“Oh come on you two. Kiss before I die from waiting.” Niall yelled, rolling his eyes while plopping back down into the booth.
Harry just ignored him and grabbed your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Your tipsy giggle at the movement turned into a moan, but he kept it reasonably quick and clean before pulling away. “Hi gorgeous.” He smiled, pecking you again.
“Hi.” You grinned, wiping off the bit of lipstick on his mouth with your thumb before he dragged you alongside him back into the booth.
“I ordered you a drink,” Harry spoke against your ear, his arm wrapped around your waist with his hand firmly grabbing your hip. He pulled you tight against him so your whole side was pressed to his. It was like he never wanted to let you go.
“What did you get?” You asked back, letting your left leg hook over his.
“Something sweet and fruity. And a tequila shot.” He grinned, eyes dropping down to your body for a moment. You could tell he was tipsy already by how relaxed and touchy-feely he was being.
“You know me so well.” You mused, patting his cheek haphazardly before your attention was caught by something Niall said across the table.
Harry was right about Niall. He was a fucking crack-up. At the very beginning of the night, it was a tad awkward. There was small talk being yelled over the music and you all found yourselves talking in the comfort of your pairs. But Niall was a drunk social butterfly and his energy was quickly absorbed by the group within minutes and as soon as the drinks started flowing, so did the laughs.
It was easy to talk about nothing and everything all at the same time. Jed took a little longer to open up, but the alcohol seemed to help. He was surprisingly funny when he relaxed into it, which wasn’t what you expected. It seemed like a black cat, golden retriever type of vibe but you could see how him and Niall were compatible.
And Harry… well he was Harry. He could win a crowd with his smile only. He was easily able to charm everyone with his stories and boisterous laugh. The constant rounds of drinks coming from his pocket seemed to help too, but it was nice to see him getting along with your friends. Mostly anyways.
“You’re such a liar!” Lucy yelled across the table, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not. Scouts honour.” Harry laughed, squeezing your hip affectionately while taking a swig of his tequila. You leaned into him, practically on top of his lap with how tight he was holding onto you. Not that you minded. You quite liked being positioned in a way that clearly told everyone walking by that you two were dating. That he owned you.
“He’s not lying.” Niall butted in, “the fucker really does have four nipples. Like some genetically modified Greek god.” He bellowed a laugh afterwards, finding it the funniest thing ever. Jed rolled his eyes but you could see him soften as Niall’s arm slung around his shoulder and he whispered something into his ear.
“Technically two are birthmarks,” Harry waved his glass around as he spoke, “but they look like nipples.”
“They do.” You agreed, sipping your drink.
“I can vouch for that too.” Niall raised his beer in a cheers to himself before he clinked it with Jed’s stationary glass on the table and drank a few big gulps.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Lucy laughed, taking big gulps of her drink. “Well I’m not asking to see them and you’re not offering so, girls-” she stood abruptly like she suddenly forgot Harry’s nipples were a topic of conversation a moment earlier. She swayed a little and put her hand on Priya’s shoulder for a bit of balance. “I need to pee and I need to dance.”
“Me too.” Priya stood up as well and held her hand out to you.
“I’m coming!” You went to stand up but Harry was quick to pull you back down beside him.
“Where are you going?” He nuzzled his nose against your neck, words spoken directly into your ear. You had to hold back a moan at how good it felt. Being drunk seemed to make your body sensitive to everything he was doing.
“To pee and dance.” You replied, grabbing his jaw so you could look at him. “You promised me one too, remember?”
Harry flashed you a drunk smile and nodded, eyes glazed with tequila. “I always keep my promises, darling. Pinky promise.” He declared, holding his pinky out for you to take. It was a childish antic that you adored and reciprocated by wrapping your pinky around his.
“You’re lying. But I’ll forgive you for it.” You planted a kiss on the slight pout that formed on his lips before you were grabbed out of your spot by Lucy’s strong grip.
“What do you mean by that?” He asked a second later through furrowed brows. It took a moment for him to process what you said. Your words were followed with such quick movements he nearly got whiplash. But even in his drunken state, he could understand that you were calling him a liar.
In solidarity of the global shut down to support Palestine and a call for a ceasefire, I'll be pausing any activity on this blog!
To learn more about the shut down, here's a wonderful link with tons of information and ways to help! Along with this link, too!
If you can attend a march or make a call or donate to any links, please do so! We can always be educating ourselves on ways to help those around us! No matter where you are in the world, it's important to listen and understand the impact that this tragedy is having on those around us and what we can do to offer any sort of help. Even if it's simply spreading the word to those that don't know! 🍉
Thank you to everyone for your time and willingness to help teach and explain to those of us eager to listen and offer our support to the millions of voices calling for a ceasefire! This is not an easy, simple fix, and goes far past a simple post! I hope this blog can be a place of learning and joy going forward. Even if fanfics are fun, there’s room for growth right along side! 💞🍉
I’ll be sharing more links and information as we go forward! Never be afraid to speak up for what you believe in or ask for questions if you don’t understand!
“God y’so tight, baby.” Harry hissed from above you.
You could only whine in response. His touch was everywhere. Your back, your chest, your core, all the way down to your tense calves. His weight was focused on your hips, pressing you into the bed while his hands worked their magic anywhere there was a tight spot, a knot that was making you too fucking tense.
“What have you been up to? Seriously. Is there another man?”
“Oh yeah.” You snorted, pressing your cheek into the mattress so your words weren’t muffled by the bedding anymore. Your brows knotted together as you spoke through a heavy breath, trying so hard not to make another noise of pain. “Me and my computer have been through some wild times. Fucked me up so good I can’t breathe.”
“That’s not funny.” He tutted, kneading his palms into your mid back in a way that had you groaning. “Your back is really bad, y/n. It shouldn’t be this bad for someone your age.”
“You can stop if it’s such an inconvenience.” You bit back with far more attitude than warranted for.
