#harry 1d

Truth be told, I’ve been feeling quite odd for the last few weeks. An incessant stirring in my chest that’s main goal is to keep me on edge. Something I can’t put my finger on, but have a mild inkling of what it could be—what could be causing it. And it’s not something I’d like to admit to myself, let alone aloud. But it’s slowly becoming something I can’t ignore.

Maybe I can get out of the office early today? Drive down to the bar, alone—like the loser I’ve recently become—and find the first willing victim to help resolve my…problem. See if that will quiet the dull throbbing in my head and the restless jittering in my bones. A nice fuck to take my mind off of it all. Because that’s all it will do; take my mind off of it. I’m certain, come the next morning, the ache will return.

I stay awake at night fearing that you’re the only one that can completely silence it all. It was you who ignited these feelings after all.

One month. That’s how long it’s been since that fateful night in the elevator. The one I haven’t stepped foot in since. Luckily, my calves have stopped burning from the stairs now after exclusively using them for so long. One whole month and I still can’t shake the images—the sounds and feelings—from my brain. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten laid since.

I’ve taken notice of prospects, don’t get me wrong. Trying has become my new motto, and it’s all I seem to do these days. Even though none of those attempts to try lead anywhere. I get close sometimes. Buy a pretty girl a drink at the bar, make casual flirtatious comments, even extend an offer back at my place. But the second the word ‘yes’ leaves their lips, all I hear is your moans of the same word. The ones I made you scream over and over in that cramped space. The most unromantic setting in the world has quickly become the most erotic to me in my head.

Damn… Now I’m sitting at half-mast in the middle of the workday. Great.

What am I meant to do when distractions don’t work anymore? What am I meant to do when my number one distraction is sitting in a cubicle not 100 feet away?

One of the reasons my feelings toward this whole fucked up situation are so confusing is because of your lack of reaction.

You come into work everyday like nothing ever happened. Like I didn’t have you screaming beneath me, begging for more. You continue wearing those godforsaken pencil skirts like you have no clue what they do to me. I can still feel the fabric of it under my fingertips as I hiked it over your hips. You sit at your desk, do your work, and seem completely unbothered. You even have the audacity to continue using the elevator. It’s aggravatingly annoying.

Why aren’t you just as wrecked as I am? Riddled with the memories of skin on skin? Why aren’t you barging into my office and begging for more? Was it truly only so memorable for me? Will I ever be able to shake you from my system? Move on?

A thought strikes me.

What if the only reason I’m so stuck on this one encounter is because you’re not? Maybe if I got my answers, cleared the steamy air between us, it would all go away? I could finally be free of it all. The visuals, the sounds, the feelings. All of it; gone. Hopefully that’s the answer, because it’s my last resort.

I find myself leaping up out of my chair without a second thought, unable to spend another single second in the uncomfortable unknown. Words flurry around in my head as I head for my office door, planning out which to use to make my questions come off correctly. You could reject speaking to me all together. But that’d only be if you knew what I needed to speak with you about. I guess I’ll just have to lie.

Familiar sounds of typing and murmurs float through the air as I step out onto the office floor. Light conversations happening all around, work getting done, and yet I’m here on a mission. One no one knows about. One no one can know about.

“Can I see you in my office?” are the first words out of my mouth as soon as I round your cubicle, hushed and secretive, meant just for you. Your eyes flick to my face, surprise evident in your gaze. It’s like I can see the cogs turning in your head, mulling over every possible answer for this random visit from me. It occurs to me that you might think you’re getting fired for what transpired between us, so I add, “I’d like to go over some…reports with you.”

You clear your throat, nodding hesitantly as you push away from your desk to stand. I don’t move an inch as you do, leaving your hip to nearly brush my hand. I pray my shuttering breath wasn’t as loud as it felt, and I damn myself for even reacting like that over something so minuscule.

But it's monumental in relation to how my body has reacted in the past month. And it was only for you. Fuck.

The sound of our footsteps, mine heavy and determined, yours light and weary, are added to the atmospheric sounds around us. I have to hope that no one around can sense the same tension I’m feeling as we travel to my office. And I pray that you can’t feel the burning gaze of my eyes on your backside. It’s distracting—sue me!

When the door to my office closes behind us, you obediently take a seat in one of my guest chairs. As I waltz to my side, I watch as you cross your legs politely. My reaction to it is anything but. The feeling of my cock twitching inside of my pants as your skirt rides up your thighs gives away how I’m truly feeling about it. Luckily, my large desk covers me as I adjust myself when I sit down.

“So, these…reports?” you’re the first one to speak, making all of this too real.

I flounder for a second, realizing that you’re here for a meeting that doesn’t exist. I’m forced to come up with something fast. Something to bide my time until I can bring up the real reason you’re here. So, naturally, I reach into my filing cabinet and grab a random folder full of papers that don’t pertain to anything. But as soon as the papers smack onto my desk, a plan forms in my head.

“I need you to look these over for me.” My palm lays flat against the manila folder, not pushing it toward you an inch. Your eyes flick from my hand to my eyes, a hesitancy in your subtle movements that makes the hair stand up on my arms. My hand leaves the folder for just a second, and you immediately go to reach for it, to bring it closer to yourself. My hand slams down over it, keeping it right where it is. “You need to look these over for me…got it?”

I see it then. The way your lips part slightly, bringing in more air for your shallow breaths. You're getting the hint. Now I just have to hope that you take the bait.

It plays out like a choreographed dance. You lean forward as I lean back. One moment you’re sitting in the chair across from me, and the next, you’re bending at the hips, hovering over my desk. Your eyes haven’t left mine. My eyebrows lift in challenge, hands gripping my chairs arms like it’s a liferaft, and you don’t crack. But you do fold. Eyes casting downward to the nonsense documents below you. I take that as my chance.

I’m out of my chair in the matter of a second, striding around my desk like I’m a man on a mission. And I am. I don’t even check a look back at you to make sure you’re still where I left you. For some reason, deep down, I know you haven’t moved an inch. Not as I reach the front of my office and shut all the blinds. Not as I head for the door and click the lock. Not even as I come right up behind you, hips pressing against your ass—you still don’t move. But your breath hitches, and I know I’ve won.

“Tell me to stop…” I reach down to grab a handful of your hips, feeling like I could black out from the familiarity. You don’t respond, though. You don’t tell me to stop, you don’t push me away—but you don’t tell me to keep going.

I bend over your body, covering you like a sheet until my face is nestled in the crook of your neck. I breathe against your skin there, watching goosebumps rise in the wake. My body churns. But I repeat, “Tell me to stop.”

