no words mean something too, part two - h. c. g. lewis MDNI
after that fateful day in the car, you push harry away. or at least you try to. because as soon as he asks you to come over... you fold. stupid perfect harry lewis.
pairing: harry x f!reader
genre: smut, slight comedy if you squint
warnings: loads of making out, vaginal & anal fingering, begging, ass eating, anal sex (oop), p in v sex, creampie, degradation (usage of the words "slut", "good girl") let me know if i missed smth!!
wc: 3.4k
a/n: .... hi! i am... back? kind of. maybe. don't really know, but i finally finished this long awaited part two. to understand what’s going on, read part one here!! once again dedicating this to my wife, my everything @pretendyoucantseeme. thanks for always rooting me on <3. ily. also big shout out to @clarkeysbedchem & @octaneink who were so kind to lend me their names for readers friends <3 ily guys!! now enjoy this little fic. (i did not proof read so if you see any errors... close your eyes)
“so,” your friend kirst drags the word as she speaks, “mystery man that you won’t tell us the name of, who you’ve been shagging for the past like, what? three months? who never kisses you unless it’s before and during sex… kissed you after sex and now you’re spiralling?”
you rotate the beer in your hand and click your tongue.
“when you say it like that, i sound mental.”
“oh, you are.” lyn, your other friend seated at the table with you, chimes in now, “but we live for it.”
see, it’s not like you don’t know it’s silly. the whole thing with harry. he kissed you, wow, big deal. just that, the more you think about it the more it becomes very obvious it was a big deal. mostly because you keep replaying his reaction in your head. how he pushed you away right after, practically placing you back on the passenger’s seat. how he started the car and didn’t say anything until you reunited with the others.
“it’s whatever. i’m probably overreacting.” you down the rest of the beer just as you feel a vibration in the back of your jeans. kirst and lyn exchange a glance you don’t see as you get out your phone, your stupid heart doing that stupid jump it always does when you see harry’s name on your screen.
harry: you free?
you bite your lip. fucking hell. he hasn’t texted you in days. basically since that day in the car. quickly, you shove the phone back into your backpocket and look back at the girls who look at you with their eyebrows raised.
“what was that about?” kirst asks, taking a sip from her drink. you shrug.
“nothing.”
“it was him, wasn’t it?” lyn grins knowingly. you press your lips together, hesitating.
“fuck, fine, yeah. it was him. he asked if i’m free.” you feel heat rush to your cheeks. for whatever reason, you suddenly feel awkward about it. especially after telling them how weird you felt about that last time you saw him.
your friends exchange another look. “so, you wanna go see him?” lyn asks. you shrug.
“i am here with you guys.”
“that’s not an actual answer to her question, y/n.” kirst leans back in her chair, her red hair shining in the dim light of the bar. you look at her for a few seconds. honestly? you don’t even know if you do want to see him. the rational part of your brain tells you to leave it be. it’s obviously gotten deeper than it was supposed to be (pun intended) and now it’s something you don’t know how to deal with. the irrational part, though, the part between your legs, is screaming at you to go see him.
it’s pretty clear which part won that battle thirty minutes later.
“knew you couldn’t stay away from me long, baby.” harry smirks as he kisses your neck, bites your skin and makes you arch your back against his chest. fuck, how does he always get you to absolutely submit to him?
your on his bed in his expensive flat he bought himself a year ago and you know you should hate being in his bed because you never fuck in a bed. at least not when you’re alone. which, now that you think about it, is pretty insane. all the times you’ve fucked in a bed, there had been people around somewhere. like outside smoking on the balcony or just in the living room. jesus, you had never actually fucked anywhere all by yourselves except for that god forsaken car.
and now you’re in his bed. what exactly does that mean? or does it even mean anything? shit, you’re about to go insane. and not just because these thoughts are running around in your mind but because he’s right there at that spot behind your ear that makes you whimper pathetically.
“missed that pretty ass…” harry licks over that spot again, his hands moving down to grab your ass cheeks, practically growling in your ear. “i should fuck it, don’t you think? your pretty ass?”
you gasp, his hand now on the back of your head, pushing you forward. you’re in just your underwear and harry’s still fully dressed. how utterly unfair.
“answer me, baby. should i fuck this sweet ass, hm?” he slaps your right cheek then and you moan, teeth sinking into your lips.
“a-am not prepared…” you say quietly and harry chuckles lowly, fingers now caressing your backside.
“we’ve got all night, baby.”
all night. he’s changing the unspoken rules right now. you’ve never fucked more than once in a night. or like… ever. so what exactly is going on right now? you wish you could focus on that, wish you could turn over and ask him, but there is no chance in hell that is going to happen. not when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and shove them down your legs, not when his hot breath hovers over your tight hole.
“harry…” you whine again, fingers grabbing the bedsheets. he kisses your rim.
“you’ll be a good girl for me, right? you’ll let me do to you whatever i want, hm?” he whispers, kissing your cheeks and letting his fingers glide through your slick folds. you think you’re already close to coming undone. “answer me.” he spanks you again. you make a noise that sounds like a cry and a moan and your cunt clenches around nothing.
“y-yes, i’ll be good.” you bite your lip and close your eyes, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.
“good girl.” harry kisses your rim again, but this time he stays there. stays there so his tongue can leap out and lick over it, making you whimper again, your breath getting stuck in your throat. he’s never done this before. he’s never wanted to… fuck your ass before. and up until that point you hadn’t even thought about it. and now? now it felt like you needed him to do it.
what the fuck was going on with you?
again, no time to dwell on that thought.
harry lets one finger slide into your pussy now, making you moan. he groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around his finger, cursing under his breath as he begins to push it in and out of you slowly all while his tongue remains on your rim.
it’s like you’ve reached the pearly gates of heaven - harry’s finger moving inside you and his tongue opening your ass for more. you push back on him, pathetic little noises coming out as you try not to come already. you know you could. because harry just does that to you. if he told you to come now, you would.
spitting on your tight hole now, harry can’t stop staring at you. at how fucking beautiful you are everywhere. how can someone have a pretty asshole? he parts from you momentarily to grab a bottle of lube from the drawer in his nightside table, not caring about his straining cock wanting in. he’s not gonna fuck your ass without the proper preparations. or without a condom. he gets one out too, placing it on the bed next to you. then, he squeezes lube on top of your hole and his finger now, the coldness of the liquid making you shiver.
“shh, baby, you’re doing so fucking well for me.” he praises you and all his words go immediately to your cunt. you feel his finger right there, feel him breach you - and the second the tip goes in, you know you won’t get enough of it. the knowledge of soon being stuffed full… you shiver. and harry smirks.
“i knew you’d love this. my naughtly little slut.” he pushes his finger in fully now and you gasp, eyes rolling back. you moan his name, fingers digging into his sheets.
“fuck…” you breathe out and harry chuckles, his one finger beginning to slide in and out of your tightness. it’s gonna kill you. harry lewis will kill you with how insanely horny he is making you. the sounds coming out of your mouth are nothing but pathetic little sounds that make harry grow even harder.
when he adds the second finger, you think you’re gonna die for real now. you cry out, pushing back, the stretch of his fingers so insanely delicious.
it’s when his other hand moves further up, his thumb suddenly pressing down on your clit when you lose it.
“oh god, fuck, harry, mhmm!” the orgasm is hard and quick and makes your legs almost give in, your thighs pressing together, caging in his hand. he laughs, smirking evilly as his fingers move quicker inside your hole.
“i barely touched your clit and you come? were you that desperate for it, baby?” he continues to rub circles on your clit while his fingers move quicker inside you. he stares at the way you’re taking his fingers, how your body is shaking with arousal even after coming.
after adding a third finger and more lube, harry knows he can’t wait. he knows he’s going to go insane or come in his trousers if he doesn’t fuck you right now. so, he fingers you open some more, until he slides his fingers out and finally pulls of his shirt, shoves down his sweats and briefs and takes the condom to rip it open and finally get it on his cock.
“gonna fuck that sweet little ass so good, yeah? gonna make you scream for me, baby. you won’t have a fucking voice tomorrow.” he pushes in and the sound you make is the prettiest thing he has ever heard. he groans at how tight you are, at how perfect you take him.
his first thrusts makes you fall forward, your head landing on his one singular pillow on his bed. he smirks, leaning forward, his cock disappearing inside you all the way now.
“good little slut… just lay there and take it.” he thrusts again. you cry out in immense pleasure. harry watches your profile, your cheek smushed into the pillow. he watches you drool onto his pillow as he fucks you hard and quick, his cock twitching inside you. fuck, he just started and is already so close to coming. his big hands grab your hips, holding you tight enough to leave marks. he doesn’t care and neither do you.
“fuck… you’re perfect.” he growls, hips fucking into you like a piston while your ass grabs him like a god forsaken vice. he’s gonna go crazy over you. you will make him lose his mind.
he says your name when he finally comes into the condom, your tightness milking his cock dry, making him collapse on top of you and slip out, landing on his back right next to you.
you're both out of breath and you turn on your back too, legs sore.
“jesus...” you breathe out, looking over at him. when he turns to look at you, you see that shit eating grin that makes you want to punch him for looking so damn adorable.
“i have wanted to fuck your ass since the first day i saw you.” he says and you stare at him for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.
“of course you did.” you say, shaking your head. it is oddly domestic. well, if you take out the ass-fucking part. the way you are laying next to him, sweaty and satisfied. you watch him take off the condom and tie it together, getting up to throw it into the bin under the desk.
it bothers you how much you like him. how much you like looking at him. he pushes a hand through his blonde hair and walks back over to you, smiling cheekily.
“next round the usual?” he says as he flops down and you snort before pulling him closer, pressing your lips against his.
it takes you about five seconds to realise what the fuck you’re doing. and to notice he’s not pulling back, but pulling in.
His big hands cup your face as he leans into the kiss, his lips moving softly against yours. his tongue licks over your bottom lip and you open for him, your brain shutting down. it doesn’t matter that this hasn’t happened before. He’s never kissed you like this. Or well, that’s not true… he kissed you like this in the car.
no mind left to tell you to stop, your fingers curl in his hair, your eyes shut and tongue licking into harry’s mouth. he tastes so good. like mint and sugar, like he drank coke earlier. you fall onto your back again and he is right on top of you, one hand now steadying himself next to your head. he kisses you like he needs to, like he can’t go on if he doesn’t.
and suddenly you’re scared. scared of what this means because what if you need to kiss him too, what if you need him? what if all this time you wanted more than sex and you just never realised it?
you push him away, gasping for air, your eyes wide open.
“what’s happening?” harry asks, visibly confused. and you almost laugh because, of course, he doesn’t know what’s happening.
“yes, harry. what is happening?” you shoot back, sitting up. he continues to look confused.
“i think we are about to… fuck again?” he says, scratching his head. you deadpan at him.
“that’s- fuck, that’s not what i meant, harry!” you manage to shuffle out of the bed, standing in front of him now. his pretty blue eyes are still full of non-understanding.
“y/n, i don’t-,”
“what is this? what is… what are we?!” you blurt out, interrupting him and you regret it the second it’s out. fuck. way to pop the question. harry opens and closes his mouth twice. then, he sits up.
“what do you mean “what are we”?” he asks. your eyelid twitches.
“are you kidding me?” your voice shakes with impending anger. harry slides back onto his feet, standing over you now.
“i just fucked your ass.” he raises his brows and you stare at him with your mouth dropped.
“what?”
“i don’t fuck just anyone’s ass, y/n.” he crosses his arms. and apparently expects you to catch on. you almost slap him out of pure frustration, but ball your hands into fists instead.
“what the fuck are you talking about?” you sigh.