“It’s not an inconvenience.” He sighed, your attitude sparking something in him. A need to correct it and a churn in his stomach that told him something was wrong. You had been a little… snappy recently. He was worried that he had done something, or that something had happened to you. “I’m worried for you. Maybe we need to invest in a different chair for your table.”
“Yeah, maybe.” You settled on, not really wanting to have a conversation about a chair of all things.
Harry didn’t like your silence. You were a quiet thing when he first met you but you weren’t like that anymore. You always had something to say or comment on, or show him on social media. You couldn’t keep quiet even during shows and movies and yet lately it felt like you didn’t have anything to say to him.
one minute i could be wanting to read the most sluttiest, jaw dropping, ghosts scaring, toe curling, cat flying smut.
the next i be wanting to read the most chest hurting, breathing problem causes, chest burning, tears rolling down my face into my hair, heart breaking angst.
soooo eddie hears or reads somewhere that birthmarks are where your lover from a past life used to kiss you
and as soon as he gets home he wants to make sure that in this present life r still feel this love and that the birthmarks remain the same until their next life together (ugh so cute 🥺)
i changed this up a wee bit but i hope u like it!! — you and eddie kiss birthmarks on the other for the next life (established relationship, fluff, 0.7k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
Eddie traces shapes on your bare back, a post-sex ritual of sorts. It starts out innocent, usually — tiny hearts and flowers and planets that you try hard to guess. It almost always ends with him signing penises onto your spine and laughing out loud every time you realize.
He’s doing it mindlessly now. Touching you just to touch you. His finger trails up your back, circles over your shoulder blades, and then falls back down again. “Did you know you have a birthmark here?” he wonders, breaking the honeyed silence of his tiny bedroom.
Your brows furrow as he traces some sort of outline between your shoulder and spine. “Do I?” you murmur, muffled into the pillow.
“I think so. It’s really faint.”
“Maybe it’s just dirt,” you joke quietly. You don’t see Eddie pull his hand away to lick his finger, but you feel the wet touch of it when it swipes over your back. “Ew, Eddie!” you shout.
“It’s not dirt,” he confirms, choking back a laugh.
“I’ve ever noticed it, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that hard back there. Like, ever.”
Eddie scoffs, almost in disbelief. “That’s a shame…” he murmurs.
His finger is gentle and featherlight as it trails down your bare back, leaving chill bumps in its wake. His hand dips below the sheets covering the bottom half of you. His palm spreads unabashedly over your ass, wide and warm.
“…’Cause there’s a real nice view back here.”
You lift a heavy hand to swat at the boy beside you. It collides halfheartedly with his shoulder. He laughs again. “What?! I’m talking about the birthmark, babe! It’s cute— I love noticing new things about you.”
“Don’t people say that’s how you died in a past life? Wherever your birthmark is?”
Your tired eyes open to find Eddie’s screwed-up face. “Does that mean someone stabbed me in the ass? In, like, the middle ages or some shit? ‘Cause that’s a fucking gnarly way to go.”
“Better than being stabbed in the back… Literally.”
Eddie settles next to you with a huff. He lays on his stomach and shoves half his face into the pillow next to yours, all but melting into the mattress. He keeps tracing the mark on your back with an absentminded touch, never anything but gentle with you.
“Wanna know what I heard?” he mumbles.
“Hm?”
“I heard that birthmarks are where your lover used to kiss you— you know, in a past life or whatever,” he confesses, like it’s a deeply held secret. Then he shrugs his milky white shoulders. “That’s what my mom used to say, anyway. And that woman was never wrong.”
You smile quietly to yourself. Eddie doesn’t talk about his mom very often. You feel a special privilege to be hearing about her now.
“I believe it,” you hum.
His contented grin blooms into something wider and more boyish. “That means someone might’ve been kissing my ass in a past life.”
“That’s awful,” you grumble with a scrunched nose. “Now, I have to give you a new one.”
“Choose wisely, princess,” Eddie lilts and turns onto his back. He spreads his arms out wide and beams when you lean over him. “My future depends on it.”
You don’t think very long. Maybe a moment or more. You press your lips to his chest, just below the faded tattoo on his pec and right over his beating heart. You smile when you pull away, all giddy like a teenage girl, and lay back down again.
Eddie’s chest sparkles with so much adoration it hurts. He laughs it off anyway. “Alright, cheeseball— It’s my turn.”
“You have to do it in the same place!” you argue in a tiny voice when the boy lays over you. He props his weight on his elbows and entwines his legs with yours. The heavy closeness feels like heaven.
“Why?”
“So we’ll have matching birthmarks! And then, when we’re in the next life or whatever, and we look like totally different people, we’ll know we loved each other.”
Eddie scoffs. “I’ll know.”
“How?”
“How will I know that I loved you?” he repeats, like the answer’s obvious and far too silly to ponder. You nod, and he shrugs. “‘Cause I have to. I can’t help it.”
Something warm blooms behind your ribcage. “And I’m the cheesy one?” you tease with a big, girlish grin.
“It’s your fault. You bring the worst outta me, honey.”
You laugh when he drops his head to your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart and lingering there. You pray it stains forever.
Summary: Y/N works at Columbia Records for one of the top executives. The one and only Harry Styles makes a "surprise" drop-by visit to their office. After making an awful joke in the elevator with him, she finds out she's about to accompany her boss in the meeting he's there for.
WC: 4.7k
CW: mentions of blushing, silly goofy
A/N: um... hi. this is my first post ever. possibly my only. please be nice, i'm a nervous nellie 🥺 special shoutout to @cherryjuiceblues for being my editor and my biggest supporter by reading all my silly goofy writings, listening to my non-sensical and perpetual worrying, helping to build my confidence, and finally, encouraging me to post.
Working for the music industry has been a whirlwind to put it mildly. But working directly for Jenifer at Columbia Records was totally unexpected. And even though she’s just working as her assistant, watching someone as powerful as Jenifer maintain a high level executive position—whilst managing the distribution of new music from some of the greatest musicians of their time—has been life changing for Y/N.
