was there, and for a brief moment, all the worries that clung to Harry seemed to be forgotten. 

His lips curved into a smirk against mine, but there was something else there now—something heavier. His hands, which had been resting lightly on my back, gripped tighter, his fingers pressing into my skin like he was trying to hold me there, just a little longer. The shift between us was subtle at first, a slight change in the way his mouth moved against mine, the way his breath hitched between kisses. But then, like a current pulling me under, it wasn’t just a kiss anymore. It was heat, need, something deeper. I pulled back just enough to look at him, my forehead resting against his.

"Happy birthday, Harry," I whispered, the words feeling more weighty now than they ever had before.

He hummed quietly, his head shaking ever so slightly, and lifted his face so that our lips could slot back together. It was different now. It was almost hungry, and the way his lips took dominance over mine certainly matched the tone.

His hands slid under my shirt, warm and deliberate as he traced the curve of my waist, fingers brushing along the skin with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch. There was nothing innocent about it now. His touch was purposeful, searching, as if each movement of his hand was an attempt to tether me to him, to ground us both in this moment.

I could feel the weight of his gaze as it shifted, his eyes darkening just slightly when they met mine. The playful grin from moments before was gone, replaced by something more intense, almost desperate. It made my heart race faster, my pulse fluttering in my chest.

I leant down again, however this time to pepper light, barely there, kisses along his jawline and neck, slowly increasing in pressure until I reached just above his collarbone, where I sunk my teeth in. "Oh shit!" He hissed, bucking his hips up against mine and letting out a breathy laugh at the way it made me moan.

I moved down his chest, nipping after every few kisses, and occasionally darting out my tongue to sooth over any particularly harsher bites, before shimmying down his hips, placing a small 'thank you' kiss just above his belly button as he spread his legs enough for me to climb between.

His grey boxers had formed a darker patch where the tip of his dick had begun leaking, and, despite being covered by fabric, I could tell he had to be painfully hard by now. I pressed a delicate kiss on the wet patch, pushing out my tongue to slightly swipe across it before moving back down to his thighs and kissing from his meaty inner thigh up to his hip bone.

"Please, Y/N, c'mon." He practically cried, his hand moving to scoop a handful of hair into a ponytail, but not doing much to move my head aside from a gentle tug.

"Be patient." I mumbled, sinking my teeth into his inner thigh.

"Holy— fuck!" He exclaimed, his leg jostling in surprise.

I let go and used my tongue to sooth over the area before placing a final kiss, and moving back up.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down his thighs just enough so I could have full access. His dick truly looked painful, with his tip a deep red with precum leaking from the top, and his base thick with his veins slightly enlarged. I dipped my head down and wrapped my lips around his tip, barely sucking whilst my tongue moved around in circles.

Once again, his hips shot up, pushing his dick further into my mouth, and a loud, deep, guttural moan escaped from him, "Oh my fuckin— oh, shit, baby!"

With one hand, I pushed his shaking hips back down onto the bed whilst the other wrapped around his base, using the spit that trailed from my mouth as lube as I bobbed my head up and down.

I pulled my hand away and relaxed my jaw, allowing Harry deeper down my throat whilst my hands massaged deep circles into his hip bones.

“Shit I— please, Y/N.” He whined. I looked up at him and felt my cheeks heating at the sight of his head thrown back, his chest heaving and his abs clenched tight.

My jaw was already beginning to ache, but I didn’t care. The way he was whimpering and whining and crying out was enough motivation to plough through.

I pulled up completely. My hand shot back to continue a steady pace with my thumb encircling his tip, pushing over his slit every few seconds.

“Please, can I?” He asked, his cheeks flushed a deep pink colour, his lips red and raw from him biting them, and his eyes slightly clouded over and barely open.

I grinned, already knowing what he wanted to do, and nodded my head, allowing him to scoop up all of my hair into a ponytail and guide me back to his cock. His hand moved to replace mine, and after a couple pumps, his dick was being led right back into my open mouth.

Almost immediately, my tongue began working overtime, running up and down the vein in the underside of his cock, whilst I was gently sucking. “Okay, you ready?” He questioned, shifting his hips and propping up both of his legs so that his feet were flat against the bed.

I hummed ‘yes’, and once again relaxed my jaw. At first, his thrusts were slow, careful. Then, his grip on my hair tightened. His hips snapped forward, his movements gaining purpose. The sounds between us were obscene, messy, breathless, desperate. Each time his tip hit the back of my throat, I moaned louder, my body reacting on instinct.

As his thrusts got sloppier, Harry’s whimpers turned into groans, his back arched away from the bed, and his grip on my hair became almost impossibly tight.

“I’m gonna– shit! I’m gonna cum.” He groaned, his spare hand clutching the bedsheets next to his waist.

I bobbed my head to match the timings of his thrusts, and with one final dig of my nails into his thigh and a loud whimper, he was shooting hot bursts of cum down my throat. His grip loosened with every groan, moan, and whine that escaped him, and, after a minute or so of silence, he was quick to rub the back of my scalp and pull me off of his dick and up towards him.

"You’re fucking amazing. Do you know that?" He chuckled, breathlessly, his chest rising and falling beneath me. His hair was damp at the edges, sticking slightly to his forehead, and a faint sheen of sweat glowed against his flushed skin.

I grinned, my heart swelling at the way he looked at me, like I was something to be treasured. "I think I’ve heard it before—once or twice."

His breathing slowed, his grip on me loosening as exhaustion crept in. I traced slow circles over his ribs, my touch light, grounding him. He hummed, content, his fingers skimming lazily up my arm before coming to rest over my heart.

Our faces mirrored each other, wide, unabashed smiles stretching across pink-tinted cheeks. I traced my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness where stubble had started to grow. His eyes, still heavy with sleep and something softer, never left mine.

I shifted slightly, pressing my forehead against his, breathing him in - warm, familiar, safe. "I love you. Happy birthday." My voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried everything I meant.

His fingers ghosted over my waist before pulling me closer, his grip firm yet gentle, like he needed to feel me against him. His smile softened, the playfulness still there, but something deeper flickered in his gaze. "I love you more."

For a moment, neither of us moved. The world outside didn’t matter; the ticking of the clock, the slow morning sun creeping across the sheets, the quiet hum of the city beyond our window. There was just us, tangled in warmth, the weight of the day which lay ahead momentarily forgotten.

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