“i am talking about how i don’t just fuck anyone’s ass, y/n. only my girlfriends.”
silence. blinking once, twice, thrice. opening mouth and closing it again.
you don’t know how long you stare at harry. at some point he starts to shift on his feet, clearing his throat.
then: “did you just say girlfriend?” you ask.
harry nods.
“i am your girlfriend?” you continue the questions.
harry nods again.
your fist meets his shoulder. he groans in pain.
“are you fucking kidding me?! you think i’m your girlfriend because i let you fuck my ass?!” you screech.
harry presses his palm against the spot you hit, confusion and pain contouring his pretty face.
“i mean… yes? what, why, do you let other men fuck your ass?” his eyes widen.
you punch his shoulder again.
“fucking hell, harry! no! i don’t- fuck! what do you mean i am your girlfriend? since when?!”
“i- isn’t that obvious?” harry stares at you like you’re crazy. but you’re sure he is the crazy one.
“do i look like it’s obvious?!” you shoot back. he coughs.
“since the car… you’ve been… my girlfriend since the car…. no?”
you’re back to blinking at the man.
“did you ask me to be your girlfriend in the car?”
“well, no, i-”,
“then, harry lewis, i am not your girlfriend!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.
"oh," harry scratches the back of his head. "well… do you wanna be my girlfriend then?"
another round of silence engulfs the two of you, while your brain tries to keep up with your thoughts. this little motherfucker.
you groan, not able to stop yourself from throwing yourself at harry, your hands on his nape as you pull him down into a heated kiss, he more than happily returns. his hands land on the small of your back, his lips parting to welcome in your greedy tongue. you're aware this isn't really an answer but it's also not… not an answer.
harry moves you back to his bed, dropping down on it and letting you straddle his lap. this time, he wants you on top. he kisses you hungrily, one hand steady on your waist while the other grabs one of your breasts, palming it roughly. moaning, you let your hands glide over his chest, one of them moving to his hard cock, giving it a few pumps before letting your hips lift slightly.
gliding down on his cock was easy enough - your wetness undeniable. harry groans when he feels your walls around his length, his hands both now gripping your hips as he meets the moves of yours.
"shit, baby, did me asking you to be my gilrfriend get you this wet?" he smirks up at you, and you moan in response, picking up your pace. it seems to shut harry up, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watches your tits jump with every thrust, his big hands holding you down.
you have to admit to yourself, you truly missed fucking him. missed being with him. and fine, maybe you'll be his girlfriend. maybe you already are his gilfriend. your pussy squezes around his cock and he groans, his hands slamming you down on his cock, causing you to let out a mixture of a scream and moan, your eyes rolling back as he continues to guide your hips.
"fuck." you pant, nails digging into his skin as he uses you, plunging into your heat at record speed, making stars dance in front of your eyes. harry smirks, knowing exactly how good he's making you feel. there is no other man in this world for you, he knows it. in fact, he's known this since that time he pressed his cock against you at the sidemen shoot. and yes, perhaps his way of going about wanting you was a bit… strange, but he got there in the end, didn't he?
"jesus, how can this pussy be so tight every fucking time i fuck it, huh?" he groans as he slaps your ass once, making you yelp forward, your hands now placed next to his head on the mattress, his mouth colliding with yours in another heated kiss.
you moan into his mouth, letting him destroy you from below, one of his hands pushing your hair back and fisting it at the back of your head, growling as he shows you no mercy once again. there is no denying that you absolutely love it, love the way he fucks you, how he makes you moan and whimper like you never have before. and when you feel another orgasm building up, you feel it in your bones that this is it. that he is it.
"are you gonna come for me, pretty girl? gonna squeeze my cock real good and make me cum inside your tight cunt?" his mouth is right by your ear, your response simply a high moan, his words going right to your pussy. shit, he's going to be the death of you.
"fuck, harry." you pant, his hands now moving to your ass, pushing you even harder onto his length, groaning into you ear when he feels your pussy consulve around him.
one, two, three more hard thrusts and you're screaming his name in pleasure, the orgasm almost knocking you out. feeling you squeeze and throb around him, harry can't stop his own climax any longer, shooting ropes of cum into your awaiting cunt.
"fuuuuuck, baby girl." he curses, his fingerprints visible on your ass with how hard he is pressing you down onto his cock. he fucks you through both your orgasms, sinking back into the pillows once he's done, his hands dropping onto the bed next to him as exhaustion and pure satisfaction engulf him.
you slip down on the bed next to him, your hand landing on his chest while you pant, staring at the ceiling.
"fine," you breathe then, "i'll be your girlfriend."
harry laughs and pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head.
"i wouldn't have it any other way."
(it's safe to say the face of your friends once you come clean about who the mystery guy is, is priceless. and when you make it public, the whole internet seems to break. in the best way possible)
Here's a fluffmas masterlist for you angels! This way it's easier to keep track of each day, and if you missed anything, as Tumblr sometimes hides random fics! I am going to attempt to post one every day until the 25th but pls do keep in mind I am at uni a lot and have coursework and stuff to write for the end of the term so it may not be realistic <333
Also remember requests are open! so if you want to see anything on this list for December send me an ask or a dm with ur idea and I'll try my best to write it! hope u enjoy fluffmas!
it's 1933. you're a burlesque dancer working in the east end. one night, a famously shy blue-eyed vaudevillian comes to watch your show.
fluff
—
a guy what takes his time
I’d go for any time
I’m a fast movin’ gal who likes it slow
—
london in the 1930s, everyone had a story about the sidemen.
they were vaudeville royalty — their act unlike anything folks had seen before, breaking new ground in entertainment as soon as they stepped out on stage for the first time. their humor was cutting edge, bordering on vulgar, but they had a charm people couldn't look away from. they quickly came to rule the east end with a goofy, inflatable fist.
the sidemen did very well for themselves — with recognition, with wealth, with women. the papers would rarely catch any of them without a devastating beauty on their arm.
their bombastic frontman, jj olatunji, would sometimes have one on each. he was allegedly betrothed to one of his recurring escorts, but some agreement had clearly been reached... he was never unaccompanied. considering how loud he was, he was very secretive. no one actually knew what his situation looked like behind closed doors.
simon minter, their master of tricks, had been long committed to his love, talia mar: a mesmerizing cabaret performer quite famous of her own accord. simon could always be seen sitting at the same table in the back of the room at all of her performances, quietly sipping his drink with a lightly possessive smile tugging at his lips, eyes never leaving her figure as she swayed to the music. the sidemen were very unserious in their act, but everyone knew that offstage, simon was very serious about talia.
vikram barn, the musical wunderkind, was married to a woman named eleanor, though they were incredibly private; a long strand of golden hair on vikram's coat often the only evidence of his love. she wasn't keen on being in the public eye, but he always looked just a bit disheveled when photographed exiting a carriage — hair messed, glasses askew, tie crooked, cheeks flushed... she was always with him when no one was looking.
ethan payne, the inked muscle man, married his lass, faith kelly, after she'd had his baby, causing a massive scandal across town. not that they cared in the slightest. you'd never know it, the way they behave, that their sweet little olive was born out of wedlock — the sinners looked as happy as any young couple with a small child would. despite ethan's aggressive nature, everyone could see clear as day that he was completely at his pretty faith's mercy. they were both a bit mental, and they went together like cigarettes and fire.
joshua bradley, the wiz kid, had been with his girl, freya nightingale, since their youth. betrothed from age 16, she'd been by his side since long before they achieved their success, staying loyal to him through years of hard work despite the lack of a ring on her finger for over a decade. now, they were finally married, and freya was nearly as famous as the sidemen themselves. their love had only grown stronger in the 15 some-odd years they'd been together; their penchant for public displays of affection caused both eye rolls from their friends and uncontrollable giggles from younger women, flustered by the sight of josh's giant hands around freya's tiny waist.
tobi brown, the sports star, was single, as far as the public knew. there were whispers 'round town that he was the "silent but deadly" type: unassuming, and incredibly private, but never going to bed alone. he carried himself with a confidence that certainly suggested he had no issue pulling anyone he wanted, but he'd never advertise his prowess. you'd have to be one of the lucky few to know for sure the kind of man tobi was.
and rounding out the sidemen seven was harold lewis, the comedian.
the youngest of the bunch, and widely considered a fan favorite. while they were all funny in their own right, harold was particularly shameless on stage, willing to do and say just about anything to get a good laugh from the audience. he was loud, rambunctious, flamboyant. he was impossible to ignore, especially for anyone of right mind to see the pure beauty buried underneath all the chaos: his eyes were wide and bright and blue as a robin's egg, his hair was unkempt, golden like a field of wheat, and his sun-kissed skin stretched over broad shoulders and long, muscular arms.
offstage, however, harold was nearly unrecognizable. not in appearance, but in demeanor. once the show was over and the lights were off, he was quiet, timid, almost boy-like in the way he hid behind his older brothers as they left the theatre. as far as folks knew, harold only really spoke to the other sidemen — his introverted nature preventing him from engaging socially with anyone else, especially women. he was never rude, always thanked drivers and servers, but he'd always kept himself small until he got on stage, where he'd somehow transform into the biggest and loudest man in the room.
women threw themselves at harold, desperate for his attention, but he never reciprocated with anything more than a shy little smile and a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. he was awkward, stuttering whenever he spoke offstage, but his reserved nature seemed to only intrigue people more, eager to peel back the curtain on who harold really was.
—
you're working at a burlesque club, sitting in the dressing room preparing for your act late one night when some of the other dancers run in, whispering and giggling excitedly to one another.
curiosity gets the better of you, and you turn from your vanity questioningly. "what's going on?"
"babes, harold bloody lewis is here!" your friend exclaims in a hushed tone, and your eyebrows fly up in shock. you'd danced for some of the other sidemen in the past, but harold had never set foot into your club before, though you (and all of the other girls) always hoped he would one day.
"get your arse out there, love," another friend immediately pushes, tapping your bum lovingly as you walk past. "give him a show."
putting the finishing touches on your makeup and slipping on your heels, you head backstage, stealing a shot of whiskey off a server's tray on the way in an attempt to calm yourself. you'd been dancing for years — you were a crowd favorite by now, with a big poster of your silhouette on the side of the building — but somehow, the prospect of performing for this one man had you feeling nerves you'd not felt in a long time.
—
he sat off to the side at a little table for one, clearly trying to maintain his anonymity under a thick cloud of spliff smoke, but you immediately noticed his blond hair peeking out from under his trilby and the slightly-too-loose blue tie around his neck. it was him, alright.
his eyes were glued to you from the second you sashayed out onto the stage, closely watching every sensual roll of your hips and every teasing smile, admiring each new bit of skin that you exposed throughout the course of your nightly striptease. your sultry gaze meets his own as your slinky little dress finally hits the floor, revealing the barely-there lingerie underneath, and his mouth goes dry. you blow him a kiss, slowly, intentionally, before blowing kisses to the rest of the crowd, making sure he knew the first one was just for him.
approaching you was something he'd never dare consider, convinced you looked at everyone that way, that you were merely doing your job. little did he know that you'd truly been locked on him the whole time. he fascinated you, and you wanted to get closer.
after your routine, you left the stage to get dressed, with every intention of going back out to his table to introduce yourself properly. by the time you'd returned, however, he was gone; an empty glass and a generous tip left in his wake. under the cash, he'd left a note:
for the pretty one — h
your cheeks felt oddly warm as you gently folded the note and tucked it into your brassiere. customers complimented you dozens of times every night, leaving you money that would be better spent feeding their families, but somehow this one felt almost... special. you could only hope that he'd come back tomorrow night.
harry stumbles home drunk late one night to find you asleep in bed, blankets haphazardly flung off your overheated body, totally on display for him and prettier than ever… a perfect midnight snack.
it’s a stiflingly hot summer night. only june and it already feels like august. your clothes cling to you relentlessly, your skin feels perpetually sticky, and your hair stays tied up in the highest bun you can manage to keep as little of it as possible from touching the back of your neck.
harry was out for the night to celebrate ethan’s 30th birthday. (you’d been invited, of course, but neither drinking alcohol outside in this miserable heat nor being the only sober one present sounded particularly appealing to you, so you’d let harry go on and have fun with his mates. you could usually trust him to not get into too much trouble, and come home to you in one piece.)
knowing you likely wouldn’t see harry until morning, you didn’t plan to wait up.