Most days start the same. She picks up Jenifer’s favorite coffee on her way into the office—a building purposefully kept off the grid so large talents could visit and nobody would suspect the business going on inside. It helped keep new releases a surprise. A two floor, sandstone-colored building that even looked a little run down from the outside. Inside, however, it’s remodeled and decorated to the nines. Koi ponds, a skylight, a barista joint (enter: Jenifer’s favorite coffee), plush couches and expensive art. The works.
While standing in line for her daily coffee pickup, she notices a bit of commotion from the corner of her eye, causing her to look up at the flurry of people walking through the main lobby. In the middle of this tiny crowd of people, she spots a man. He’s dressed in joggers that are tucked into his socks, a pair of trainers, and a hoodie on top. Peeking out through the hoodie, milk chocolate curly hair was tufted into a little claw clip. Even with sunglasses on his face, it was hard to miss who it was.
But no one had told Y/N that Harry Styles was visiting that day. Normally everyone is in a tizzy the day, or sometimes even for the whole week, before someone high profile is expected to swing by the office, so this had to have been a surprise, drop-by kind of visit, right?
Y/N quickly tips the barista and hurries into the elevator with a coffee in hand for her boss, just knowing Jenifer was likely already pulling her hair out if she’d only gotten word this morning that Harry Styles was in the building—or worse, still didn’t know. She jabs the button to the second floor and just as the doors are closing, the man himself slides through and joins her in the tiny traveling metal box.
An intense wave of nerves washes over her in his presence. It feels like every hair on her body is standing up in his presence. Just the air he carried with him was intimidating, but not in an inherently bad way. The scent of his cologne and fresh laundry fill the elevator. His sunglasses are now pushed up into his hair, resting in front of the endearing claw clip he’d chosen to tame his handsomely tousled curls. She wants to spend more time looking at him—she wants to see the minute details of his face, but she knows it’s rude to stare. She’s trying to keep calm, trying to avoid indicating she knew who he was, but her body language is subconscious of course. She stiffens, holding her breath.
But it’s a different kind of nervousness than what she normally experiences with a VIP client visit. That kind of nervousness usually comes with thoughts of wanting to make sure they’re pleased, making sure everything is ready and prepared for them, making sure they have the client’s favorite brand of water in stock and refrigerated, making sure she doesn’t spill something on them, or step on their feet, or accidentally steal their pen. Normal nerves. Wanting to make sure the client is happy.
None of the clients she’d met before had ever made her feel like there was electricity floating through the air. Like she needed to squeeze her thighs and arms tightly against her body, turning herself into the shape of an uncooked spaghetti noodle, being careful not to brush against him in what seems like a much smaller space than it did yesterday—for fear of a chemical reaction; like if they touched it would be the equivalent of striking a match. The back of her knees and her hands are already clammy, trembling in a feeling of self-consciousness—of her movements, of what she’s wearing, of what he thinks of her (which is nothing at this point, she obviously knows this, but still).
She knew he was attractive but fuck, this is something else entirely. These are not normal nerves. These nerves are the kind she gets on a first date, not riding on an elevator with a client.
And true to character, Y/N usually says stupid shit when she’s overly nervous. In this instance, she pawns out a terrible joke.
“What floor?” She gestures to the panel, hoping her trembling hand goes unnoticed.
There’s only two floors. They are both on the first, and she’s already pushed the button to the second floor. There’s literally no other option.
So… Yeah. It was a terrible joke! But Y/N had always thought it’d be funny to do that to someone. Confuse them for a minute. Her dumbass just happened to choose Harry Styles to try it out on.
The man beside her opens his mouth as if to speak, then cocks his head in momentary confusion, then promptly closes his mouth, his lips twitching in amusement as he realized she was fucking with him.
With a soft jilt, the elevator starts to move upwards. Y/N’s gaze falls to the floor but she can still feel his eyes linger on her profile for a few more seconds. She rolls her lips into her mouth in a pitiful attempt to curb her smile, her face burning from the flush in her cheeks at her own ridiculousness.
Fortunately—and she guesses, unfortunately as well—there’s only two floors, as previously discussed, and therefore it’s only seconds later when the elevator bings as the doors slide open to reveal the second floor. In her peripheral vision, she sees the man’s arm lift upwards, gesturing towards her in a “ladies first” sort of motion.
Considering her first fumble, she figures she might as well lean into it.
“This is my floor,” she peeks up at the man through her lashes to briefly meet the man’s gaze, jutting a thumb out towards the opening of the elevator doors. The man has a small smirk on his face already, but at her words, the corner of his mouth buckles, a dimple beginning to dip into his left cheek.
Again, she knew it was dumb, but something about this man seemed to make her do stupid things already. She waves a small goodbye and scurries out, as if the man in the elevator wouldn’t be exiting off onto the same floor right after her. As if the man could somehow possibly be going to a floor higher up.
She scampers down the hallway towards Jenifer’s office, not looking back to see if Harry had gone in the same direction as her, knocking twice quietly, and then enters.
She closes the door behind her with a gust, pressing her back up against it, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a large sigh exhale from her body. The electric charge in the air she’d felt had finally ceased now that she was out of his presence.
“Y/N?” Jenifer asks, startling Y/N in her spot. Her eyes fly open to find Jenifer staring at her assistant warily. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she chirps out nervously, the tone of her voice very much indicative of the anxiety she feels. “Did, um, did anyone tell you about who’s here today?”
She winces as she asks the question, keeping one eye open to watch her boss’s facial expression. She really hopes she isn’t going to be the one delivering the news to her.
“Yes…”
“So, you know that Harry Styles is here then, yes?”
Y/N holds her breath while she waits for an answer.
“Yes…” Her boss echoes in the same apprehensive tone, continuing to stare at Y/N, perplexed at her assistant’s flustered state.
“Wait, then why didn’t anyone tell me?” Y/N asks, eyebrows furrowing accompanied by a miniscule shake of her head, suddenly feeling annoyed nobody had given her a heads up.