“D-Don’t stop…” you whisper, breathy and uncontrolled.

And that was all I needed to hear.

I straighten up behind you and give no warning before my hand cracks down on your ass. You yelp, jolting forward from the impact. A rumbling hum growls deep in my chest, my hand smoothing over the fabric of your skirt before gripping your hips with a vice hold in both my hands. I move you for my own viewing pleasure. Pulling you away and tugging you back, mimicking the act of you gliding on and off of my cock. It makes me feel insane.

“God… I’ve missed your body. This fucking ass of yours—shit.” I thrust my hips against said ass, groaning at the feel. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you missed this too.”

My hips have a mind of their own as they continue grinding against your ass, making you squirm against my desk.

“You’re not crazy…” you whisper again, another confession straight to my gut.

“Fuck…” I sigh, watching my bulge glide between you crease of your ass cheeks in that godforsaken pencil skirt. “You know what you wearing these skirts does to me, baby?” I grip your hips tighter for emphasis. You just crane your neck back, peering at me over your shoulder with a small smirk on your lips. Telling me that you know exactly what you’re doing by wearing them. “Oh, you’re cruel…” I laugh lightly, spanking you again to prove my point. “You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, baby.”

“I know…” Your words are just a breath, teasing me and pulling me deeper and deeper into your spell. I’m hooked. Have been since that first time I took you. Clearly.

I mirror your smirk, though mine is much more dangerous. A promise of my words hidden in the lines of my lips.

And there’s no warning when I slam my hips against yours from behind. The rough motion has your pelvis hitting the edge of my desk with a brutal force, making the whole thing shake. Pencils fall to the floor, papers floating down in their escape, but nothing's broken—yet.

“Have you fucked anyone since me, baby?” I hold my breath as I wait for your answer, selfishly hoping that you say no. Lord knows I couldn’t get it up for anyone else. It might actually wreck me if you say yes.

“N-no,” you finally reply, shaky, like you didn’t want to admit it.

I hum, pleased with your answer. “Good girl… Were you waiting for this? Waiting for my cock to fill you up again?” You nod, but I don’t push for your words this time. I’m too fucking antsy. I need to get my hands on you. Need to feel you beneath my fingertips. Feel your warmth wrapped around my cock.

My fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt, deciding I want it off this time. I want to see all of you. I drag it down slowly, the sound of it mixing with your labored breaths. Once it’s undone, I push the waistband of it down past your hips until it’s pooled on the floor around your heels. My gaze drags up from there, those black stilettos making your legs look like they go on for miles. Sheer black tights encase you, and my fingertip drags along the stitching on the back. Up, up, and up… Leading me right where you want me.

I cup your heat with my whole hand, gripping it like it’s mine—because it is.

“God, you’re warm. Can only imagine the mess you’ve made of yourself already.” I slap your pussy, watching you jolt. I smile to myself, fully taking in the scene of you spread out like this for me. But I need more.

Before you can protest, my hands fist into the sheer material of your tights and pull. Ripping them right down the middle and finally giving me access to your ass. Of course, I spank it. The bare flesh turning red right before my eyes. My fingers hook into the tiny scrap of fabric you call panties, groaning at the sight of it nestled between your cheeks, and tug it to the side. Finally, getting the view I’ve been quite literally dreaming about for a month. Can’t even count how many times I had to rub one out in the shower before coming into work just from the memory.

And there it is, in all of its glory.

Your perfect, beautifully pink pussy on display just for me. It glistens in the fluorescent lighting, giving away how turned on you are. My cock strains against my slacks, begging to bury itself deep inside. But I can’t just yet. I need this to last. Who knows when I’ll get you like this again.

I smooth my hand down from your ass cheek in between your legs, cupping your heat once again, only this time, you’re completely bare. My middle finger gets enveloped by your folds, nestled in your slit like a hug. I slowly rock my hand back and forth over your entire sex, feeling you shiver beneath my touch.

“Has your pussy missed me? Been aching for me?”

“Yes,” you reply quickly, breathless and needy. It makes something in me settle, knowing I can still get you like this. A mess in my hands.

“Bet this pretty, little cunt missed feeling full.” All you can do is whine in response, especially since my fingers are now dragging up and down between your folds. Your wetness coats my digits with every swipe. I lean down over you again until my breath hits your ear. “This pussy—“ I drag my fingers down to your entrance, “—is mine.”

The final word is emphasized with my two fingers ramming inside of you. I don’t wait for you to adjust. I don’t even wait for you to swallow your gasp back in. My fingers work skillfully and quick, fucking into you at a relentless pace. You scream out when the twist of them brushes against that spongy muscle deep inside, but you quickly slap a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t want anyone to hear you, baby? Don’t want them to know how good I make you feel?” I slow my fingers, letting the twist and curl of them do most of the work. You shake your head, whining against your palm. It shouldn’t anger me that you want to keep quiet, it’s you being sensible so we don’t both lose our jobs. But I want to hear you. Want to hear those pretty noises you make when I’m making you feel so good, making you lose your mind. It’s a battle in my head, but I don’t want to push your boundaries on this. So, I settle for hearing your muffled cries.

I drag my fingers out of your hole slowly, letting you feel every bit of pleasure before I take it all away. You whine and wriggle around, begging for my fingers again. I’ve got to be honest, the sight of your hips moving, seeking me out—your pussy dripping and clenching in a plea—almost makes me fold. But I stand my ground.

I reach forward and twist your hair around my hand, yanking your head up from the desk. “You wanna keep quiet, baby? Cause I know a good way of shutting you up…” Your dark gaze connects with mine, your panting breaths spurring me on. I lift one eyebrow in question, and all you can do is nod.

I yank on your hair again. “Up,” I demand, pulling you up to stand straight. I do a once over of you like this. Standing before me in a rustled blouse, ripped pantyhose and crooked panties. You look like the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. “On your knees, baby.”

You hesitate for a second, questioning the seriousness of my instructions. I make my request solid when I tug your head backward with my grip still on your head. “I said on your knees.”

Finally, you sink down, sitting back on your heels below me. I can’t help but moan at the sight of you like this. “Unbutton your top.”

This time, you follow without question, working the buttons of your top undone until it flows open, giving me a glimpse of your breasts. I can already see how hard your nipples are through the thin cups, pebbled and needy just for me. I can’t wait to make those titties bounce while you ride my dick again.

“Tell me, baby… Do you like sucking dick?” You look thrown off by question, momentarily stunned by the bluntness. “Don’t worry, baby… You’re gonna love sucking mine.”