11:47 PM
you: just off to sleep now love, hope ur having a great time 🥰 dont forget to smooch the bday boy for me, i want proof! 💓
you: and plssss pls pls drink some water so i dont have to scrape u off the floor tomorrow xx love you baby
—
a few minutes later, your phone lights up with a photo from harry.
11:54 PM
sweet dinho 🩵: (a blurry shot of harry and ethan, standing with their arms wrapped around each other, and harry planting a massive, wet kiss on ethan's cheek — both boys shiny with sweat and definitely less-than-sober, ethan sporting a huge grin)
sweet dinho 🩵: pls nevr grow a beard i lik kissin ur face wayyy more hehe xx
sweet dinho 🩵: gn gorgeous ily ssssooooo much xxxxx
—
you giggle to yourself, your heart flooding with warmth at the image of harry and his best friend looking so happy and carefree together, paired with his silly typo-ridden messages. you immediately decide it's the kind of photo that deserves framing, and save it to your favorites.
with that, you place your phone on the bedside table and hit the lights, letting yourself drift off to sleep, dreaming of harry's lips on your skin.
—
2:37 AM
harry fumbles with the keys to your flat as he arrives home, his mind hazy after a night of drinking with his mates but beyond ready to crawl into bed with you.
you’re quite a heavy sleeper, but he still tries his best to be quiet once he’s locked the door behind him, as he kicks his shoes off and makes his way to the kitchen. he pulls the largest glass he can find from the cupboard and fills it with the coldest water the tap can manage, immediately chugging it in one go and feeling his overheated body relax instantly.
peeling the sweaty clothes from his skin, he makes his way to you, ready to collapse at your side and pass out.
crossing the threshold into your bedroom, his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he’s met with a sight that stops him in his tracks. you’re in the middle of the bed, completely uncovered — no doubt having kicked the blanket off of you in your sleep due to the heat, wearing only underwear and your skimpiest tanktop, your tits spilling out of it like an old victorian painting.
you’re asleep on your back, legs parted slightly, with one hand resting up by your head and the other on your lower stomach, the tips of your fingers just dipping into your waistband. harry couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been touching yourself in your sleep.
harry thought you looked like an angel. a perfect, beautiful mess. what little blood was left in his head for the evening rapidly flowed south, awakening a sudden hunger for his girl that needed to be sated before he could even consider sleeping now.
carefully, he climbed onto the bed, his big palms gliding up your thick thighs as he planted soft kisses to your hips and tummy. you shift slightly but don't wake, and he wastes no time hooking his fingers into your waistband and sliding your panties down, tossing them to the floor.
he spreads your legs gently, draping one over his shoulder as he settles himself between them. his lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his hands wrap around them to hold you open, before dragging his thumb through your dampening folds.
you twitch at the sensation, still asleep but your body as responsive to harry as ever, as he presses a featherlight kiss to your clit. he slowly unfurls his tongue, letting a string of spit fall onto you, flattening the strong muscle against your core — his eyes fluttering closed as his drool mixes with your addictively sweet arousal. his heart pounds as he buries his face in you, obsessively licking and sucking your aching bundle of nerves, soft little whimpers starting to spill from your sleeping lips, so intoxicated by the sensation of him lapping at you even in your wet dreams.
harry's tongue fucks into your weeping hole, ripping a moan from your throat as your hands instinctively find him, tangling fingers in his hair and wrapping around the back of his neck, desperate to keep him on you. he groans, drunkenly making out with your pussy, his face soaked in your pleasure, subconsciously grinding his hips into the bed just to relieve some of the pressure building up in his ever-tightening briefs.
unable to control his need, harry bittersweetly tears himself away from your core, his dick aching to feel the dripping heaven before him.
“c’mere, pretty girl,” he slurs, crawling up towards you as he wipes his face on the back of his hand. “m’not done with you yet.”
shakily, harry pushes into you, his eyes immediately rolling into his head as he’s enveloped by the tight wet heat of your pussy. “oh ff-fuuuck—baaaby,” he sighs blissfully, his mind turning to mush as he feels your grip around him. “y'feel s-soooo goooood, ughh.”
your unconscious whines grow louder as harry drags his thick cock in and out of you, his face slotting cozily into your neck, but he finally rouses you awake, pulling a gasp from your throat as he fully sheaths himself, lifting your leg over his shoulder to reach the spot in your gut that he knows will reduce you to euphoric tears if he hits it hard enough.
as quickly as your eyes flutter open, they roll back, accompanied by a panting moan falling from your lips — your arms and legs desperately wrapping around your boyfriend’s broad frame. “oh—oh hh-harry oh my g—ff-fuck,” you whimper with a crackly sleep-filled voice, your mind finally catching up to the reality that you hadn’t just been having a wet dream.
a drowsy, crooked smirk stretches across harry’s face as he lifts his head from your neck to greet you with heavy-lidded eyes. “good morning, princess,” he rumbles, his voice low and gravely and delicious, grinding his hips deep into you and locking his lips with yours, alerting you to the taste of yourself lingering on his tongue.
you hum against him, your fingers burying into his messy blond hair, spiked up and damp with sweat. "guess I wasn't dreaming then," you manage, a soft laugh melting into a whine as his thrusts quicken, his greedy mouth claiming yours ravenously, tongue and teeth trailing down your neck and marking your skin possessively.
"you jus' looked so fuckin' pretty when I got in, baby, sleepin' like a lil angel, couldn't keep my hands off you," he groans into your neck, his rhythm quickening as he pounds into you harder. you could tell harry wasn't sober — the filthy praise he showered you with a clear indication that he was well drunk, his filter gone with the wind, and it drove you crazy. your insides burn with need from his hungry words and the pressure beating your cervix, the knot in your core tightening as you start climbing towards your peak.
"tastes like you couldn't keep your tongue off either," you can’t help but tease despite your heavy breathing, licking into his mouth with a tug of his hair. harry growls, pulling away from you momentarily to flip you onto your front, tucking the bunched-up duvet under your hips and pressing back into you forcefully. his strong digits dig into your side, his other hand pulling your head back by your hair just so the pillow can't muffle your whines.
"couldn't resist, baby, comin' home to you spread out on a fuckin' silver platter for me,” he mumbles salaciously in your ear, his breath hot on your neck and his bodyweight pressing on your back only heightening your senses, his length buried inside you, causing you to cry out with each slap of his skin on yours. "had to get my mouth on you, had t-to taste you," he stutters, sounding almost desperate as his movements start to grow sloppy, both of your climaxes drawing nearer. "so s-sweet, s'perfect," he moans, forehead pressed to the side of your neck as he pants, your hand flying behind you to grab his hair as you arch your back, his cock beating against that spot in your gut that initially woke you — the spot that makes you scream, that leaves tears streaming down your face.
"ff—fuck, haz'm so c-close, baby," you whimper, your legs shaking as you squeeze around harry, feeling like you’re about to explode, the string of a bomb alight with flame in your stomach burning up rapidly before it bursts.
“me too, princess, c’mon, cum with me, wanna feel you,” he groans, and with one final deep thrust, you both break, his hot cum filling you as you coat him in yours, your hips instinctively grinding back into his as you noisily ride your orgasms out in sync. “ohh fuck, yeah that’s my fuckin’ baby, ughh.. s’my girl..“
his hands reach up to intertwine his fingers with yours, sleepily kissing your neck as you both breath heavily, coming down together.
—
after a minute or two of silence, putting you at serious risk of falling right back to sleep, harry peels himself away, a whiny gasp slipping out of you as he leaves you empty and dripping onto the sheets. he stands, effortlessly lifting you off the bed (ignoring your protests), and carrying you to the bathroom.
turning the shower on, he sits you down on the tiled bench under the water, and with a kiss on your forehead, gently washes all the sweat and saliva and cum off your body. it’s not lost on you that even though he’s drunk and you’re sober, he’s still taking care of you first.
your heart aches with adoration when you look up into his pretty eyes, thought he’s struggling to keep them open as much as you are.
“come on, baby,” you whisper. “your turn. then bed.”
you look after him just as he did you, untangling his disheveled hair and cleansing his skin of the mess you made. you tiredly climb out of the shower, drying off slow as sloths before stumbling back into bed. you don't bother with the blankets, but immediately wrap around each other anyway, not even caring how hot it is.
author note: hii! your request was quite vague so i wrote some headcannons to start & if you’d like me to go into more depth on some of them then feel free to send another request!! ♡ hope this was okay and thank you for requesting x
THE RELATIONSHIP . . .
Arthur is SO affectionate. He’s a big PDA guy and loves hand holding. Loves holding you close when you’re out, pulling you in by the waist.
He comes to you for any outfit advice. “Which shirt goes with these pants?” Type of questions. He HATES going outside if he looks underdressed or something.
You’re the one behind the camera in the platform roulette videos and somehow he always ends up swapping with you & recording you doing shots with the boys.
He gets really anxious about doing concerts and tours so you go with him to every single one. You hold his hand until he steps on stage and you celebrate with him when he finishes. You LOVE watching him perform.
He likes to pretend he wears the pants in the relationship but it’s definitely you. He is a sweetheart and a princess at heart.
The two of you have ELITE humor. Even your mum jokes have you both on the floor, and his favorite thing is making you laugh.
He’s your number one fan and I don’t mean this lightly. He screams when you do something small, he plasters your music/videos/content all over his social media and promotes everything you do.
You have so many inside jokes that it’s hard to keep up. Everyone else will look confused while you and Arthur are doubled over with tears in your eyes.
He loves putting his hands under your shirt. Not even in a sexual way, he just loves the warmth especially when he’s falling asleep.
He writes most of his songs about you.
90% of the time you are in the music videos and appear as the backing vocals for his music.
His love language is physical touch. He’s not great at communication and finds it a little cringe and awkward to let his guard down but he has his cute moments. He also LOVES gift giving.
You love hiking, and he hates it. But he goes with you every single time and you’re so patient with him on the rocky mountains. You’ll carry him in your arms for a while if you’re feeling generous.
He gives you his clothes and then whines about it later. “Where’s my hoodie?” And you’re sat there wearing it and he’s like “Why do you have that on? I need it!” And you’re all like… “Babe, you gave it to me.”
You have a joined playlist but it’s just his songs. You like to add them in a particular order to make them say a sentence and he finds it hilarious.
SO gentle when it comes to periods and stuff. Hand on your stomach, reminds you to take painkillers every 4 hours, refills your hot water bottle when it goes luke warm, and buys you loads of snacks.
Loves taking you on coffee shop dates. Not a big dinner and drinks guy. His type of thing is walks in the park, cafes, picnics, and going thrifting. But he’s not afraid to splash money on you. If you look at something he will buy it for you.
ARGUMENTS...
He’s a crashout. Easily angered and honestly it might scare most people but he’s never hurt you. Wouldn’t dream of it. He calms himself down when he sees your bottom lip quiver and then he tries to talk it out properly.
Never goes to bed angry. He’ll sleep on the sofa but he won’t let you go to sleep feeling unloved. It’s either “Let’s talk about it” or “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, i love you baby.”