“Only executives were told. Information spreads fast and with someone who has that high of a publicity profile, it was very hush hush even on an executive level. There’s a few people who we really have to protect their privacy if fans and paparazzi follow their every move, anywhere they go. He’s one of them.”
Y/N grumbles. She guesses that makes sense, but still, a little warning would’ve been nice? Maybe a text? An email? A raven? An owl? Literally anything? Attire is always business professional but she would’ve done… something—she’s not sure what—to at least make herself look slightly more… dressed up. She smoothes down her shirt.
“Y/N, why do you look so flustered? Did something happen?”
Y/N’s eyes squeeze shut once more, a tiny groan escaping her mouth, then she opens her eyes once more, mustering everything she has to present a calm, cool, and collected facade.
“No. Everything’s fine. I was just a little… surprised, I guess.” A half-truth.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me? We’re meeting with him in 10 minutes so spit it out quickly if so.”
We?
Y/N nearly chokes on her spit—the irony of her boss’s words spit it out entirely lost on her—but tries to cover it up by clearing her throat. She knows Jenifer isn’t buying it. “S-sorry, sorry—did you say ‘w-we’?”
“Yes, I need you taking notes during the meeting as I want to give Mr. Styles my full attention. He called for this meeting but wouldn’t say what it was about, so we have to assume it’s important,” Jenifer says calmly as she walks over to take her coffee from Y/N’s hands, who’s still pressed against the door of her office. “So, are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me before we go in there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She considered it. She really did consider just telling her boss up front about her terrible joke and the awkward encounter. But instead all she says is—
“Nope. All good. I’ll be ready in 9 minutes. West conference room?”
“Yes, thank you, Y/N,” Jenifer responds, eyeing her assistant warily once more with one eyebrow raised, wondering what could possibly have her assistant in such a tizzy.
Harry and his team are already seated in the conference room when Jenifer and Y/N enter through the doors. Y/N tip-toes behind Jenifer, knowing it’s inevitable that he’ll recognize her, but maybe Jenifer wouldn’t introduce her and they’ll all pretend like she wasn’t even in there!
It was fun to wish, anyway.
“Mr. Styles, we’re so happy to have you here. I trust your trip here was pleasant?” Jenifer kicks everything off with, extending a hand to shake. Harry stands up to return her handshake, and his team follows his lead.
“It was, thank you. And thank you f’seein’ me last minute,'' he responds. His voice is so deep—it makes Y/N shiver. She hadn’t expected it to be that deep.
She watches him from behind Jenifer’s shoulder, that is, until Jenifer steps to the side and reveals Y/N’s frame, much to her dismay. “It’s no problem at all. That’s what we’re here for after all. This is my assistant, Y/N Y/L/N. She’ll be taking notes during the meeting. Are you comfortable discussing business with her in the room? She’s signed an NDA so I can assure you that anything shared in this room will not be shared.”
Harry’s eyes lock with Y/N’s. She hadn’t looked directly into them in the elevator and she thinks she should’ve, so she could’ve better prepared herself. The color is that of a glowing mossy green pond, and the intensity of his gaze forces her to take in a sharp breath and hold it. His lips are curled into a knowing smile, and there’s a playful sparkling glint in his eyes. She can feel the heat rising in her neck.
“Sure,” he responds, his tone dripping with humor. He definitely recognizes her. He definitely remembers. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he follows with, keeping up with formal etiquette, but his tone indicates there’s some kind of inside joke. Y/N nods her head in acknowledgement as he puts his hands back in the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Likewise,” she murmurs quietly, much more shyly than she would’ve liked to. She can feel Jenifer’s gaze on her before her boss lets out an uncomfortable, nervous sounding chuckle. The tension could be cut with a knife.
As they all sit back down, Y/N’s gaze never leaves his, and vice versa. But right before they break eye contact, he shoots her a wink and he watches as Y/N’s cheeks flush a dark, flustered pink.
Harry maintains an air of professionalism and focus throughout the meeting. Y/N is able to spend the majority of the meeting with her eyes on paper as she scribbles notes, for both Jenifer and Harry’s team. But there’s a few moments that Harry does manage to catch the eyes of Y/N, when she’s admiring him, thinking he’s too preoccupied with the current conversation, but his eyes flick to hers the moment she is, as if he could’ve felt her eyes on him even if he had been faced the other way. He gives her a look of You’re not slick. I. See. You.
It’s a game of tag and the conference room is their playground. First, he’ll catch her eyes on him. Then, she’ll catch his on her. Though, she thinks she mostly catches him not because she felt his eyes on her, but because she was trying to catch a glimpse of him and his eyes had already been on her. Each time their gazes lock, Y/N’s hand stutters on her page. It’s hard to focus.
Even though he’d been professional and focused, clearly driven and knowing of what he wants, his vision for his next record, he’d also been profoundly easygoing—so mellow and relaxed—and there was something comforting, soothing even, about being in his presence despite how intimidated she felt around him. He was also funny, and cheeky, and multiple times found playful ways to tease his entire team resulting in everyone letting out a few chuckles. There was an obvious fondness, a protectiveness, for the people he worked with. They weren’t just people who worked for him; they were friends—maybe even family to him.
So, the rumors were true. People gravitated towards him, physically and emotionally, when he spoke. His slow, deep British drawl was enough to soothe and entrance anyone who let their guard down for a moment's notice. He was charming. Charming is an understatement. He was enigmatic. Beguiling.
At the meeting’s end, everyone stands up and Jenifer reaches out to shake Harry’s hand once more.
Y/N can’t deny that she’s a little disappointed when Harry finally departs the conference room, leaving her and Jenifer standing on one side of the table. Jenifer’s face has a picture perfect smile pasted on it until the second the door closes behind them, to which Jenifer whips her head to face Y/N with an accusing glare.
“Please tell me you’ve not hooked up with him,” she deadpans.