I keep your head in place with my hand still tangled in your hair, but my other hand starts working at my belt and pants. I’m a little frenzied, already halfway gone just from the sight of your anticipation. So much so that I don’t even push my pants down all the way. Just enough to let my cock spill out, hard and aching for that pretty mouth of yours.

“See what you do to me? Been rock hard since the last time.” And that’s not an overexaggeration. “Now, open that mouth of yours and let me fuck it.”

I watch you swallow hard, imagining the feel of that exact action when my cock is deep in your throat. But then your lips are popping open, wide and ready to pleasure me however I want. Your tongue hangs out eagerly for a taste. I hold my length in my free hand, pumping it a few times while just staring at you. I step just a fraction closer, enough to let me place the tip of my cock on your tongue. I tap it against it, letting you get used to the weight and girth before slowly pushing in.

Your lips mold around me, stretched and tight. I groan—loudly—at the feel. The warmth and wetness of your mouth is almost as good as your pussy. “Fuck, baby… Suck me tighter.”

You hollow out your cheeks, suctioning me in with a grip I choke on a breath over. And then it’s game over for both of us.

I tighten my grip on your hair and force you forward, forcing my cock deeper down your throat. You gag and choke around me, eyes already watering, but I keep you there, relishing in the tightening muscle milking me. When your eyes go wide, I give you some grace, pulling you off completely so you can suck in a sharp breath. A string of saliva connects your lips to my tip, and it’s a mesmerizing sight. I wipe below your eyes with my free hand, catching the tears before they can spill.

“Ready, baby?” I ask, voice husky and low. “Cause that was just the warm up. Open.”

You take a deep breath before opening your mouth again, and I don’t even wait to slide my cock deep inside. The warmth of you surrounds me once again making me moan, head titling back in pleasure. Even more so when your tongue swirls around me. “Fuck…”

I keep your head still as my hips start to move. With every roll of my hips, the tip of my dick hits deep in the base of your throat. You almost take all of me down. Your eyes never stray from mine as I fuck your mouth, wide and glassy. I smirk down at you between groans, my final warning before letting loose.

I thrust into your mouth with more force, hearing you gurgle and gag around me every time I hit your reflex. Your throat tightens, clenching around me perfectly. Fuck, you’re a sight like this. Mouth full and stretched with my cock between your lips. Eyes watery and wide as you moan around me. Your hands land on my thighs, digging into my slacks to ground yourself. I growl, my hips moving faster and faster. The sounds you make are insane. The wet sounds of your saliva, the choking when I slip too deep, and your moans—god, your moans.

“Think you can take me deeper?” I question, stilling my hips so you can have a second to breathe. And when you nod, all bets are off.

I let you take the lead this time, sitting up a little higher on your knees. You grip onto my thighs tighter as you slowly take me deeper and deeper. I can’t help the shaky moans that leave me as I watch, eyes still connected with mine. I feel my tip go past the curve of your throat and down into your esophagus. You swallow and I nearly come right then and there. And with just a few more steadying, sharp breaths through your nose, you guide me down the rest of the way. Until the tip of your nose is buried in the hair at my navel.

“Holy f-fuck…” I gasp, shaking from the pleasure of just this. I slowly tilt your chin up, not enough to make you uncomfortable in this position, but just enough to see your throat. And there it is. The bulge of my cock deep down under your skin. I am completely ruined for anyone else. Tears slip out of your eyes as you repeatedly gag, and that’s when I pull you off.

You rest back on your heels, sucking in a sharp breath and coughing harshly. I’m still stuck in my daze, watching you try to compose yourself. I fist my cock, pumping myself at the sight of you. Wiping under your eyes, cleaning up the saliva from your chin, and taking in unsteady breaths. You have no idea the effect you have on me. Once you’ve finally composed yourself enough, you notice me stroking myself. You try to lean forward and take me back into your mouth, but I halt you.

“No… You’re just gonna watch.” My hand works a little bit faster, brushing over my tip to spread my pre-cum over myself. “Take your shirt off.” You listen without any question, shrugging your open blouse off and letting it fall to the floor behind you. Sitting there with your hands in your lap, just your bra and panties. So fucking sexy. “Take your bra off, too. Wanna see you, baby. Wanna see those tits.”

You smile shyly—odd, since you shamelessly had my dick down your throat not a minute ago—but comply. Reaching behind yourself, you unclasp your bra and let it fall. Your breasts pour out, a beautiful sight. I groan, tightening my grip on myself. You reposition the way you're sitting to get a little more comfortable, but the movement just makes your tits jiggle and bounce.

“Fuck,” I curse, pumping myself faster. My muscles grow tight as more moans spill from my lips. Your eyes are trained on my hand, watching me stroke myself, listening intently to my low sounds of pleasure.

You think I don’t notice, but I do. You think your hand slowly slipping between your clenched thighs can fly under the radar, but it can’t. I groan, low and deep in my throat as I watch you slowly start to touch yourself. “Let me watch…” I murmur.

And you obey.

You lean back onto your free hand and let your legs spread for me. I moan, watching you move your panties to the side and expose yourself to me again. Your pussy is still red and wet from when I pounded it with my fingers earlier, and that just goes straight to my dick. I squeeze the base of my dick to try and get a grip on myself, but as soon as your fingers slip in between your folds, I don’t even try to restrain myself anymore.

“Fuck, yeah, baby… Touch yourself.” I watch you slowly rub your clit, wishing it was my fingers playing with that bud instead. I can’t take my eyes off your pussy, it’s physically impossible. The way your folds spread as your fingers speed up, your clit swelling with sensitivity—it’s intoxicating. I slowly sink down onto my knees in front of you, getting a closer view of the show. You moan lowly, leaning back farther onto your elbows as your fingers grow frantic. I don’t even notice the speed in which I’m stroking myself until the sound of my strangled grunts hits my ears. I let myself fall forward, trapping you beneath me with one hand next to your head. “You’re close. I can tell… Does touching myself get you off, baby?”

“Yes— Yes!” you whine, back arching toward me. Your fingers keep swirling yourself, pressing down harder.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy… Spread your lips. Let me see that tight hole, baby.”

You stop rubbing yourself for just a second so I can get a glimpse of your entrance, leaking down toward your ass and clenching around nothing. My mouth waters at the sight, growing overly impatient to be inside of you. My hand works faster and faster over myself until I’m breathless and panting above you. The daze of pleasure creeps up on me slowly, hearing your moans filter through my ears as you rub yourself again.