You’re quite calm, but your feelings are easily hurt, so he avoids saying anything directed in the heat of the moment. If you do something that frustrates him he will tell you politely.
Sometimes it’s over silly things, but most of the time it’s serious. And most of the time, he starts it.
When everything has cleared up the two of you will mock each other’s insults and use them in a joking manner
90% of the time the arguments turn into sex. I’m sorry it’s just how it is. You will say you hate him and go silent and suddenly he’s between your legs and wants to make it up to you.
Honestly? So hot when he’s angry. You try to piss him off just to see that side of him sometimes.
NSFW...
Loves when you tug on his mullet. Literally anything to do with his hair. Even when you compliment it he’ll go crazy.
Munch. Best tongue game you’ve ever seen. He could sit for hours between your thighs, even if he’s not trying to make you cum. Three rounds deep and he’s just lapping at your cunt like a starved man.
Loves your thighs. Loves them more than anything. He said once on the useless hotline: “My secret kink?? I dunno. It’s secret for a reason. Okay–okay! Probably thighs. Like I would die happy if someone crushed my head with their thighs.” and he hasn’t lived it down since.
Not really a dom/sub kinda guy. Just goes with the flow. Dominant by nature but loves when you tell him what to do. He’s all for that bossy girlfriend kinda vibe.
Huge on praise. Loves calling you a good girl, loves telling you how sweet you taste and how beautiful you are. Also loves when you call him handsome. One time you called him a good boy and he came on the spot. So, yea. Praise man.
His sex drive isn’t too high but it’s enough for you to fuck at least twice a week.
Loves wrapping his hand around your throat. Iffy about it at first but once you assure him it’s okay and you try it once he falls in love with it.
Messy. Whether he cums on your tits, stomach, ass—literally anywhere—he will be more than satisfied. Only started cumming inside of you without a condom when you became open to the idea of having kids.
He’s vocal. Whining, groaning, rambling your name when he cums, he does it all.
Not a fan of public sex but does enjoy the idea of you on his lap while at a bar or party and taking you to the bathroom for a quickie.
Somno king. He loves waking you up with his head between your thighs. Loves watching you dazed and confused when you first wake up.
﹫luvdixon ♡ do not reupload my content anywhere else & do not copy paste it and claim it as your own!
summary : where you make a risqué revelation on a podcast episode, pushing george to enquire in private times
a/n : second george smut … this one is so filthy i don't actually have anything else to say lmfao
content : established relationship ,, sexual content ,, dom/sub dynamic ,, squirting
─────── YOU’D RECENTLY BEEN on the Useless Hotline Podcast for the third time round. Unfortunately, your glorious boyfriend — George — wasn’t in attendance, therefore, Max took it upon himself to ask you the most juicy questions. And what better way to do it than with a game of Say It Or Shot It?
One round in specific had caught the attention of the public, multiple accounts clipping it and posting it individually, tagging yourself and George in it. The clip went a little something like this:
𐙚 Max picked up a flash card, giggling to himself before reading it out, “Reveal a sexy secret about yourself.”
You blanked, blinking, “Like … something I like doing?”
“Sure. Or you can shot it and get absolutely shit faced with me because I am … three? Shots in, and a little bit on the tipsy side.” Max clicked his teeth.
“I don’t wanna be drunk though, I was drunk yesterday!” You whined, biting your finger as you thought, “Okay, one sexual secret about me … mmm … I like a bit of,” You held your forearms up in front of your face, “I dunno how to describe it, caging? I guess.”
“Ohh, right, like biceps in either side of your head.”
“Yeah, chest-to-chest, maybe a little leg over the arm.” You nodded, giggling awkwardly as you revealed this about yourself.
“So, have you done this with George then?” Max asked bluntly, “Oop! Sorry! If you say we can bleep it.”
“Uh … No, we’ve not done it.” You shook your head.
“How do you know that you— Oh, wait, you did it with your ex.”
You snorted, “Yeah.”
“I know this wasn’t part of your question, but I have to ask because I’m curious — again we can bleep if you want.” Max started very eagerly, “But what do you think of role playing.”
You burst out laughing.
“I’m only asking because I don’t know how to talk to Andrew about it!” Max spoke louder, trying to project over your laughter.
“Just … gotta be like ‘Hey, wanna … pretend to be a doctor and shag the cold out of me?’.”
Max’s cackles filled the studio at your joke, “Reader, there is no way that you have ever asked someone that!”
“Of course not!” You guffawed, “But … it’s just … you gotta communicate. Tell them, like, I want you to be more dominant — for example. Or, I want you to, like, put your fingers down my throat. Just communicate.”
“This feels like an advice episode more than Say It Or Shot It, wow.” Max sighed, “Aren’t you insightful.” 𐙚
─────── YOU GOT HOME late tonight, keys jingling as you locked the door behind you, kicking your heels off and dropping your little red handbag in the entry way. You flattened the grey pleated skirt you were wearing and frowned at the minuscule pasta sauce splatter on your white blouse.
When you pushed open the double doors to the kitchen and dining room, you blinked in utter shock and confusion at what was going on.
George’s streaming set up was on the dining table, and some form of science equipment was strewn across it. He was stood, in a lab coat and suit, talking the viewers through a practical of sorts, blatantly having no idea what he was doing himself.
“What are you doing?” You giggled softly, walking into frame.
“Hello, my lovely, I’m helping my viewers with GCSE revision. I’m Professor Clarkey today.”
“George, this is silly—“
“Professor Clarkey.”
“George.”
“Professor Clarkey to you, missy.” He pushed, a teasing smirk on his face.
“Professor Clarkey,” You finally caved with a heavy sigh, “Just know you’re cleaning this mess up, I’m not. Also, look!” You pouted, gesturing to the red spot on your shirt, “Pasta.”
“Pop it in the wash now then.” George said, nodding towards the washing room, “And I’ll wrap up here.”
“Hi guys!” You quickly waved and greeted the chat, smiling at the camera as the comments went wild.
userone READER I LOVE YOU
usertwo OUTFIT IS SERVING GIRL
userthree SHES SO COOL HOW DID GEORGE BAG HER
userfour when they stand next to each other you can really tell that he’s punching
userfive save us, reader
You laughed at their messages before walking off. Once you were sure you were behind the camera, you unbuttoned your shirt, taking it off and leaving you in the mini skirt and pink lace bra. You winked at George over the camera before sliding into the washing room to put your shirt in the machine.
When you got back into the bedroom, George was already there, no longer in his lab coat but still in the suit and tie.
"Consider this detention." He smirked, grabbing your forearm and pulling you forwards so you were straddling his lap.
"Uh oh, what have I done?" You played along, biting your lower lip.
"I saw the podcast clip." He revealed, voice low and husky as his breath fanned your face, "Thought you could get away with not telling me your little secrets but airing them on a podcast. Tut. Tut."
Your pulse raced, and you had no doubts that George could feel it, but you decided to feign obliviousness anyway, "I have no idea what you're talking about—“
You were cut off as a yelp flew from your lips, a direct response to the stinging slap George had laid on your bum.
"What were you thinking, hm , darling?" He muttered, lips skimming yours, "That you would just tell everyone who watches that your favourite position in sex was one we hadn't done?"
You frowned, "I didn't mean it like that—“
Another slap.
You bit your lip to contain any noises you might've made involuntarily.
"Is that what you were thinking?" He pressed on.
You shook your head, "No."
"Well, I think you owe Professor Clarkey an apology, don't you?" George tilted his head, hands travelling up your skirt teasingly.
You pressed your lips together, nodding.
"Go on then."
You kissed his lips softly before sliding off of his lap and onto your knees in front of him. Your hands trembled with adrenaline as you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.
He shuffled out of them just enough for you to slip your hand beneath the waistline of his boxers, revealing his thick length to you.
It was already semi-hard, a reaction to the tension and filthy talk that he'd put on you. You hovered your mouth over his cock, spitting onto it and using it as lube as you pumped your fist up and down.
George groaned, resting back on his hands and watching you through hooded eyes.
Once he was satisfactorily erect for you, you descended your mouth onto him, starting slowly with the tip, swirling your tongue around it, causing him to grunt.
Little by little, you pushed yourself further, his heavy weight pressing on your tongue. You pulled of completely, his cock glistening with your saliva. You continued pumping your hand at his base while your tongue ran underneath, flicking at the tip.
You tucked your hair behind your ear as it slipped down in front of your face, wrapping your lips around him again.
George's hands came up, pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail, simultaneously using at as leverage to guide your moments. Loud gulping noises reverberated from the back of your throat, the muscles contracting and bobbing.
He pulled your head back, looking down at you with lustful eyes as you panted, lips shining, "Fuck, you're gorgeous." And then he was sliding himself back down your throat.
He held your head in place as he gave shallow thrusts into your mouth, getting closer and closer.
"You gonna swallow?" He murmured, taking his bottom lip between his teeth."
You nodded, unable to answer with words as his dick was lodged down your throat. He pushed your head down, making you squeeze your eyes shut as tears sprouted. You gulped and swallowed as he shot thick ropes into your throat. You gagged, pulling up and off but still hovering over him, your drool dripping from your lips, making a mess of your chin and his cock.
"Good girl." George praised, voice husky as he situated you back on his lap, "That was an A+ apology, baby." His thumb swiped over your chin, gathering and pushing your saliva back into your mouth. "Now ... about that little secret."
He flipped you onto your back, staring down at you as he undressed himself and then you. He smirked slightly at the pink lacey thong you wore before tugging it down and off into a corner of the room somewhere.
He positioned himself directly over you, forehead pressed to yours as his fingers found their place between your legs, "Fuck, you're so wet."
You gasped at the raw contact, his first and middle finger rubbing precise, tight circles on your clit. Your eyebrows pinched together at the stimulation, arms wrapping around his shoulders and toes curling.
You'd always been quite sensitive to any form of touch between your legs, so the fact that George was just going to town made your stomach tighten and your empty walls clamp down on nothing.
His lips travelled down your neck, sucking on the spot just below your jawline. His free hand gripped the inside of your thigh, holding it out and open, pressing into the mattress so he had a full, uncovered view of your pussy. His mouth dragged down from your neck to your breasts, encasing your nipple and sucking it into his mouth, gently tugging on it and making you let out a breathy moan. When he pulled away, he flattened his tongue over the peak, soothing the rosy tinge it now had to it.
He removed his hand from your clit, making you whimper at the loss of stimulation.
"Shh, shh," George hushed you, "Remember what you said, yeah? 'Just communicate'. Tell me what you want."
"You." You panted, wasting no time, unable to bear the tension any longer, "You, please, George."
"Me?" He smirked cockily, "How? Like this?"
He held his cock at the base, running it through your folds and parting them as he went until he got to your clit, tapping his tip on it.
"Fuck—" You whined, "No— Need you inside."
"There we go, that's all I needed." George muttered, bracing his forearms on either side of your head, giving you a perfect, five-star view of his bulging biceps under the pressure of holding himself up.
You moaned out as he slowly pushed in, going until he was nestled deep and you were full.
"How's this for biceps by your head?" George grunted, "Jesus— Shit— I’m so deep."
He shuffled his hips slightly so his pubic bone was pressed directly against yours, forcing your legs to spread apart to accommodate to his size. The shifting (practically wiggling), made you moan as his dick moved inside you.
George had you caged beneath him, hip-to-hip, forehead-to-forehead. He angled his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, perfectly sliding his tongue against yours.
You both moaned repetitively into each others mouths as he started moving, pulling out and pushing back in. You didn't pull away, continuing to make out. Your hands clawed down his back and he bit down on your lower lip teasingly before kissing you again.