“What?!” Y/N’s voice reaches a new octave in response. She tries not to shriek, but Jenifer’s assumption is just so ludicrous. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear you two know each other. And there’s a strict no fraternizing with clients clause in your contract. I don’t care how cute or good in bed he is,” she says, giving Y/N another pointed stare.
“Jenifer, I can assure you. I just met him today. I’d never spoken to him before in my life before today."
“Promise me. Swear on your life. Because if it’s a lie, I will find out. I love having you as my assistant, but you know I wouldn’t be able to keep you. But if you tell me now, there's still hope yet—because if it’s something that happened before you started working here then we can disclose it to HR and get it all squared away,” Jenifer says, her features finally relaxing. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever seen that side of Jenifer before. It was actually kind of scary, to be quite honest.
“I promise. Swear on my life.”
“Then what was that all about then?” Jenifer asks, seeming to relax back into her normal demeanor, a hint of amusement tinting her expression now. Actually, it’s even friendlier than usual. Y/N thinks she’d have normally dropped the topic after that.
Y/N’s face flushes at the memory of—
“There! That’s what I am talking about,” Jenifer exclaims with a snap of her fingers and a point of her finger at Y/N, and Y/N’s eyes widen, startled and confused. “You’ve been a nearly tickled-pink color the entire time. Are you just attracted to him or a big fan or what?”
“Jenifer, that’s a little personal…” Y/N responds, trying to sound chiding and shocked at her boss’s forwardness, but it only comes out sounding shy and pouty. “But um, no, none of those things—I mean, wait—okay, I can’t say—I guess I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little attracted… I mean, you saw him, right? But that—that’s beside the point. That’s not what I… What I… Shit. Um, what was the question?” Y/N asks, blinking rapidly in succession, dizzied by her own words.
But Jenifer only giggles in response. Giggles. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever heard her boss giggle. Much less at her.
“What in god’s name has you so flustered, Y/N? Did he… Hit on you… Maybe?” Jenifer asks, treading lightly with the question and peering at her with curiosity.
“Hit on me? Oh, god, no—no. Me? Ha! That’s, um… that’s funny. No, uh, I… He just makes me nervous, I guess, and um, so,” she sighs before continuing, finally caving to her boss’s curiosity. “We rode on the elevator together this morning, and I made a really, dumb embarrassing joke,” Y/N finally admits with a sheepish look on her face, recalling the incident internally. “And then I… Well, I made another bad joke. Just to… Just to really solidify that hole I’d dug myself into, you know?” Y/N’s tone drips in a defeated-sounding satire before she continues.
“Gotta… Gotta make a good impression! Well, maybe not—maybe not good impression… But not bad either! If It was bad I would’ve told you beforehand, of course. Just… indifferent. More just, um, embarrassing, a little. But it was only in front of him! Not his team or anything... Not that that makes it any better, necessarily, since he’s the client… It’s just…” Y/N sighs again, seemingly swept away in a cyclone of erratic thoughts. Jenifer watches in stunned amusement. “Anyway, it wasn't inappropriate by any means though—the jokes. I just—I, well—it was just like, a dumb joke. You know? Like a bad joke. So he was probably just—maybe feeling bad for me, or maybe he was amused at the attempt. Anyway. Um. I’ll get these notes typed up for you and send them over,” Y/N finally finishes her clusterfuck ramble of an explanation, making way to exit the conference room.
“I’ve never seen you so tongue-tied, Y/N,” Jenifer responds following behind, soft amusement lacing the tone of her words. Y/N opens the door and continues to talk as she walks.
“Yeah, well, nervous, like I said—oh!” Y/N startles, cutoff mid-sentence after nearly slamming into a body.
The body of the person they were talking about.
“Mr. Styles! I didn’t know you were still here. Did you forget something?” Jenifer asks, switching back into her professional demeanor automatically.
Y/N can feel the burn intensify on her face, her frame frozen just inches in front of Harry with Jenifer right behind her, sandwiched between the both of them. It’s a little close for comfort on either end.
“Oh, I was actually hopin’ t’speak with Y/N about somethin’ in the notes from the meeting,” Harry responded with an ease that conflictingly encouraged her to feel calm even though she was feeling anything but calm. She’d barely recovered, now flustered by the interaction she just shared with her boss.
Her heart hammered in her chest, feeling like a fly caught in a spider’s web, but the way her name sounded on his lips was divine. She’d never loved the sound of her name before. Not until it was wrapped around his cushiony lips.
He holds eye contact with Jenifer for a majority of the statement, but glances down to look at Y/N for the briefest second when he says her name, only to find Y/N already watching him from beneath her lashes—eyes wide and curious with blown out pupils, her mouth slightly agape and leaving just enough space to slip a key through it—at the man standing before her. That same little smirk is curled at the corner of the left side of his mouth, the ghost of a dimple playing at his cheek as amusement dances in his staggeringly green eyes.
Y/N feels herself curl up her shoulders shyly in her Jenifer-Harry sandwich, wondering if he really does have something to say about the notes or if he actually has something to say about her dumbass remarks from earlier. On the bright side, at least he wasn’t asking to speak to Jenifer in private instead. Surely he’d be making a complaint about her if that was the case.
“Oh,” Jenifer says, and Y/N can hear the way her voice is surprised-but-not-surprised simultaneously, with a lingering curiosity—a questioning in her tone heard perhaps by Y/N only. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. Y/N, please swing by my office after you’re done.”
Jenifer breezes past Y/N and Harry, the sound of her heels thunking on the carpet of the long hallway. Y/N’s finally able to take a step back so she’s not breathing in his face when she brings her head up to look at him.
When she does, she sees the dazzlingly pretty man up close in person for the very first time—a vision she will not soon forget; stubble on his face and the planes of it bordered with lines so sharp they rival the crisp cut of a piece of cardstock. The color of his eyes is a whimsical, woodland kind of green, flecks of gold sprinkled throughout, and his fluffy chestnut curls are still held back in that frustratingly adorable claw clip, little wisps escaping on the sides of his head to caress and hug the shells of his ears.