“I’m gonna—fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum all over your pussy.” My balls tighten as my teeth dig into my bottom lip. You squirm beneath me, trying to catch up. My eyes can’t choose a place to look. Your face, twinged with pleasure, needy and wrecked. Your tits, bouncing with each jerk of your hips. Or your pussy, spread and wet, just for me. The moment you pull your lips apart to rub deeper, I bust.

“Oh— G-God, fuck,” I moan, hips jerking my length into my hand as I come undone. Ribbons of white shooting out, painting itself all over your pussy. Coated in it. Such a mess. You shriek a moan and I’m back in the moment.

My fingers move without any thought, pushing your hand out of the way and swiping through your folds to collect my cum.

And then I’m ramming it deep inside your cunt.

I watch my fingers dive deep into you, my mess squelching along your walls. You thrash against the floor, overstimulated by all the sensations. So what do I do? I kick it up a notch.

I lower myself until I’m practically laying on my stomach, the perfect vantage point. Leaning in, I flick my tongue over your sensitive clit, making you scream. I smile into your cunt as you toss your arm over your mouth and bite down like a gag. My fingers curl toward your g-spot, my lips suck your bud into my mouth, and my hand reaches up to palm your breast. Every place you could get pleasure from, I’m stimulating it.

One pinch of your nipple, one swirl of my tongue, and one more long press deep inside of you, and you’re coming undone. Your hips writhe against my face and I accept it, letting you coat me in our mixed juices. I slowly pull my fingers out and hear you whine, making up for it by placing a kiss to your throbbing clit. That makes you jolt. But then I’m kissing my way up your body. Your pelvis, your hips, your stomach, your ribs, your sternum, your breasts, your collarbones, your neck, your jaw, and finally your lips.

Your arms wrap around my neck as you deepen the kiss, seeking out the taste of yourself on my tongue. I groan into your mouth, scooping my arms underneath you and helping you sit up. I pull back from your mouth to instead place two softer kisses against each of your cheeks.

“You alright?”

“Yeah…” you breathe, soft and still a bit shaky.

I scoop you up in my arms and stand on my wobbly legs, carrying you over to my desk. Setting you down on the edge of it, I take a small step back just to admire you. Completely bare for me and absolutely beautiful. I can’t help but lean in for a firm kiss. You smile against my lips and it makes my heart lurch. It’s almost too soft, having to remind myself that that isn’t what this is.

No matter what my traitorous brain is telling me.

So, instead, I think with my dick.

I take both of your thighs from around my waist and lift them up and over my shoulders. It stretches your muscles tight, making you lean back onto your elbows on the desk, sending more shit onto the floor. I stare down at your body instead of your face, deeming that the easiest option to avoid that heavy feeling again. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the fullness of your thighs, and the pinkness of your cunt. It’s a sight I’d happily choose to stare at for the rest of my life.

Well, shit. That didn’t work.

“What’re you doing?” you speak, questioning my frozen gaze, laughter evident in your voice.

“Nothin’… You’re just absolutely gorgeous,” my voice is low, quiet, and I mean every fucking word.

“Shut up,” you laugh, a light in your eyes.

“Oh? Getting mouthy on me now, are you?” I tease. “You know what mouthy girls get?”

I grab the base of my cock and use my hold to drag my tip through your drenched folds. You gasp, but try to hide the reaction. It just makes me smirk.

“What do they get?” you egg me on, already needy and breathless again.

And my restraint snaps.

I spear myself into you, bottoming out in the first stroke. You choke on a moan, back already arching up into the air. Masterpiece.

“They get fucked.”

Your short laugh gets cut off by a whining noise when my hips start to move me inside of you. Rolling and thrusting, giving no chance for a breath. My hands move from your waist to your ass, lifting it off the desk and gripping both cheeks. I watch as your tits bounce with every thrust, transfixed. I already know I’m not gonna last. Especially when you’re reaching up to palm yourself.

I slam into you harder, making the desk shake in tandem with your legs. The sound of our skin slapping together is like music to my ears.

“God, you take me so well, baby…” I groan, watching the scene between us. The ease in which my cock slips in and out of your heat, like it was made to fit here. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

“Fuck! Right there!” you yell, and I listen, always when it’s said in that tone.

I continue hitting you deep inside, not straying from the spot that made you scream. You start to squirm against the desk, desperate for more. So, I drag one of my hands back to your front and let it slip between your legs, rubbing slow strokes over your clit. Your pussy clenches around me and I know you’re close.

“Gonna come, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?” I taunt, hips picking up speed as my own pleasure chases me down.

“Y-yes…” Your back arches, hips grind, and eyes nearly roll back.

“Good. Cause I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby, I’ll be dripping from you for the next week.”

I start to grunt as it becomes a struggle not to lose my tempo, pleasure taking over. But I need to make sure you cum first. I rub your clit faster, watching as your hips lift and writhe against my thrusts.

“Come for me… Let me watch you.”

Your eyes slowly blink open and connect with mine, jaw slack with whimpers escaping you. And with one more thrust, you’re done for. Silent screams, convulsing muscles, and your cunt squeezing the hell out of me. I have to brace my hands on the desk beside your hips as my pleasure slaps me in the face. Strangled moans leave my lips as my hips stutter, my cock pulsing inside of you as I fill you to the brim. Your pussy continues to clench around me, beckoning me to stay forever and milking me dry.

Once I’ve come back to earth, I grab onto your shoulders and lift your back up off the desk. You’re like a ragdoll at this point. You look like you just got a good fucking—which you did. Slowly, your arms come to circle around my neck. I hum in contentment, a bad sign.

I lean in and brush my lips against your neck, feeling you shiver in my hold. My lips ghost a path up to your ear. “You’re mine now…”

“I already was,” you whisper back.

Fuck.

*BEEP*

“Mr. Styles, I have a Mr. Winters on line 3 for you.”

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yourusername life’s been good lately

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user1 hey i think i’m in love with you

user2 and you know what would make it better? new music     ↳ yourusername hm     ↳ user3 WHAT DOES THAT MEAN     ↳ user4 why is she playing with us💔    ↳ user5 announcement this week, i can feel it

user6 harry took these, i’m sure     ↳ user7 and he probably gave her those flowers too

harrystyles didn’t know you could read ↳ yourusername at least i finished school ↳ harrystyles ...

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yourusername my new album, Short n’ Sweet, will be out May 2nd. Pre-order now. New single tonight.