"How's that?" George questioned, voice low and gravelly as he pistoned his hips in and out. "You feel so fucking good, reader."
"God, don't stop." You panted, staring up at him with glassy eyes and dilated pupils, "So good, Georgie."
"Yeah?" He cursed under his breath, moving so his weight rested all on his right arm.
His left hand came down, grabbing your right leg and hooking it over the crook of his elbow, pushing it up so you were spread even wider.
"Better?"
"So much better!" You cried out as his tip smacked your g-spot.
You tried to wiggle your hips to clash more against his, but he had you successfully pinned down — not that you were complaining. His fingers came up, pressing through your lips. You sucked them as told, tongue swirling and lips suctioning. George moved his now-soaked fingers out of your mouth and to your clit, rubbing in firm circles again.
You moaned out, thighs trembling at the onsets of your orgasm.
The clitoral stimulation combined with the persistent nudging against your g-spot caused those familiar tremors to start shaking through you.
Your stomach coiled up even tighter than usual and you cried out, nails digging deep into his back as you came hard.
Splashes of liquid jolted out of you as your whole body practically vibrated with the force of your orgasm.
You felt George’s cum seeping inside of you as he stared down in awe at the mess beneath and on the pair of you.
“Shit, I know you said you liked it like this, but … Fuck, darling, I wasn’t expecting that.” He whispered, arousal still dripping from his tone.
“Sorry.” You slurred, muscles weak and lax from the exhaustion of everything.
“No, don’t apologise, it was fucking sexy.” George chuckled, kissing your temple repeatedly in a soft manner.
You hadn’t even noticed he’d left the room and returned until you felt him shifting your legs to clean you up. He dragged a damp washcloth over your skin gently, wiping away any evidence of what had just occurred.
“Maybe I should expose my fantasies online more often.” You jestered, staring at the wall as he cuddled up behind you.
George playfully slapped your outer thigh before placing his hand back on your chest, encasing your entire boob in one palm, “Don’t be stupid.”
for you @cheekytv - hope you enjoy, it defo didn't take a month!!,, i loved writing this !!
It's a Tuesday morning when you walk into the rehearsal studio, it smells like cheap coffee and hairspray. You’re already at the piano, singing harmonies when the door swings open and Arthur saunters in. Black hoodie, dark jeans, curls messy - and you knew he hadn't bothered to fix them, not that you're surprised. “Morning,” he says, voice deep with sleep, of course he slept in. Typical. “So nice of you to start without me.”
“Hate to break it to you, Hill, but I don't have time to waste waiting for you to remember to set an alarm,” you reply, voice clipped, not even looking up.
He drops his bag with a thud and flops into the chair beside you, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. “Careful, love,” he says, grinning. “That stick that you clearly have rammed so far up your arse might snap.”
You shoot him a look. “You’ve been fucking insufferable since the term started, you think you're all that now you're getting a bit of recognition through Spotify.”
“Correction,” he says. “I’ve been brilliant since the term started and only improving, you're either mardy because you know I'm better, or worried because I'm getting somewhere with music - you bloody well know it, that's why you're in a huff.”
You’re half way through your retort when the door swings open again - your performing arts Professor enters hurriedly, filling the room with her floral perfume, and you immediately lock eyes on her no-nonsense facial expression, and you knew you weren't going to like what she was about to tell you.
“I’m going to make this quick,” she says, tossing her reddish curls, and straightening her jumper. “You’re both good - too good, and frankly, I’m tired of your nonstop arguing that's bloomed as a result of your weird competitive streaks. So here's what I'm going to do - there would usually be a solo, but this year it's a two-person piece.”
Your whole body tenses, Arthur straightens up.
“One duet,” she continues. “One scene, your shot at the showcase. You either learn to work together, or I will cut you both before either of you complain about the other.”
You both open your mouths at the same time.
“No.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, I am deadly serious about this, so do not even try sweettalking me out of this,” she says, already walking out. “Rehearsals start on Friday.” The door slams behind her, silence suffocating you both.
Arthur leans back in his chair (again), before sighing and muttering, “Well, fuck me.”
You exhale sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose - anticipating a headache. “That was the plan.”
He looks at you, smirk visible on his stupid face and you immediately regret that phrasing.
He grins, edging closer. “Didn’t know you fantasised about me, love, but good to know - very good to know indeed.”
“Oh, piss off.”
You plan to meet in Studio 3 that same Friday. He’s late, of course. When he finally strolls in - all loose limbs and zero urgency - you’re already irritated as you've been behind the piano for twenty minutes, warming up.
“Sorry,” he says. “Had to grab a coffee, d'you fancy one?”
You give him a look, wanting to get this over as fast as possible - you had people to see, things to do, and couldn't afford to stand around all day. “Right,” he mutters. “Forgot you're bitchy when people work on your time."
You ignore him and nod toward the sheet music. “Start from verse two, and don’t rush the line this time.”
He walks over to the stereo and switches it on lazily. “It’s called having emotion, ever heard of it?”
“It’s called tempo and rhythm.”
“It’s called boring if we do it your way.”
You stand and run your fingers through your hair. God he grinds your gears - you don't know what bit about him boils your blood but you have had enough. “Arthur, this is not your Saturday night down the pub. This is the uni showcase - our one chance to get somewhere, with thousands of people, including scouts and critics watching. So forgive me for being passionate.”
“You think I don’t bloody know that?” he snaps, stepping closer. “I want this just as much as you, even more maybe.”
You’re toe to toe now, foreheads touching. You're both glaring, your chests rising and falling rapidly. God, he’s infuriating, fuck why did he have to be attractive, obviously the boy you hated was unfairly fit. For your own sanity, you push that thought far far down.
“Then prove it,” you challenge.
He stares at you for a second. He restarts the track and the two of you start again, this time, slower, measured. You could have sworn that for a single second, you blend - compliment eachother even. You both feel it, this newfound understanding and connection. Neither of you acknowledge it, but your heart warms at the knowledge of this feeling.
It’s ten at night a few weeks later, and you’re both knackered, sweaty, starving, and straight from a three-hour rehearsal. However, to your surprise, you're growing closer together, it's almost as if something keeps pulling you both back - back to that harmony, that peace, the odd moment of competition that somehow became your norm.
Arthur’s sitting cross-legged on the bench onstage, picking at the sticker on the bottom of his mic. You’re stretched out on the floor opposite him, sipping lukewarm tea.
“Reckon she's laughing her head off right now,” he says quietly. “Putting us together, watching us compete until we go mental..”
You laugh, surprising even yourself, if you told yourself even a fornight ago that you would get along with Arthur, you would've laughed. “She’s sadistic, I fuckin' respect it.”
He glances at you. “Y'know, you’re not actually as much as a dick as I thought you were, you're actually alright.”
You raise a brow. “High praise.”
He leans his head back against the wall. “I didn't expect it but under all the 'bitchy'ness and stress and general aggression, there’s an actual semi-decent person in there.”
“Well what do you want me to say Arthur? That you’re not just a walking ego with a Spotify following and a fuckin' God complex?”
He picks up on the final bit of your sentence, and grins. “You think I’m like God?”
“Christ.”
Silence falls and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. Of the way his foot brushes yours. Of how his eyes, his mind-numbingly beautiful hazel eyes flicker to your mouth. It shouldn't be like this, you're meant to hate him. He's meant to hate you back.
You clear your throat and stand, you need to break up whatever the hell is going on. “We should run it again.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice low, you hope he's picked up on your sudden change in mood. "From the top."
The dressing room is a blur of hairspray, nerves, preshow KFC and adrenaline. You’re in your stage clothes - sleek black, mic clipped to your ear. Your hands are shaking slightly, you haven't been this nervous in a long time. You pin it down to wanting to outshine your duet partner.
Arthur appears behind you in the mirror, black button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hair messy in the way that somehow works. Jesus fuck, he is so hot, just a shame he would never like you back.
“You ready?” he asks, a small look of concern etched on his face.
“No,” you admit, hoping the Dutch courage would kick in sometime soon.
He smiles, slow - unexpected. “You’ll be brilliant.”
You turn to face him. “You’re different tonight, you're not being a dick, it suits you.”
He shrugs. “Guess after this long of surviving eachother, I've come to tolerate you, maybe even like you.”
A beat of silence, then the stage manager waves you on. The stage lights are blinding, the backing track plays, the one you've grown very sick of.
You step forward. It's time for your duet - you’ve never heard your voice like this, not until it’s intertwined with his. You don’t even know what verse you’re on, or what the choreo’s meant to be, because Arthur’s voice is in your ear and your heart is pounding so fast you fear it may burst, but when he reaches out to take your hand in the chorus - you let him.
The final note hits like lightning, you don't even care that the belt had you out of breath when the crowd erupts.
You’re both breathless, frozen - hands laced together. Sweat is forming on both your brows, your chests are heaving. You've never felt so content, so at peace.
You think he might kiss you right there, you're disappointed when he doesn't.
The cast floods into the pub with sticky floors and dodgy, underfunded lighting. You don’t care, you’re buzzing. You're pretty sure that you are still carrying the same stance and feeling how you were on that stage.
Arthur appears beside you with two tequila shots. “To not fucking it up,” he announces, holding up the glass in cheers.
You clink glasses. “To not killing each other, reckon Prof is shocked we have even got along.”
You both throw them back.
One turns into three, then four. Tequila always hit you like a truck - making you dangerously giggly and even more dangerously truthful.
Now you’re in a booth, laughing like idiots, head spinning. Arthur leans closer. “You were bloody unreal tonight, blew me away.”
“You too,” you say. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
He smirks. “Careful, might get used to all these compliments.”
You shake your head, smiling into your pint. “I still cannot stand you.”
“Liar.”
You look at him and something in the air shifts. The noise of the bar and your brain fades.
“I wanted to kiss you on that stage,” he says, out of the blue. “Thought I was losing my mind.”
You blink, stunned. You wanted him to kiss you too. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don't know.” He licks his lips. “Didn’t know if you’d slap me or kiss me back, love.”
You stare at him, you curse yourself for the amount of alcohol which has made you lose all filter. “Try it and find out.”
His hand slides to your jaw, slow, almost tentative. Then his mouth is on yours.
It’s messy, God, it’s so much - so hot and all-consuming. His teeth clash against yours, his mouth hot on yours. It’s everything the music was hinting at, everything the rivalry masked - all this stupid tension when you really had a fat crush on eachother. Typical.
One year later, and the rehearsal room doesn’t smell as bad anymore - or maybe you’ve just been in it so long, it feels like a second-home now. You’re sitting on the same edge of the same piano bench, flipping through this year’s showcase sheet. It’s a solo number, it’s stunning. And it’s all yours, no competition this time, no auditions. You miss the hour-long arguments you and he had.
“You’ve earned it,” she’d said. “Yours alone, if you want it.”
And for a moment, you did.
Until Arthur walked in.
“Don’t tell me we’re reliving last year,” he says, tossing his bag to the floor. “Because I don’t think my ego, and all my new Spotify followers can survive another showdown with you.”
You glance at him, smirking. “You think I’d risk losing again?”
There’s a quiet moment, not charged like before — just soft and ever so familiar. Is this what deja vu is?
“I was offered the solo for this year,” you announce.
His brows lift, arms opening. “Congrats, darlin', that’s huge.”
“I turned it down.”
“What? Why?”
You close your folder, the annotated sheet music embedded within. “I asked if I could do a duet instead.”
He’s quiet, and hilariously unknowing. “With who?”
You give him a look, one of those 'come on, think about it,' looks. His lips part slightly. “You serious?”