Truth be told, she’d actually been a fan of One Direction back in the day. She’d always found him the most attractive out of the other boys in the group. She also loved his voice the most, easily identifiable on their tracks. But life goes on, and Y/N’s music tastes expanded and spanned across many genres and artists, and then One Direction broke up. It wasn’t until working at Capitol Records that she’d gotten herself up to date with all their biggest clients, including Harry Styles as a solo artist.
She’d been impressed with his last three records, and enjoyed his new solo music thoroughly in her research. But life had just been so hectic, that she really hadn’t spent much time following social media or keeping up with trends or what was happening—celebrity news was different from music industry news. She’d had no time to care about who was dating who, if so-and-so broke up with so-and-so. But she knew she’d recognize him if she saw him, however she hadn’t spent much time paying attention to the details of his face and how he looked these days.
But now that she’s standing in front of him, allowing herself to look at him for longer than a second unlike she’d done in the meeting or in the elevator, she’s at a loss for words. He’s just so… Handsome. She can’t find a physical flaw. Too gorgeous for his own good, honestly.
He’d aged and matured like a fine wine. A delicacy for luxurious tongues.
Opening her notebook, she stutters through her words. “Um, s-so, what did yo-you need to add t-to the notes?” She clicks her pen, readying to make an adjustment on the pages, then peeks up at him through her nervously fluttering lashes.
When she sees him, she sees that he’s already smiling at her, dimples dipping into both sides of his cheeks. It’s a sweet, sincere kind of smile—the kind of smile you give when you’re standing in front of a shy child you’re trying to say hello to for the first time.
There’s a moment where he doesn’t say anything, and Y/N thinks she might burst. Luckily, she’s out of awful jokes right now, mind blank in exhaust from the day already.
“Knock knock,” is all Harry says in response, ignoring her question altogether.
Y/N blinks owlishly at the man. She knows what she’s supposed to say, in theory, but also… what the fuck is going on?
“Er…” He looks like he’s stifling laughter as he waits for her answer. “Who’s… there?”
“Hula,” Harry says, waiting for her again.
Okay, this was definitely going down in her book as one of the weirdest conversations she’d ever had with a famous musician.
“Hula… Who?”
Harry pops a p sound, and it takes a moment for it to click before Y/N absolutely cannot not stop the giggle that bubbles up out of her.
And then she’s giggling like a madwoman. It’s a delirious sounding giggle and she just can’t stop herself. She reaches her hand up, covering her mouth as more giggles spew out of her.
It’s the result of all the tension she’d felt since that silly little moment in the elevator. It’s the result of the anxiety she felt when she worried that her boss wasn’t aware that Harry Styles was in the building today. It’s the result of the nerves she felt when she realized she was about to go into an important meeting with him right after making a terrible joke and then running away from him. It’s the result of her squeezing her thighs tightly throughout the hour and a half meeting she sat in with him, as she admired and listened to the way he captivated and charmed everyone in his presence. It’s the result of the tension she felt when Jenifer assumed they’d hooked up, which was an outlandish accusation in itself, before telling her that she could possibly lose her job over it. It’s the result of nearly slamming into Harry on her way out of the conference room whilst talking about how nervous he made her. It’s the result of Harry asking to speak to Y/N privately after she’d nearly slammed into him. It’s the result of Harry making a knock knock joke at the end of all of that.
“What is even happening?” She coos out giddily through her giggling, holding her stomach with her other hand because the muscles were aching from the spontaneous workout induced by her giggle fit, and then she hears Harry sputter out a laugh in response.
“I thought we were jus’ exchanging terrible jokes,” he says, looking exceedingly proud of himself, like he’d maybe spent the whole meeting coming up with that joke and that having made her laugh with it was the best thing he’d ever done.
She gasps, feigning offense through her continued giggles.
“See you next time?” Harry asks, his smiley face watching the girl in front of him become unraveled, her entire face pinking again.
“Next time,” Y/N parrots, as she tapers down her giggles and pulls herself together, giving him one last look before walking past him towards Jenifer’s office.
Harry listens as she quietly giggles to herself as she gets farther down the hall, already thinking of reasons he could come back to visit her.
It’s giving throwing on whatever’s on the floor because the takeaways arrived and he’s spent that last hour absolutely devouring you and you can’t get the door because your legs are still like jelly and he’s all “ fuck , hold on, shit , I’ll be right there” as he’s putting the joggers on and he trips as he’s going out the bedroom door which makes you giggle and he gives you this look that’s trying to look annoyed but the dimple in his cheek gives it away that he’s trying not to laugh …….
Summary: The one where Harry is in an open relationship with your best friend, and maybe you have more in common than you realized.
(Based on this request! There is no third, just Harry and Reader!)
Word Count: 8.6k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, Sir Kink
You’ve never noticed how incredibly attractive Harry Styles is.
Granted, that’s because you’ve never really allowed yourself to notice how attractive he is, but you notice today because that’s why you’re here. To notice. To study. To decide if this is worth it.
He’s not making it easy on you. Walking around the apartment with his shirt off, and his sweatpants low, and his hair wet. Reaching into the refrigerator and showcasing all the stunningly hard muscles in his back. The scattered tattoos. The chunky rings on his fingers.
You swallow.
You hadn’t planned to entertain this idea. You thought it was weird—strange in more ways than one. But you agreed to talk to him, see if it was a good fit, and now…here you are.
“So,” he calls as he straightens up and turns to face you. “What do you wanna know?”
“Uh…what do you want to tell me?” you call back. You wish you were smoother.
But he only smirks. He knows you’re nervous. And he knows you’re staring, which seems to amuse him. “Well, first things first, nothing happens that you don’t want.”
He’s kind. Considerate. Hot. It makes your stomach flip.
“Okay,” you say before swallowing thickly. “Great, I mean. That’s…that’s good.”
He walks back to the living room. He’s still amused. You’re still sweating. “If you do decide you want to, we can talk about ground rules and boundaries. Decide what you’re comfortable with. Go over when and where. Things like that.”