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user1 TONIGHT????

user2 i may or may have not screamed

user3 album full of songs about harry iktr

user4 okay now announce the tour pls     ↳ user5 not yet please im broke

user6 album of the year. i dont need to listen to it to know it

user7 love album, please let it be a love album🙏

user8 harry liking because he knows the album is about him

arianagrande that’s a really accurate title     ↳ user9 ariana what are you doing here

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yourusername tour starts in a week!!! how are we feeling😁😁😁

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user1 i’m freaking out thanks for asking

niallhoran i’m still waiting for my vip tickets     ↳ yourusername why would i give you vip tickets?     ↳ niallhoran because we’re best friends forever     ↳ yourusername ??? since when     ↳ niallhoran since about ten months ago. you should know the date. i could tell you why if you want tho     ↳ yourusername i have your tickets     ↳ niallhoran thank you!! can’t wait☺️     ↳ user2 i feel like we’re missing something

user3 hear me out. y/n and harry have been dating for ten months     ↳ user4 i don’t think they could have kept it in secret for so long     ↳ user5 we’ve been saying for more than half a year that they’re dating. they haven’t kept anything in secret😭

user6 why is nobody talking about slides 3 and 8

user7 oh she’s posting him now, this is serious

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˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

liked by yourusername, niallhoran and 906,424 others

harrystyles thank you for the gift @/youruser

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yourusername anytime ♥︎ by creator

user1 subtle king😍

user2 feeling kinda like the man in the back of the first picture

user3 they couldn’t make it more obvious if they tried

user4 honestly, i’d react the same way if y/n said she’s arresting me

user5 you guys are so subtle

user6 use them on me🙏 ↳ user7 HUH

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liked by harrystyles, user1 and 1,546,327 others

yourusername thank you for an amazing night, london🇬🇧❤️ i love british people

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yourusername hope you make good use of my gift @/harrystyles     ↳ harrystyles i will;) ♥︎ by creator     ↳ user1 …do you guys know you’re on main?

user2 “i love british people” babe we know who you’re talking about

user3 putting the horny picture after the harry one.. i see what you did there

user4 if things don’t work out with harry, just know that i’m single

user5 no, i haven’t tried that one

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tmz After months of countless rumors and speculations, Y/n Y/l/n and Harry Styles have officially gone public with their relationship. The couple was spotted strolling through London, where Y/l/n has just finished three shows of her ‘Short n’ Sweet’ tour.

They looked very cozy while ordering food from a local stall, with Styles’ arms wrapped around the blonde before kissing her, a moment that was repeated later that night.

We don’t know how long this secret romance has been going on, but given the public reaction, it’s clear that many people are happy it’s finally out in the open.

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user1 that one girl on twitter is banging her head against the wall rn

user2 i don’t think this surprises anyone but okay

user3 where’s that girl that says everything they do is friendly? i wanna know what she thinks of this

rockme_ okay i don’t think this is friendly anymore    ↳ user4 LMAO finally     ↳ user5 all it took was them sucking each other’s faces

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yourusername all friendly!!

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user1 the caption😭😭 they know about her

user2 what did you answer to his question     ↳ yourusername i did the backflip

user3 i guess i’ll act surprised

rockme_ why am i catching strays💔

user4 HE’S PAINTING HER NAILS?? i can’t do this

user5 sharing earphones.. that’s true love

user6 his hand on the 5th pic and her lipstick stain on the last one.....

harrystyles oh he’s cute     ↳ yourusername meh

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harrystyles friendly pictures

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user1 that dog looks like the one he was holding in her post     ↳ user2 they adopted it together     ↳ user3 why do you sound so sure??     ↳ user2 i’m manifesting it

rockme_ AGAIN?💔💔💔

user4 the third picture… need dat

user5 anne liked🥲

yourusername ur so cute ily ♥︎ by creator    ↳ harrystyles i thought i was “meh”

user6 oh wow i wasn’t expecting this, i’m so surprised

Long story short, you'd never felt more sweaty and gross in your entire life.

You only made it another quarter mile before your legs felt like they'd give out, like you were supported by jell-o alone. You hunched over, sweaty palms tacked to unstable knees, gasping for air like you'd been holding your breath underwater. The air cooled around you, licking at your sweat-damp skin with ice-cold fervor, chilling you down to the bone.

From your hunched-over position, you could only make out the bottom half of his body as he circled back— the lean musculature of his thighs, the unfair solidness of his build.

"Hey," Harry panted, "thought I lost ya there for a second." He placed a hand on the small of your sweaty back, thumb brushing against your surely sweat-damp bike shorts.

You glanced up at him past your eyebrows, eyes squinting in the brightness that loomed from behind his towering frame. And that— that was a sight to behold. Illuminated by the rising California sun, a landscape of yucca, cacti, and desert lavender the perfect backdrop for his statuesque body— the sight was near heavenly, and stole the last remnant of your breath.

The remainder of your discomfort dispersed through your shaking limbs, vanishing in the shadow of a new drive— a new desire, one that sparked in the flinty core of your body.

"Can we go back to the house now?" you asked.

With a hand solidly placed against his cocked hip, Harry quirked an eyebrow at you. "Yeah?"

Harry wouldn't be Harry if he didn't continue to jog around you in circles, as you slowly began the journey back to the house. He'd run ahead a hundred feet, before turning and practicing a new 'u-turn' technique he'd mentioned marathoners in Japan had begun to make popular— just to pace right back to you. Each time he made it back, he'd place a kiss on your lips before spinning around and doing it all over again.

Now this, you thought, this was a form of 'running' you could get on board with.

.˳·⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

By the time you made it back to the house, most of the sweat that had accumulated on your skin had dissipated along with the morning dew, leaving you, albeit still somewhat grimy feeling, slightly more rejuvenated than you had felt two miles into the barren Mojave desert.

Harry, on the other hand, was damp with the effects of his run. He'd discarded his shirt a mile into your trek back, tossing the damp cotton in your arms for 'safekeeping ', which you'd rolled your eyes at but still happily obliged in carrying.

The t-shirt you'd so carefully held onto was discarded the second you both stepped into the entryway. You turned, eyeing the slick skin of his chest, how his happy trail and chest hair pasted, wet, over bronze, sun-kissed skin. You skimmed over the illegal length of his shorts, eyeing the exposure of the tiger and words that were not often revealed, yet were now on full display for you.

Without a second thought, you stepped toward him, your hands finding his waist to hold him steady for what you had in mind. Your lips sank to the vale of his collarbone, hot tongue filling the hollow to lick at the salt on his skin. It was filthy and unexpected, evident by the gasp Harry let out between deep, regulating breaths.

As you nosed at his neck, you couldn't help but notice that his body radiated a heat, a taste, a smell you couldn't resist. Pure pheromones. The pure essence of him beneath your nose and tongue. You breathed deep, savoring the natural musk on his skin—similar to the coastal forests you grew up near. There was no refrain as you kissed, open-mouthed—tongue dancing, at the swallows on his chest, carving all the way down until the fine hair of his chest jelled under your tongue.