You nod. “It’s different now,”
Arthur leans back, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re right. We’re not fighting for the spotlight anymore.”
“No, now we both shine under the same spotlight, together." And it hits you suddenly how far you've both come.
Last year, it was about proving something. This year? It's about letting the other dazzle, sharing the spotlight, supporting eachother.
He moves to switch on the same battered stereo, you meet his gaze.
“From the top?” he asks.
You smile, gazing into his eyes adoringly. “Yeah, let’s make it shine.”
feeling incredibly disheartened by the lack of grace and understanding people show each other these days.
we throw the word “community” around online constantly and then we totally excommunicate anyone who fucks up, anyone who dares to misspeak. we demand accountability and then refuse to give people the benefit of the doubt when they try to apologize and express a desire to learn and grow and change.
suddenly we treat each other like the influencers we watch, expecting formal statements and public declarations of regret when we fuck up. we’re just people.
we are so focused on competing for the Most Empathetic award when we discuss global issues and yet in doing so we are showing each other less empathy than fucking ever. it is so discouraging.
no words mean something too - h. c. g. lewis MDNI
you and harry have a... certain connection. most of the time the connection is physical and in absolute secret.
pairing: harry x f!reader
genre: smut, and a bit, a hint of angsty stuff if you squint
warnings: multiple sex scenes, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation (usage of words "whore", "slut", "fucktoy", "stupid", “useless“), lowkey dumbification, cum play, cum eating, masturbation (f), blowjobs, squirting, praise ("good girl"), dom!harry (even tho he isn't from the start and he breaks character once), sub!reader
wc: 2.1
a/n: ... this is the filthiest thing i have put on this blog. before you ask, i am pretty sure i'll write a part two. enjoy.... i dedicate this to my gal @pretendyoucantseeme as it is my first ever harry smut. ily wifey.
it’s becoming a thing with you and harry. somewhat a habit. a habit that makes your life more difficult and exhilarating at the same time.
the first time it happens is when everyone is asleep at a big shoot in a warehouse.
you feel him before you hear him.
“you still up?” he whispers. his hard cock is pressing against your ass and you almost feel offended by it.
“what the fuck, harry?” you whisper back, looking at him over your shoulder. it's dark in the room, only the faint moonlight outside serving as a light source. and conveniently it’s cloaking harry in the most beautiful way. eyes dark, but still so perfectly blue. hair a mess. skin glowing. you swallow.
“look, i don’t know what’s going on but like- i could need some assistance.”
assistance in a room full of all of your friends at a sidemen shoot?! he must be out of his god damn mind!
well, so are you apparently because not even three minutes later, his cock is stuffed inside your pussy, his hand on your mouth while he ruts his hips against you, his own mouth pressed shut.
fucking hell, he’s great at this.
it annoys you that harry is good at sex, it truly does. good at just fucking you like a maniac under sheets, the sound thankfully getting drowned out by the layers of blankets on top of you.
“god, you’re tight. so fuuuuucking good, fuck.”
his voice is a sultry whisper in your ear and for whatever reason your pussy spasms and your orgasm hits you like a truck - all with eyes rolling back and desperate moans getting suppressed by only his massive hand on your mouth. it’s like he put a bloody spell on you.
“oh shit, oh shit, did you just cum? fuck, that’s so hot, o-oh f-fucking bloody hell!” harry cums inside you for the first time right then.
it certainly wasn’t the last, though.
whatever is going on with you becomes something like a… blur after a while. any kind of event, a shoot, a party, a pub crawl or golf, no matter where you and harry get invited to separately, you somehow end up being together in at least… one way. it truly doesn’t matter, you and harry make it work every single time.
a cramped bathroom stall, a room in an abandoned hostel, behind a not so abandoned five-star hotel at night, in a hot tub when anyone could walk back down to the yard. no matter what - harry and you end up fucking.
and for some reason, no one has caught on yet.
hide and seek is supposed to be a children’s game. harry and you have officially changed it to an 18 rated film. at least it’s in a bedroom this time.
…
sure, in a closet inside a bedroom, but still a bedroom, right?
“fucking hell, how are you always this tight and wet for me, baby?”
your frontside is pressed against the cool wood of the narrow closet, your jeans and panties pooling at your ankles, harry’s cock outside his fly and briefs, buried inside your aching cunt.
“f-fuck me so good!” you cry pathetically.
see, this is a thing that happened. harry has somehow gotten you to a point of patheticness and stupidity. with all the fucking you’ve been doing, the man has fucked you utterly and entirely stupid. when you’re with him you are nothing but a dumb slut, meant to be fucked by him and nothing else. hungry for his cum, hungry to cum.
“yeah, you like how i fuck you, my perfect little fucktoy.” harry is relentless. whispers the naughtiest things into your ear in the softest voice, all while his cock pounds into you like a sledgehammer.
it’s quick and hard and everything you’ve ever wanted and a part of you fears you’ll never be able to have sex with anyone else ever again. harry fucks you exactly how you like it, treats you how you like it. the stupid seventh member of the sidemen had literally turned out to be the man of your wet dreams.
“mhmm, n-nothing but your f-fucktoy, harry!” your drool is dripping down your chin, hands pushed against the wood and your orgasm comes closer with every pain strikingly good thrust of harry’s hips.
“i know that’s right, baby. come on, cum for me, show me how good i make you feel.”
when harry lewis tells you to cum, you do. it’s a spell, it must be a spell. a spell that has you climaxing around his cock in no time, pathetically crying his name and telling him over and over again to pump you full.
and he delivers every time.
“good girl, such a good little whore for me, mhm, what’s that? want my cum in you? of course you do… stupid little slut, all you want is to be bred by me, isn’t that right?”
he fucks you through your orgasm and when you whimper that, yes, all you want is to be his little breedable whore, he finally gives you what you need.
and no one ever ends up finding you in the closet together.
you never really talk about it. what this is. he never questions it and so neither do you.
which makes it so strange when you get jealous over him flirting with some random girl you’ve never seen before.
you down your vodka lime and turn to pour yourself another one. not to drink it, though, no, no. that would be too much of a normal thing to do. and right now, you are anything but normal.
the contents of your cup end up on the girl’s shirt, your faux apology not fooling harry in the slightest.
when the girl runs away, all embarrassed, harry smirks knowingly.
“oh, someone’s jealous then?” he says. you scoff.
“in your dreams. this was obviously an accident.” you roll your eyes at him. harry’s eyes darken.
“did you just roll your eyes at me, sweetheart?”
your pressed against the wall and you gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, digging into your flesh.
“harry, wha-,”
“coming over here and spilling a drink on a girl i spoke to for five minutes like a jealous little brat, hm? and then rolling your eyes when i call you out? you wanna get in trouble, don’t you, baby?”
your thighs press together almost automatically.
the sink isn’t comfortable to bend over but it’ll do.
harry is drilling into you, cock hard and veiny, dragging along your walls. he’s hard and reckless and your hair is wrapped around his hand, holding you up and staring at yourself while he fucks you.
“look at you,” he spits, “look at this jealous useless whore, hm? scared i’ll find another cunt to pump full, baby?” he smirks wickedly and your pussy throbs around him, several whimpers escaping your throat.
“pl-please!” you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
“shut the fuck up,” his other arm is wrapped around your waist, pushing you even harder against himself. “i’m gonna show you what happens to misbehaved sluts like you, yeah?”
he fucks into you once, twice, cock vibrating with his nearing climax, only to pull out and spin you around, pushing you onto your knees and finally climaxing all over your face.
“fuuuuck, look at all that cum on your pretty face, shit, that’s so hot.” harry squirts another wave of cum onto your face, mouth hanging open. he kind of got lost in how much he enjoys seeing you full of his cum and forgot all about his role of the mean dominant man. adorable.
but now you’re covered in his seed and your own orgasm has never been further away. and harry isn’t moving.
“touch yourself.” he commands, back in his element and your eyes widen, cum dripping from your chin down to your cleavage. harry’s spent cock twitches at the sight.
“what?” you stare at him.
“you heard me, darling. touch yourself. make yourself cum.”
your hand moves down. you don’t even really know how or why. but harry is the puppet master and you do whatever he says. kind of a… difficult situation if you think about it. not that you do. no, not when your fingers sink into your pussy, your legs spread and the cum slowly drying on your face.
harry watches you in awe, how your fingers pump into your cunt over and over, how your hips chase the feeling, how his cum looks on your fucked out face.
harry realises then he needs to make sure everyone knows you’re his.
he just doesn’t know how to bring it up.
“go on, love. cum for me.”
there it is - the harry lewis spell.
his words make you tumble over the edge, coming hard on your own fingers, his name like a prayer on your lips as you fuck yourself through it.
he helps you get up and cleans your fingers by sucking them into his mouth hungrily.
then, he leaves the bathroom first.
and after you’ve cleaned yourself off his essence, you follow suit.
once again, no one knows a thing.
everyone knows harry hates driving.
but at one of the next sidemen shoots, he gets put in a duo with you and ends up driving.
the production crew drives ahead and you and harry are alone in the car.
he turns off the camera when you end up on a road in the middle of nowhere, the productions team car three cars ahead.
your mouth is on his cock as he drives, his hand in your hair.
“yeah, baby, take it all, come on, know you can.” his head is leaning against the headrest, teeth sinking into his bottom teeth as you bop your head on his cock quickly.
your mouth is perfect around his cock, so fucking perfect. not as perfect as your pussy though.
“gonna make me cum, darling. wanna swallow it all, don’t you?” he pushes your head down, concentrating on his surroundings to the best of his abilities all while thrusting up.
“take it- f-fucking take it, ch-choke on it, y-yeah like that…. f-fuck!”
after you swallow all of his load, you sit back up and turn the camera on again.
he parks the car at the side of the road thirty minutes later when a crazy thunderstorm breaks out. the production team is already far ahead and you are now on his lap in the driver’s seat, bouncing on his cock like a woman starved.
his head is in between your tits, sucking and licking on your skin while you fuck yourself on his cock at rapid speed.
“n-ngh, h-harry’s cock s-so big and go-good!” you are back to being a pathetic little slut and harry loves every second of it. his hands are on your ass, squeezing it tightly, smacking it every few seconds.
“yeah, baby, bounce on my cock, what a good girl.” he sucks your nipple into his mouth and you cry out, hands on his shoulders while you pick up the pace.
for whatever reason, harry’s cock is your actual perfect fit. dragging it along your walls, having it hit your sweet spot over and over, it feels like a dream. a perfect wet dream. your sounds are borderline pornographic and you wonder if maybe you’ve chosen the wrong career. but then again, no one has ever made you sound like that. only harry.
“pl-please c-can i cum?!” you cry out just as harry finishes a beautiful purple mark on your right tit.
“such a good slut asking for permission. yes, darling, cum for me.”
and that you do. you cum and you squirt all over his lap, his groans growing more worked up as he notices.
“fuck, i love it when you squirt, my own personal dirty little whore, fuck.” he grabs your waist with both hands now, holding you down as he fucks up into your, head thrown back. the wetness between your legs is absolute heaven. he fucks into you over and over, no control left whatsoever and finally climaxes, thick spurts of cum landing inside your spent pussy. you whine, nails digging into his shoulders, mouth hanging open and eyes are closed. he fucks you and him through your orgasms and you finally collapse on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck and head on his shoulder.
his hands caress your back softly.
your sweaty forehead leans against him, chest heaving. when you raise your head, your eyes and his meet.
and then he kisses you. not like he does before you fuck.
summary: george and arthur insist on coming to a photoshoot with you, only to be met with a surprise.
warnings: mature content (18+ only)
main masterlist
a/n: i fear i might’ve got a little carried away… anyways everyone say thank you mitchie for this request bc i loved it <333
content warnings: threesome, cream-pie, oral (f recieving), fingering, unprotected sex - if ive missed any let me know
You had accomplished a lot in your career as a content creator, and you were proud of each accomplishment. From brand deals to paid partnerships, to appearing reality tv shows, you were proud of it all. But this felt different. This was the moment everything had led up to.