“Okay…okay, good.”
“Yeah. And if we don’t want to, we won’t.”
“Right.”
He takes a sip of his water. He’s hiding his smile. “Do you have any questions for me?”
You purse your lips and shake your head. “Nope.”
He’s unconvinced. Hesitating a moment before crouching down near your legs and glancing up at you as though to implore you and chastise you all with the same look.
“Kitten,” he murmurs, and your heart just about beats out of your chest. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to be honest with me. That’s one of my rules. I need you to be vocal. Tell me exactly what you want and what you don’t.”
And you understand. You do. Consent isn’t a question. And you admire that he’s so adamant and unwavering. But that doesn’t mean you know what you want to say.
“I know,” you whisper, and his presence is different. Before, he was Harry: Rebecca’s boyfriend.
Now he’s Harry: the guy you might sleep with.
And it’s strange, and it’s new, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense. And you’re having quite the time trying to wrap your head around it.
But his presence is soothing. Calm. Doing more for your nerves than you initially realized.
“It’s okay,” he whispers back, reaching a hand toward your knee. Long fingers squeezing it once. Comfort. “We’re just talking, yeah?”
You nod and force the first question out of your throat. “Do you…do you guys do this a lot?”
“No,” he answers coolly. He’s relaxed, and it helps. “Not with friends. Not really at all. Not unless it’s right. We don’t force it. If we find someone, we find someone.”
“Ah.” You nod again like you understand but you don’t. “And…you guys are both okay with this? Really?”
He smiles. Squeezes your knee again. “Yes. As long as you are.”
You smile back, and you realize your heart isn’t racing as much anymore. “Right. And…you don’t think this is weird? I mean…her pimping you out just to help me?”
He laughs, and you decide right then and there that you love the sound of his laugh. “No, I don’t,” he admits. “She’s not pimping me out. I offered.”
You lean back. “You offered?”
“She told me you weren’t having a good time with the guys you were meeting, and I said I could help.” He shrugs once. He’s so calm. “She liked the idea and told me she’d bring it to you.”
And you remember when she did. Remember how casually she’d said, “If you ever wanna use Harry…you’re more than welcome to.”
And you’d blinked at her because you couldn’t understand it at all.
But she explained, “He and I have always been in an open relationship. And if you need a bit of…practice or just need someone to scratch that itch, I think he’d be really good. You could talk to him, see what you think?”
You were sure she was messing with you. You weren’t desperate and horny enough to go fucking her boyfriend, but she was more than all right with it. She assured you of that many times. Suggested you just talk to him and see how it made you feel. She gave you his number. You made a time to meet.
And now here you are, wondering if you really are about to go through with it.
“You…you want to help?” you ask him again, and he nods.
“If you want me to.” Another squeeze to your knee. “Kitten, there’s no pressure here. It’s just a conversation. And if we decide no, then we won’t, and it’ll be all right.”
“But it’s…I mean, won’t it be like cheating?” Your hands begin to twist together on your lap. “What if you regret it? Or what if she regrets it?”
“We won’t. We agreed to this,” he says, and he’s still so calm. “This only works if she and I are honest. We know that. And we want to try new things, new people. Plus, she adores you. I do, too. But if you think it feels like cheating, then we don’t have to. We can end the conversation right now.”
A beat. He lets this settle.
“But if you want to try,” he continues softly, “then we’ll ease into it. We’ll go at a pace you’re comfortable. Yeah? This is all up to you.”
You feel your cheeks growing warm. He’s so good. “What if I’m not any good? And you’ve wasted your time? And I made this weird for no reason?”
He smiles, and his eyes are like meadows. Soft and serene. He straightens up just enough to brush his thumb along your chin and relax you.
“There is no possible world where you aren’t good,” he murmurs, and somehow…you believe him. “But if you’re nervous, we’ll plan for that, too. We’ll communicate. I can help you find what makes you feel good.”
You walked into his apartment—into their apartment—sure you wouldn’t be doing it. Sure that there was no way you’d ever believe this to be a good idea.
But here you are, seriously considering it. Teetering on the edge of agreement, ready to fall into his arms.
“Are you sure you want to?” you ask him again. “Are you sure you don’t just feel bad for me?”
His brows pinch together, and he seems confused. But he’s still smiling. “Kitten, believe me. There is nothing I have ever wanted to do more. Sex is intimate and it’s tricky and it’s confusing. And you should only ever be with someone that makes you feel good. Feel safe. And if I can be that person for you, then I want to be. As long as you want me to be, too.”
And you do. You do. You aren’t sure if you even realized how badly until now.
You nod, and his touch lowers. “Okay,” you decide. “Okay, I want to.”
He does his best not to appear too excited, but you can see it there behind his grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You straighten your shoulders. “If…I mean, it’s just once, right? We do this, it’s over, we all go back to how it was before, and we don’t talk about it.”
Another beat. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, it is,” you assure him with a soft scoff. “No, I’m already gonna have a hard time looking you in the eye. And Rebecca. This is…it’s just…it’s weird.”
He drops his hand to your knee and squeezes it once more. “We don’t have to do this—”
“No, I do want to,” you assure him. “I really do, I just…it is weird. Maybe a good weird, but still weird. And I’m okay with that. I just…I want to, and we can, and then we don’t have to talk about it. Okay?”
He nods. “Okay.”
The living room grows quiet. You aren’t sure what to do now. You aren’t sure if you’ve offended him. You don’t think he ever gets offended. He never has before. As Rebecca’s Harry.
But today he is Just Harry and Just Harry is very calm as he waits for you to continue.
You swallow again. “So…now what?”
“You tell me.” He stands, and you’re eye-level with his bare, toned stomach.
“Uh…okay.” You shift. “Do…you wanna do it tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Do…do you wanna do it at my place?”
“Sure.”
“Do…I need to pick up…condoms?”
He smiles. “I’ve got some I’ll bring.” He nods at you. “And I’m clean, too. Got tested right after she told me.”