It was all intoxicating. Just a few moments with him under your nose and tongue and your mind was overtaken by the cloudy haze of 'taste him'.

"That's it," Harry murmured, a smile carving at his lips as you sank lower, your tongue laving at the thorax that adorned his diaphragm.

His hand smoothed over the loose flyaways of your ponytail, fingertips sinking into the contained hair against the base of your scalp as you nosed at fluttering butterfly wings. Licking and nuzzling, you breathed in everything his skin had to offer as you sank to your knees. The smooth, cold concrete beneath you instantly lost in the fiery blaze of your mind.

Harry's skin was still damp, his sweat having started to cool against your cheek as you kissed around his belly button, thumbs tracing laurel boughs. You pawed at the bunched elastic waistband of his running shorts, your nails carelessly biting into soft muscle of his belly as you tore the flimsy excuse for clothing down his thighs.

You were a spectacle to be mused at as you kissed down his abdomen. Your hands anchored at his hips, tongue out and spit slick, until your nose was nestled into the neatly trimmed patch of his pubic hair. You didn't care that he was still sweaty; you didn't care at all. If anything, the rich smell of him only fueled what was becoming irrepressible appetency.

"Oh, fuck," Harry moaned, fingers scrambling for purchase at the root of your ponytail as your tongue began to explore his hardening cock.

Mirth danced in his pupils as he watched you— watched as your taste buds scored against the natural curvature of him. Watched as your eyes went glassy and your spit began to drip in tacky rills from how you were lapping at his cock. You were just his sweet little thing, overtaken by some carnal desire that was rare to see. And how could he deny a sweet thing like you from lavishing at his body?— sweat and all.

"Taste good?" Harry goaded as your lips wrapped around the ruddy tip of him, tongue cradling his frenulum. And all you could do was groan, your eyes slipping shut— because yes, it did taste good. Salt from skin, salt from precum, salt from him. That's all that mattered, him- him- him.

You swallowed him down with ardor. Your passion present in the way you moaned, bobbing your head up and down his length. Every twitch of his fingers in your hair, each new bead of pre on your tongue, it all kindled the desire to consume, to devour; reaching a threshold of near intoxication as you surmounted the weight of him on your tongue, the nudge of him at the back of your throat.

It was messy the way you imbibed on his cock— all spit, eyes closed. One could say you were filthy; Harry certainly said so— "My filthy, filthy girl— sucking my cock so good, baby."

There was nothing Harry felt but veneration at the sight of you— a vision on your knees, your spit frothing at the base of him. Your dedication to the cause (sucking his cock) was admirable; one could even say quixotic. So why would he interfere? To push would be to sabotage, not just to your crusade but to his own satiety, too. So his hand stayed a constant at the back of your head, a grounding force to your undertaking, fingertips biting at your scalp just enough to let you know he was there— that he cared.

Reality slipped through between gags and rivulets of your own saliva. A brief moment where interoception could cudgel through your lecherous frenzy. You sputtered off his cock, spit clinging in sticky tendrils between your lower lip and the tip of him as you gasped for breath.

Now this, you thought, this is a way you wouldn't mind being breathless with him.

You looked up at Harry through salt clumped lashes, blinking away the tears you hadn't even realized you'd begun shed. And there Harry was, staring down at you with that cheeky look of adoration you weren't sure you'd ever get past— like it was you who hung the moon in his twilight sky. It was that look, those murky, mirth-dilated pupils that made you swoon, that told you that you were safe; safe to till at the soil of his body, to harvest what he had to sow.

"Hi," he cooed, fingers smoothing over the wayward hairs that fell loose around your face.

The simple greeting, just that one two-letter word, had you blushing and nuzzling at the crook of his thigh, into the safe ravine of his muscles. It was so ordinary, so casual— too much so for the circumstances. There you sat, cold concrete beneath your knees, spit clinging to plumped lips, his cock just inches from your face, and the word he chose was 'hi'?

Harry's fingers carded over your scalp, smoothing down your hair in a soothing motion. His affection was simple but, despite this, still brought forth an entrancing kind of comfort— the type that pacified you. "Why'd you stop, baby?" You shook your head against his thigh, still too shy to confront your own ravenous behavior.

His thumb brushed over the crease that nestled between your brows, smoothing away the line with a glide of his fingertip. "C'mon, why don't we get you off the floor?" He suggested, stroking along the back of your head, skimming down until he could rub against your shoulder.

Harry coaxed you upright on your shaky legs. His touch stable as he knew that any remaining sense of stability was long lost from the soreness of your muscles and the dissipating dump of adrenaline from your endeavors. He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you to his chest, cheek smooshed between sparrows as his palms smoothed over the expanse of your back.

"C'mon," He pulled away, bracing his hands on your slumped shoulders. "Did such a good job taking care of me," he hummed. "Why don't you let me take care of you now?"

.˳·⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry pulled you along, slowly, your small hand pressed in the warmth of his grasp, until he was able to guide you in front of the couch and between his already denuded thighs.

He looked up at you through thick lashes, and you swore the gelation of your legs was going to be finalized just by the lithe sea foam of his irises, the leaden weight of his pupils. His palms were so warm, even through the spandex of your bike shorts, moored to the width of your hips, thumbs circling against your hip bones.

"Why don't we get these off?" he asked, timber deep.

You gave a nod, trying your best not to rock against the balls of your feet as he hooked his thumbs beneath the thick elastic band. You had half a mind to stop him when you realized how sweaty you'd been, how salt had dripped into what felt like every crevice and vale of your body. But he must have known; he'd seen how flushed and out of breath you were during your 'run', and if you hadn't cared, why would he?

Harry pulled you closer, until your knees knocked against the twill cushion of the couch, closer- closer- until he was able to paste a kiss in the well of your sternum. Your hand tangled into his short hair, the strands just long enough to stick up spiky between your fingers as you cradled his head to your body. He kissed, first gentle pecks, savoring the smoothness of your skin and the fine vellus hairs that greeted his lips— until avidity took over, until his lips and tongue weren't enough and the brusque edge of his teeth had to make do.

Your grasp tightened in the strands you held so desperately between clenched fingers. Your other hand tangled down at his nape, nails biting at the brawny topography of his shoulders and back as he sucked a mark over the projection of your ribs. The sound rewarded by his infliction rumbled gently beneath his taste buds, filling his mouth with a newfound taste of veneration. Urgency thrummed in both of your veins as his thumbs pried off the two-piece set that clung to your skin.