Being the face of the Skims summer collection.
Not a just brand campaign. Not a silly little YouTube thumbnail. A full production level photoshoot for a lingerie line. And you were going to be on the forefront of it. You had been practically vibrating with excitement ever since the offer came through.
And of course, when you told Arthur and George, two of your best mates, they practically demanded to come with you.
“We’re literally your biggest supporters,” George said.
Arthur added, “Yeah, we need to be there to hype you up.”
So, they joined you. Not knowing what kind of shoot they were walking into. They assumed that it was just for the clothing, it never crossed their minds that you’d be modelling in sheer lingerie for the world to see.
And that made it all the better.
Because the second you stepped out of hair and makeup wearing a sheer babydoll dress, your tits showing through the fabric and the faint outline of the beige thong you had been given peeking out, the room shifted. It wasn’t just the production crew that fell silent, but so did Arthur and George.
You watched them shifting in their seats, both trying so hard to not to gape at you.
But the way your body moved with ease under the photographer’s direction – arching here, turning there, eyes sultry, lips parted – you could feel their eyes burning into your skin. Every so often, you let your gaze flicker to the corner of the studio where your boys sat and they were frozen, lips parted, eyes glued to you like they weren’t sure whether to be concerned, impressed, or aroused.
By the end of the shoot, you felt like you were on cloud nine. Even with your normal clothes back on and makeup still perfect from the artists, you felt unstoppable. So with the lingerie packed neatly in a branded tote bag, you made your way back to the boy's flat with George and Arthur following a few paces behind you, both of them uncharacteristically quiet.
And when you got to the flat, things didn’t change. They both sat stiff on the couch fidgeting and refusing to look at you.
They were avoiding eye contact like the plague, every time you spoke to them, they’d flinch away as if you were diseased, or maybe it was because they had just seen every inch of your body wrapped in lace and silk.
So, you did what you do best, and you teased them.
Soft, light touches when you would walk past them on the sofa. A slight wiggle of your hips when you bent over to grab your phone from the floor, knowing exactly what they can see from that angle. When you flopped down on the sofa, you draped your bare legs over their thighs feeling them harden and squirm.
Then an idea hit you.
You pushed yourself up from the sofa, grabbing the tote bag from the table and holding it up with a grin, “Hey,” you cooed sweetly, “Wanna help me pick which set looked best on me?”
Arthur choked on his drink spluttering it everywhere looking like a dear in headlights, and George looked over at you wide-eyed.
“What?”
“C’mon,” you grinned, already walking toward the hallway, “Be honest. I value your feedback. I trust you.”
Neither of them spoke as you disappeared down the hall clicking the door closed behind you. Within a few minutes, you re-emerged wearing the first set: a white satin slip with lace frilling the edges as it hugged your curves like a second skin.
You twirled slowly for them, “Well?”
All Arthur could do was stare in awe. George blinked slowly rolling his tongue over his lips leaning back into the couch (not so) subtly bringing a cushion onto his lap.
“Jesus Christ,” Arthur muttered under his breath, dragging his hand over his face.
You smiled at them, moving your hips slightly, “Is that a yes?”
Both of the boys nodded instantly, their eyes devouring your figure as you spun around making your way back to Arthur’s room.
You changed again. And again. Each time coming out bolder, more confident, slower in your steps, watching their reactions as if it was the only thing that mattered – because it was.
Then you stepped out in the softest baby pink set. A cropped corset that hugged your tits deliciously and a string thong that left very little to the boy's imagination. You looked so delicate and sweet and deceptively innocent as you bounced over to them, making your way to Arthur first.
You slotted yourself between his legs where he was sprawled out on the sofa. His eyes glued on your thighs, your chest, anywhere but your face.
“Feel how soft this one is,” you muttered, reaching for his hand and guiding it upward.
His palm cupped around your breast through the fabric. His touch hesitant and warm.
He froze under you, “Y-Yeah, that’s, that’s really soft,” he stuttered, voice cracking halfway through.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing his cheek before you pulled back turning to George,
“Want to feel too?” you asked coyly.
He nodded, his jaw bit tight and eyes dark.
You grabbed his hand too, bring it to your waist this time, guiding his fingers over the lace trim.
He exhaled a sharp breath, “Yeah. Fuck.”
Then, without another word, you skipped away down the hall to grab the next set.
Behind you, in the silence of the living room, Arthur and George just sat there, staring at each other.
“What the actual fuck,” Arthur muttered.
George’s hand pulled through his hair, “We’re in so much trouble.”
You didn’t even think twice before putting on the next set you had laid out. Yeah, you could’ve chose something a little safer – but where was the fun in that?
Instead, you stepped into the white lace bodysuit, spinning slightly in the full-length mirror in the corner of Arthur’s room. The piece was basically transparent, the fabric so fine that every inch of you was on display. It was the kind of piece you used to look at and wonder if you would ever have the confidence to wear it.
But now? You weren’t just wearing it; it was like it was made for you.
You sauntered out of the bedroom casually, feet padding on their wooden floor, as if this was something you did on a day-to-day basis. The boys looked up lazily at first expecting another slow twirl, another smirk.
But when they saw what you were wearing?
Arthur blinked hard, straightening up gawking at you. George’s posture straightened, his hands gripping onto his jeans. Their eyes dragging down getting lower before they both even realised what they were looking at.
“Holy.” Arthur choked.
George cursed under his breath.
You didn’t say a word as you padded silently across the room, eyes half-lidded. Carefully, you slid yourself right onto the edge of the couch, propping yourself between them.
One hand reaches out for Arthur. The other for George.
They both gave in instantly.
You guided them down your body, slowly and deliberately, over your hips, letting their fingertips brush the lace, teasing them closer and closer until they felt exactly what they were missing.
No barrier. Nothing stopping them.
You hear the sharp inhale that George tried to conceal. You felt Arthur’s fingers twitch against your folds. Their hands now cupped right between your legs, and the tension in the room growing unbearable.
You exhaled like this was the most normal thing in the world, “Thoughts?”
Neither one of them moved.
They were too enamored by you, their hands frozen in place, completely undone by how effortlessly you had flipped the dynamic on them.
“We could do like our own photoshoot,” you suggested, voice low and smooth as you leaned into them “Or video shoot. Y’know Just the three of us?”
Arthur groaned, the sound coming out low and strained, “You’re gonna kill us.”
George’s eyes were screwed tight as he spoke, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
You smiled sweetly, tilting your head, “Don’t I?”
You pulled away, leaving both their hands empty and cold, slowly rising to your feet, hips swaying as you headed back down the hallway once again.
This time, you didn’t close the door all the way, leaving it open slightly.
And when you glanced back at them over your shoulder, watching the boys sit completely still their hands clenched at they sides, eyes locked on the hallway like they were debating whether they should follow you.
Whether they should cross the line that none of you will come back from.
God, you hoped that they would.
A few seconds had passed, a few incoherent murmurs were heard from the living room and then you heard the soft creak of the couch and quiet footsteps echoing down the hall, a slow smile curved onto your lips.
They followed you. Of course they did.
You were stood in the middle of Arthur’s bedroom, back to the door, still dressed in that white lace bodysuit. The light from the hallway shone a gentle glow across the room, spilling in just enough to illuminate your bare skin, making you glow like a warning sign.
You didn’t turn to face them when the door clicked shut, “Couldn’t stay away, hm?” you teased, softly reaching up to slip the thin straps down your shoulders.
There was a pause.
Then Arthur’s voice, thick and low: “Not a fucking chance.”
You felt George before could you see him, his fingers brushing lightly over your bare shoulders, sliding the straps down your arms. His breath fanning against your neck sending a shudder through your core.
“You have no idea what you’ve just started,” he muttered.
“Maybe I do,” you whispered back, leaning into his touch just enough to provoke him.
Arthur appeared in front you in seconds, both of them crowding you. His hands finding your hips in a firm and controlling grip. George grabbed your jaw moving your head to face him, your glistening eyes locking on his dark ones, before following along the line of his tight jaw.
A hiss fell from your lips as his fingers brushed your inner thigh just beneath the edge of lace.
“You’ve been driving us mad,” Arthur murmured into the skin of your collarbone, his voice thick with need.
“Fucking mental,” George adds, his touch climbing higher.
You look between them, breath shaky but eyes lit with a fire.
“Then do something about it.”
George’s mouth crashed onto yours in a hungry unrelenting kiss, while Arthur dragged his hands up your stomach, finding your breast again, his touch more confident this time as his fingers curled around the plush skin like it belonged to him. You moaned into George’s mouth, knees starting to buckle under the electricity passing between the three of you.
They guided you back to the bed. George’s hands never leaving the backs of your thighs, Arthur’s lips attacking every inch of your neck. You fell back against the pillows with a soft laugh, flushed and trembling as they took a step back, only for a second, so they could admire you.
Dressed in lace, legs parted, eyes begging for them.
“Holy fuck,” Arthur cursed, completely breathless, “You’re perfect.”
George exhaled, hands already tugging off his shirt, “You’re gonna ruin us.”
You smiled pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, dragging your finger down your sternum, “Good.”
And when they move again it was a shared hunger that melded with their quiet desperation. Arthur leaned down kissing you deeply savouring every second swallowing your sounds as George’s calloused hands slide between your thighs. Every touch felt like they had both been waiting for this moment far longer than they’ll ever admit.
They weren’t holding back anymore.
Arthur’s mouth was everywhere. Your jaw, your collarbone, your shoulder leaving a trail of marks and heat in his wake. His fingers gripped your waist harshly, and you knew it would bruise but you didn’t care. The feeling of him being this close sent your stomach in a whirlwind. And Arthur couldn’t quite believe you were real, spread beneath him like this, letting him do whatever he pleased.
George’s movements were slower, more deliberate, trailing sweet kisses down your thigh, looking up at you watching every slight change in your expression like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Their hands met on occasion, overlapping on your skin, brushing, squeezing in silent frustration that they weren’t alone with you. And yet, neither one moved to stop the other.
It was messy. It was overwhelming. It was perfect.
“Fuck,” George muttered as he finally peeled away the lace at your hips, exposing your glistening heat. His breath hitched audibly, and Arthur’s fingers flexed against your stomach like he was physically restraining himself from diving in first.
“You sure about this?” Arthur’s voice cracked at the edges, concern bleeding through.
You nodded, breathless, “I want you. Both of you.”
George dove without hesitation, tongue hot and skilled as he lapped against you like a man starving. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, but Arthur held them open, his hands firm around your knee, eyes watching every flick of George’s tongue with a dark kind of fascination.
You cried out, hips rolling, overwhelmed by the sensations. Arthur hushed you with a kiss, swallowing your moans while his hands slid up your chest palming your breasts again, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peaked and a whimper escaped your throat.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, “So fucking beautiful.”
George pulled back just long enough to growl, “She tastes like heaven.”
Your hand slid down, desperate to touch something, anything, but Arthur caught your wrists, pinning them to the mattress with a knowing smirk.
“Nuh uh. You don’t get to take control now,” he said, eyes brimmed with lust, “You’ve had your fun teasing us. Now it’s our turn.”
You whimpered, arching your back, your body trembling beneath their touch as they overwhelmed you from both sides. George’s hand joined his tongue, sliding two fingers inside you, curling perfectly in you while his other hand gripped your thigh, anchoring you.