He mouthed at your belly, your chest, nipping and sucking and laving— savoring every inch of skin he could sink his teeth, his tongue, into. Dignity got lost in a tangle of your limbs, of skin on skin, as Harry pulled you —spread wide— into the cradle of his lap.

Caught in his snare, his hands were nearing opulency, and yet somehow still felt too finite. Fingers slid around the globes of your ass, hoisting, lifting, until he could position you where he liked. And you, you kissed at the rogue, sun-born freckles that had dared to pop up across his cheekbones under the despotic sun of the desert, as he manhandled you into the perfect, pliant position that he desired.

You honed in on the sensation of skin on tepid, sticky skin—on the heat that brewed in the bisect of your legs as his cock nudged against the cleft of your cunt and thigh. You wanted it— my god, you swore you'd never felt a hunger that deep.

You didn't even notice his hand traveling past your hip—not until you released a noise against his cheek, something caught between a mewl and gasp, as his cockhead caught at your entrance. Harry was breathing just as heavy, hot and humid, against the crook of your neck, the width of his hand broad against your lower back, his touch all encompassing.

He helped to guide you with ease, letting gravity take its course as you sank down the length of him. In that moment he occupied your every thought, filling you with such precision, such totality, that there was nothing else beyond the stretch of him against your walls. All your sensations pinpointed down to how he carved out a home for himself within your body, the give of his flesh beneath your nails, the taste of his skin between your teeth as you nipped at his cheekbone.

He pecked at your jawbone in return as you both shuddered out a breath. "Want to act like a feral kitten?" he hummed, lilt caught in his throat. "Then you can ride me like one."

And the low drawl of his words, the condescension laced into his tone, acted like he'd thrown gasoline onto the burning frame of your body. The pain of your tired muscles diffused, replaced instead by an inferno of brute appetency.

Harry's nails bit at your backside, digging into supple flesh as you dared to cock your hips forward. Your clit dragged through the coronet of his pubic hair as the compound of your ragged breaths hung heavy in the interstice of your bodies.

"C'mon," he goaded with a smile. "Show me how bad you want it."

And your overburdened muscles couldn't stop you if they tried.

The sound of skin slapping against skin overtook the room, accompanied only by frayed gasps that filtered past unbarred lips. You were thankful for the anchor of his palms against your back, broad and wide, like he was holding together the threads of your being— fearful that you'd unspool just from the pleasure of it all.

There was no need to be graceful, no gnawing voice in your head that said your movements had to look pretty— that all fell away. Everything fixated down to a single point— the mutual gratification that Harry's cock fucking into you brought. Your drive hadn't simmered down to that needy intuition to take, but it was close.

"Y'were so filthy sucking my sweaty cock," Harry bit out against the shell of your ear, nails cresting the dimples of your back as he thrust up. "My filthy, fucking, girl—"

"Fuck—" You gasped, teeth grazing against his jawbone as your clit rolled against his pelvis in that perfect way.

Maybe you were filthy— driven to madness just by your own hunger. But how could you not be when you had that pinned beneath the plush of your ass. That looking up at with hazy, lust-filled eyes. That cudgeling against the deepest, innermost parts of your being— reducing you to nothing but a vessel of desire.

There was something to be cherished about the noises that crawled up your throat, the unabashed groans and moans that dared to break free, fueled by an ardent hunger. How pleasure played your bodies like an instrument, the resonance echoing in between smooshed, sweaty ribcages. How there, reduced to subdued pleasure, your beings could surrender to one another, unbound.

Your orgasm steamrolled you without warning— hot and shuddering. And you clawed at the very vessel that guided you without second thought, nails gouging out marks in the tanned plane of his back, his shoulders; teeth grazing at the hinge of his jaw as your breaths unified in tepidity.

Slowly he nudged against the furthest reaches of your core, rocking you gently in his lap as you caught your breath against the damp skin of his neck, "How's my good girl?" He asked with a shift of his hips.

Words were so far astray in your mind that all Harry got was a garbled mumble, followed by the faint press of your lips to his collarbone. And that was enough for him as he held you, safe and spread as his palm slid up the sweaty curve of your spine, holding you steady as the aftershocks of your orgasm had you clenching around him.

Harry was content to just let you be, to relish in the softness of your skin, the warmth of your breath on his neck — and while the respite was nice, something still kindled in the flickering core of your body.

You could feel the muscles in his belly tremble as you shifted in his lap— feel the very effect of your body in the vibrations of his breath as he sucked in a sharp inhale. Harry's fingers were loose on your hips, your waist, as you clambered off of him. He stroked along the outside of your waist as you rose tall between his knees. There was a sense of wonderment as he looked up at you, of intrigue of what was to come.

Harry's gaze stayed firm on you as you sank to your knees, his touch light and constant on your arms, your shoulders, the cusp of your jaw— just enough to keep himself grounded to you, to remind himself that this was real.

You nuzzled into the warm cup of his palm, eyes closing as sanctity flowed in. You could envision yourself held in the haven of his branched thighs, kept safely in the web of his scent, his skin, his touch, forever— but you had bigger plans.

You let yourself look him as your nails found the insides of his thighs, running lightly across the sensitive skin. Let yourself admire how his lips parted in a gasp when you kissed the inside of his thigh, just above the knee. How, as you mouthed at untouched skin, his lips stayed parted, suspended like there was something to say— but there was nothing, just the galvanized energy that hung between you two, muggy and crackling.

By the time you reached his cock you swore his ruddy tip had deepened a few shades— still tacky with your arousal and glossy with a fresh layer of precum. Harry's hand tangled in your hair as you licked from the crook of his thigh to the swell of his sack. Dulcet and honeyed, his sweet sounds burrowed just as deeply into your being as his fingers did into your hair. You swore you could feel the tenor of his moan in your own sternum as you pulled the sensitive skin into your mouth.

"Fuck," Harry panted from above—

And that's when the impulse hit.

You'd done it before: nestled yourself so far into the bifurcate of his thighs that you'd carved out a home with just the tip of your tongue. The few times Harry had let you, you'd greatly enjoyed it— enjoyed the way your tongue on his hole made him whimper in that one specific way. How his had body wound so tight with pleasure that his muscles shook down to the source. How the daring venture and curl of a finger or two had elicited the sweetest sounds.

And now, here you were, craving to do it all again— wishing to devote yourself to the consummation of his pleasure until there was nothing left but the salt of his tears cresting on his cheeks and the salt from his cum spayed across his chest.

With mischievous eyes, you looked up at him, smiling. "Flip over," you said without pause, hand smoothing over the inside of his thigh as if to provide comfort for any apprehension of what was to come.