Arthur leaned in close, licking a slow, hot stripe along your neck, “You gonna cum for us, pretty girl?”
You were already close. Too close.
Every word, every touch, every flicker of breath was pulling you closer and closer, their hands and mouths worshipping every part of you.
And then you finally came.
Body trembling in Arthur’s arms, moans ripping from your throat as your eyes squeezed shut. George had no intention in stopping. Arthur pressed sweet kisses to your temple murmuring praises, his hand brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face as George worked you through every wave of pleasure until you were limp beneath them.
You barely had time to come back around before Arthur was stood undoing his belt, George rising beside him and pushing off the rest of his own clothes.
Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting letting scattered breaths fall as you watched both of them. Every movement so familiar, yet so devastatingly hot as they undressed in front of you.
Arthur crawled over you, his body flush against yours, the heat of him impossible to ignore. “You ready, love?” he whispered against your lips, breath hitching as your thighs wrapped around his waist.
George’s voice came from beside you, deeper now, almost possessive: “You’re gonna be a good girl for us and let us both fuck you?”
Your breath caught in your throat at his words, at the way his voice engraved into your brain. The way he said it like it was a promise and a threat in one. You nodded, eyes wide, your voice barely above a whisper, “Yes, please. I want you. I want both of you.”
Arthur groaned, like he had been holding back, like something primal had released in him. He dropped his forehead to yours as he aligned himself with your entrance, “Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered.
You barely had time to reply before he pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you in the most delicious way, filling you completely. Your fingers dug into his back, nails leaving angry red trails as your head fell back against the pillows.
“Christ, you're tight,” Arthur hissed, trying not to collapse on top of you from how good you felt around, “Fucking perfect.”
George leaned down stroking over your jaw carefully while the other trailed down your body, steadying you both. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered, his voice gentle despite the possessiveness humming through him, “That feel good, baby?”
“So good,” you whimpered, your voice wrecked.
Arthur rocked into you slow at first, the sound of your wet cunt bouncing through the room. You clenched around him without meaning to, the stretch too intense but mind-numbingly good at the same time. His mouth was back on your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he sped up, your bodies moving together in a steady rhythm.
George’s hand trailed further down to your core, fingers circling your clit in tight, practiced motions. The sensation of Arthur rutting into you and George’s fingers drawing maddening circles made your whole body feel like it was about to snap.
“Look at you,” George murmured, his lips brushing your ear, “Taking him so well. But I bet you can take more, yeah?”
Your breath hitched, already trembling, “Fuck, yes.”
“Good girl,” Arthur groaned, picking up the pace, lifting your hips to meet his desperate thrusts, “You’re doing so fucking good.”
George moved to lay next to, his chest pressed to your side, his cock hard against your hip. He kissed your cheek, then down your throat, hand still teasing your clit, “When he’s done, it’s my turn, love. You gonna let me ruin you too?”
You nodded, barely able to speak. Everything building. The pressure, the praise, the filthy words falling from their lips.
Arthur was close. You could feel it in the way his thrusts started to lose rhythm, in the ragged groans falling from his lips as he buried his face in your sternum.
“Shit. ‘m not gonna last,” he gasped, “Where?”
“In me,” you whispered, almost sobbing from how badly you needed to feel all of him, “Please.”
That was all it took. Arthur came with a loud, broken moan, his hips stuttering as he emptied into you, fingers bruising your waist, lips locked against your collarbone as he spilled inside you.
But even as he stilled, you weren’t granted even a moment of rest.
George was already pulling Arthur back, helping ease him out of you before taking his place between your thighs, voice rough and full of lust, “Still with us, baby?”
You nodded, dazed and fucked out but hungry for more, “Yes. Please. Want you.”
George lined himself up, slower, eyes never leaving yours. He pushed in inch by inch, filling you all over again, a deep groan falling from his throat as he bottomed out.
“Fuck, you're dripping,” he growled, looking at the mix of yours and Arthur’s cum leaking out of your in awe, “All because of us.”
Arthur laid beside you, his hand brushing your cheek as George started his deep and punishing movements, “You’re doing so well for us, sweetheart,” Arthur murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Let him take care of you.”
And he did.
Every thrust from George hit deep, pushing you further into Arthur’s side as your nails raked down George’s back. You were stretched, full, and wrecked but your body screamed for more.
“Come for me,” George growled, his hand gripping your jaw, his forehead resting against yours, “Be our good girl. One more.”
You shattered all over again. Mouth gaped open as broken cries fell out, your entire body convulsing beneath him as he fucked you through it, every inch of your body trembling with the force of your release.
George followed soon after, a low groan vibrating into your skin as he came deep inside you, his hips rocking through it, your name broken on his tongue.
And when it was over, when the room was quiet. All that was heard was the ragged sounds of your breathing breathing, and the boys stayed close. Arthur pulled the duvet over the three of you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, and George wrapped a secure arm around your waist, burying his face in your neck.
No one said anything for a while. There was no need. You were theirs now. And they were yours.
summary: the plumbing in george’s flat is broken, so you offer him your shower.
warnings: mature content (18+ only)
masterlist | main masterlist
The sound of knocking at your door echoed through your flat making you spring out of your space on your sofa rushing to the door. It was just after 7, exactly when George said he’d be coming by. You opened the door with a toothy grin, finding your best friend standing there with a lopsided smile. His joggers hanging low on his hips, and his hoodie had ridden up just enough to expose his v-line.
“I still think your really milking your plumbing being broken,” you said, stepping aside to let him in.
He grinned down at you, giving an unapologetic shrug, “What can I say? Just need an excuse to see my best girl every day.”
You rolled your eyes at his comment pretending like your cheeks weren’t on fire from his words, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that played on your lips.
George made his way down the hall heading toward your bathroom casually, already far too familiar with your flat. The door clicked shut, followed by the hiss of the shower turning on. You retreated to your bedroom a smile still playing on your lips as you grabbed your book, propping yourself up against your pillows.
As the sound of the water pattering in the next room echoed through the flat, staying concentrated on the ink was starting to prove a lot more difficult then anticipated.
Every so often, your mind would drift to the thought of George just meters away.
George and his tanned skin bare under the water that was sliding down over his–
You blinked hard, refocusing your eyes back on the paragraph you had been trying to read for the last five minutes.
Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaked opened. Your ears perked up at the sound of the soft thud of George’s feet as they padded against the floor. Then, he appeared in your doorway.
Your eyes lifted instinctively, raking over his frame as your breath hitched in your throat.
He looked godly in this light. The sun from the window haloed around him, gliding over his bare skin. George sauntered into your room a white towel wrapped low around his hips, damp curls pushed back, droplets trailing down the lines of his chest. His skin flushed from the heat, muscles defined and glistening.
You knew you should look away, but your eyes lingered. Drinking in the curves of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone, the trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel.
You hadn’t even noticed your book snapping closed in your lap until George turned to you, an eyebrow raised, catching the way your eyes dragged over his torso.
“See something you like, love?”
Your cheeks burned instantly, and you snapped your head back to the book as if that might hide the obvious.
“You’re stood in my room practically naked, George. What do you want me to do? Not look?”
He stepped forward slowly letting out a dark chuckle. His knuckles whitening slightly as he held the towel securely with one hand, “I don’t think it matters what I want, darling.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to fire back something equally as cocky, but he was already crossing the space to your bed and looking down at you.
His voice dropped lower, “If you keep staring at me like that, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk away.”
You tilted your chin, tilting your head challengingly, “Who says I want you to?”
That was all it took.
He dropped to his knees crowding the space around you on the mattress. One of his hands bracing beside your hip as his lips met yours in a hot and heady kiss – no hesitation, just years of pent up tension tumbling down. His other hand lifted to cradled your cheek, deepening the kiss, tongues tangling with a shared yearning.
The book on your lap fell with a gentle thud as your hands slid over George’s damp shoulders, nails dragging down his back. The towel on his hips shifts slightly with his movement, barely hanging on as he leaned into you, pressing you into the pillows.
His lips trail to your neck, teeth grazing your skin, “Been thinking about this,” he breathed, “about you. For so fucking long.”
You laughed breathlessly, gasping as he nipped at your collarbone.
“George. your towel,”
“Fuck the damn towel,” he muttered, dark eyes locking on yours.
You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding softly. Then his mouth was back on yours and the towel was long forgotten as it fell into a pile with a soft thud. Your brain barely registered the sound, too focused on the feeling of George’s body against yours, his skin burning as his moved with an unrestrained hunger.
One hand slid up your thigh brushing the hem of your shorts, fingers grazing along the inside with teasing precision. Your breath stuttered, legs parting on command as his touch climbed higher.
“You gonna pretend like you haven’t been thought about this too, hm?” he hummed against your lips, his words melting into your lips, “Like you don’t lay awake at night wishing it was me touching you.”
You bit back a moan as his fingers brushed over where you wanted him the most, “Please George,” you whispered, lifting your hips toward his hand, “just do something.”
Then that insufferable cocky grin that lived on his face flashed again, and he dipped his head back down, kissing you like a starving man.
You felt a shift in him. Something feral in him snapping loose under the surface. He pushed your top up, lips and tongue trailing over your stomach, up your ribs, until they reached your breasts. His teeth scraping over one nipple whilst his hand palmed the other, the soft sounds spilling from your lips only spurring him on.
Your shorts were gone before you could wrap your head around what was even happening. The fabric tugged down and tossed aside in one movement, then his finger slipped through your folds, spreading the slick over your sensitive hole.
“Already so wet for me,” he groaned, kissing your neck as he slowly slid a finger inside you. A breathy moan escaped your lips, and then he added another, “Fuck, darling.”
Your back arched into him, fingers curling around the sheets, and the other hand tangling in his damp curls.
He worked you open with maddening skill, his fingers curling just right, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit. You squeezed your eyes closed at the sensation, hips writhing under him as desperate whimpers left your mouth, “George, please.”
“Please what?” he breathed, eyes glistening as they locked on your face watching you fall apart as his fingers pumper deeper, “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“You.”
He climbed over your body, caging your head between his arms kissing you softly as he lined himself up before entering you slowly, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his forehead to yours, “You feel so good, been dreaming about this.”
Your legs lifted around his waist, the heels digging into the plush of his arse pulling him in deeper, needing all of him.
He started moving. His rhythm slow and steady, but every thrust was hard and deliberate. Every movement set your nerves alight, broken moans escaping both of you as the headboard tapped lightly against the wall. His hand wrapped around your wrists, pining them above your head, fingers tight against your skin. The other dug into your hip as he drove into you wildly, groaning your name like a prayer he had been waiting far too long to say.
“You’re mine,” he mewled into the crook of your neck, teeth biting at your skin, “please, tell me you know that.”
“I’m yours.”
The words unravelled him in an instant.
George snapped his hips into you harder, deeper, hitting the spot that made you cry out. Your back lifted off the bed, mouth falling open as your orgasm surged through you. His thumb found your clit, circling with expert pressure as you shattered beneath him.
Your body trembled around him, clenching tight, and he followed with a low groan against your shoulder as he spilled into you, still holding your wrists like he was making sure you weren’t going to slip away.
He large frame collapsed over you, limbs tangling together with warm sticky skin. He let go of your hands, breath heavy against your collarbone as you combed through the damp curls at the back of his neck, making him hum softly.
And then for a moment, the room went quiet. All that could be heard was the sounds of your erratic breathing, hearts pounding in sync.
Then George lifted his head pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. You smile down at him, breathless and gentle.
“Well,” he murmured, his voice soft and tender, “think I’m gonna make sure the plumbing in my building doesn’t work more often.”
You laugh breathlessly, nails running down his biceps. He shivered at the feeling. “I think I like that plan.”
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