It took Harry a second to process what you meant, his brain still foggy with the memory of your walls tight around his cock. But he saw the ambition laced in your gaze, felt the anticipation of your touch, how your fingertips conveyed an unspoken vow as you stroked along the soft hair lining the insides of his thighs. So with the help of your guiding hand, Harry tottered into the position of your prophecy.

The position was inherently vulnerable: knees anchored apart, back arched; his rubicund cheek pressed against gabardine fabric. Still he settled with his face in the crook of his arms, blind to what you were about to do, but entirely trusting.

And it was that sight, the low curve of his back —how sweetly he arched for you— how his cock hung heavy and tumescent in the split of his muscled thighs, your juices still glistening along the length of him— it was that sight that kindled your desire.

Any whispers of hesitation from Harry dissipated as your touch stayed consistent along his thighs, the outside of his hip, the swell of his ass. You kept your touch slow and deliberate, mindful to embody veneration as you explored the vulnerable expanse of his parted thighs.

You couldn't help but press your fingers into the meat of his ass, not hard enough to leave half moons, but enough that his flesh dimpled around your fingertips as you playfully spread him open. He clenched beneath your touch as the first rill of spit fell in a viscous dribble. You couldn't help but dip your finger into your own beading saliva, drawing the slickness of your spit down and over the strata running from breach to sack.

Your lips fell to the silver striations that crested over his bum, tongue joining in the grooves of growth too fast. As your pointer and middle finger became acquainted with what would soon become your tongue’s new home, you kissed and licked and bit at the plush of his cheeks— earning a gruff little hum when your teeth sank too far.

With one hand splayed over the cleft of his cheek, your other found the root of him, fingers sinking down until your knuckles coupled with the tamed growth of his pubic hair. Your tongue rolled out, unceremoniously, spit already gathered across the soft body of your taste buds, before making sloppy landfall with his perineal stria. And you think to yourself, that at this point, your taste buds probably know Harry better than your mind ever will.

You could feel his muscles unfurl beneath your tongue, your fingers— how his hips canted back in a search for more. And more you were happy to give— happy to lap at the tautness of his rim, tongue slick, as it explored the hollow of its own creation.

You realized then that you'd do anything if it meant being in the audience of the noises he yielded. To soak in every breathy noise, each one more delectable than the last, felt like the highest accolade.

The gentle brush of his fingertips at your chin reminded you that there was more than just his hole to take care of. Your thumb replaced the tip of your tongue, fingertip prodding just beyond the tension of his rim, and you drew his cock backward, taking the ruddy tip of him into your mouth. With your own hand above his, joined at the root where your lips could not meet, you swallowed him down. And that sound —that hiss that rattled from behind clenched teeth— that told you all you needed to know.

His palm fell to your forearm, grasp tight and urgent as his hips began to rock —tipping the crown of himself into the tight vice of your awaiting throat until you were sputtering around his girth. With a gasp and a cough, your fervor did not cease. No— not when his shins were pressed to your biceps, one arm reaching back so that his hand braced at the back of your skull, caging you in the sanctity his body created.

You lapped, tongue dripping in the excess of your own saliva, until Harry's frame surrendered to the bliss you brought forth. Until his muscles unwound into tepid little pools of pleasure. Until his weight fell and your hands were forced to become anchors, snagged in the fortification of laurels. Until he was vitrified and heavy, his only movement the absent shift of his hips —of the impossible slickness that you had created— back against your awaiting, eager tongue.

You would have loved to see his face, to have watched as his brow rumpled, seen how his eyes squeezed shut, like ecstasy was blinding—bright. How his lips parted as a resounding string of nonsensical praise tumbled out — "fuck—ah—so good—always take care o'me so good—". But the triumph of his pleasure, the press of his ankles to your shoulders— how his body rended to the deftness of your tongue would have to be enough.

Harry came with a cry of your name, lachrymose and perfervid—his load warm and drippy as it fell over the cinch of your hand—

And you ate him through it— licked leisurely at the mess you'd created until he whined out in a bleat of overstimulation. Until his legs were shaking, taut with the effects of his pleasure, caging, pulling you in like if you were closer you'd feel it too. It was hard to want to pull away. Why would you when the muscles of his rim twitched beneath your tongue, spasming in waves that called you in.

Though, when you did surrender, strings of saliva strained in the chasm between your bodies, fusing you to him in lucent tendrils.

Harry was usually the one behind your undoing— the one to unravel you stitch by stich, to wind you around a spool to keep all for himself. So to see him reduced to such depths of enervation, to see your ambitions come to fruition, it all activated a new sense of pride. The kind that sat light and warm in your chest, wrapping itself around your ribs until you were buoyant and fuzzy.

There was no rush to move, no mad dash for self preservation, for clean-up. So you sat there, hand on the small of his back, winding tender circles as he caught his breath. You kissed the swell of his bum, the back of his thighs. You whispered sweetness into the softness of his skin as quiet nestled into both of your nooks and crannies.

Silence might unnerve some, carry the fear of uncertainty for others, but not for you two. The hush brought solace, a special kind of comfort. Bared entirely, there was no room for shame, no cubbyholes or shaded corners to shove the ugly things beneath.

You tumbled into a mass of sweaty limbs, of "I love you's", of gangly legs and canted feet. You held Harry's head to the swell of your chest, carded your fingers through his sweat damp hair, as he drew mindless little circles along the side of your hip. Swaddled one another in the care you'd always wished to have received before finding one another, until slowly you both regained some semblance of composure.

"I'm gonna have to take you on more runs if this is how you behave," Harry whispered against your throat.

"You better fucking not," you squawked, tightening your grasp in his hair and pulling hard in warning.

Harry moved faster than you could think, caging you beneath his weight in an instant. His fingertips activated like darts, finding the dip of your waist before you could throw a hand up to stop him. Your laughter struck, clapping like lightning as he tickled you. The sound illuminating and bright— everything that Harry wanted to hear in that moment.

.˳·⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

AN pt2: I wish I could say I am fully back in business after this, but alas, I am not. I'm undergoing a pretty major (and very much life changing) surgery next week (I'm getting top surgery!!) and wanted to get something posted before I am truly down for the count. I am ~hopeful~ though, that over the next 6 weeks, which is how long I am taking off work, that I will be able to get some writing done, but my #1 priority will 100% be rest! (I can just see myself bored out of my mind cooped up at home and getting writing done once I'm off the painkillers). Any whoosle, if you've made it this far I appreciate you so so much and am sending you all the love (๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡

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