God, this is all so real. “Good. I did, too. Not that there was really much…chance. Since it’s been, like…three years.”
He doesn’t have a reaction to this admission. Most guys do. They think it’s weird you’ve been so long without sex. They think you’re a virgin again. They don’t want anything to do with you.
Harry has no reaction. He doesn’t seem disappointed, or relieved, or embarrassed for you, or even repulsed.
“Good,” is all he says before running a hand through his damp curls. “What time would you like me to meet you?”
“Uh…5? No…7?” You wince. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but…if it’s just a few minutes, then—”
“A few minutes?” Now he’s amused. “Is that all you think I can last?”
Your expression drops. “I…no. No, I just…I don’t know. Most guys tap out after a bit, so I figured—”
“Kitten,” he chuckles, and the sound goes straight to your cunt. “I plan to last as long as you’ll let me.”
Your stomach drops next. “Uh…okay. Great. Then…5?”
“Five,” he repeats, and you’re thrilled. Nervous. Thrilled. “We can talk more about what we want when we get there, yeah?”
You nod. “Sure. That’s…good. That’s good.”
He smiles, and just like that…the date is set.
4:58 comes and you’re a nervous wreck. He’s already here—you’ve just buzzed him in—and now he’s walking up your steps. And you are standing in your kitchen, pacing, tugging on your robe, and trying not to sweat. Again.
When you let him in, he’s…breathtaking. Somehow, in the few short hours since you last saw him, he got exponentially hotter.
His hair is dry, and his curls are styled in a way that makes you want to run your hands through them. He’s wearing a shirt, but it’s oversized and soft. Easy to slip out of. His jeans are ripped but they hug his hips perfectly.
He’s…sex. He’s beautiful. He’s stunning, and you are so incredibly nervous, you don’t know what to do with yourself.
“Hi,” he smiles as he slips off his shoes and shuts your door. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No, you’re not,” you argue quickly. “You’re perfect. You’re—fuck. No, you’re…this is good.”
He laughs and lets his eyes trail down your covering. “Are you…did I interrupt something, or—”
“No. No, sorry. I, uh…I figured this would be easier,” you explain, now absentmindedly playing with the tie. “You know, I could just slip this off, and we could go.”
He hums, but you can tell he’s biting his tongue. “I see. And…is that how you’d like to proceed? You just want to rip the band-aid?”
“Um…” Shit, do you? “I don’t…know. I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”
He nods now and asks for your hand. You give it to him—rather shyly—before allowing him to lead you toward your sofa. He sits you both down and brings your attention to him.
“I will do whatever you want me to do,” he begins. “But…I’d like to know what you really want. What you fantasize about, what makes you feel good. When you’re with someone, or when you picture being with someone, what are they doing? What are you doing?”
You feel your face grow warm. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with him, and yet…he feels so safe. You trust him. You don’t mind admitting some of your weirder preferences. After all, Rebecca has told you before about what he’s like in bed. He’s…good. Very good. And into some weirder things, too.
And maybe now you understand why she was so happy for you to ask him.
“I…I guess I like…to be taken care of,” you admit quietly, instantly glancing down at your lap to avoid his reaction.
But just as quickly, he’s slipping a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes back to his. “Yeah, Kitten?”
Your stomach wrenches. You nod.
“Tell me more,” he encourages gently.
You fumble with your robe again. “Uh…I don’t really like…to make decisions. A lot of times. I…I feel better if I’m being told what to do.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Okay. I can do that. What else, baby?”
Baby. You think you might die. “Um…I think I like it rough. Or…rougher. Like…spanking, and…hair pulling, and choking…and stuff.”
He’s so entertained by your timid demeanor, and he chuckles again as he squeezes your jaw. “Is that right? D’you want me to spank you, Kitten?”
You really might die. “I…yes? I think so?”
“I need you to do more than think,” he says now, a bit firmer. “When I ask, I expect a clear answer. Is that understood?”
You nod, and you don’t even realize.
“So do you want me to spank you?”
“…yes. I do.”
“Good girl.” He brushes his thumb along your lips, and your mouth parts for him. “What else? What kind of positions do you like? Do you have any particular porn you like to watch?”
You look back down at your lap, and he smirks. “I…I don’t really watch it as much as…I read it.”
“Oh?” He dips down, looking for your attention. “You like to read it, baby? What do you like to read?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Just…just smut.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.”
And you’re so embarrassed, yet somehow so enamored, and you tell him before you can stop yourself. “Just…sometimes it’s rough. And…taboo. And…dangerous, I guess.”
He hums again, considering this. “Like to be naughty when you’re alone, don’t you?”
And you feel like you’re on fire, burying your face in your hands with a soft groan until he immediately tugs them back down.
“Uh-uh,” he warns, and goosebumps dance down your skin from where he’s touching you. “What did I say, hm? None of that. Come on.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just…I’m so nervous.”
Another soft smile as he cups your cheek and scoots closer. He’s everywhere. You can smell him, you can feel him. You can practically taste him and it leaves you with this insatiable need for more.
“I know,” he says calmly. “But it’s just me, yeah? You’ve known me forever. You know I’d never want to hurt you or scare you or embarrass you. And I’d never judge you.”
“I know,” you echo. “This is just all so…real.”
He hums and seems to consider something. Then, he nods his chin at you. “I wanna try something. Would that be all right?”
You swallow. “Okay.”
“Close your eyes.”
Your lashes flutter. “What?”
“Close your eyes. Just for a minute.”
So, you do. And the living room falls eerily quiet as you wait for whatever instruction might come next.
But it never comes. He has no instruction. He’s quiet.
And then…
He’s kissing you.
Soft lips ghost across your own. They tease and they taunt. You can’t see him, but you can feel him—can taste him. He’s kissing you, and he’s taking your mouth against his, and he’s so…he’s so.
And not being able to see him does wonders. Because you lose all inhibitions and simply take. You accept what he’s offering and you delight in doing so.
He was right.
You grow hungrier—needier. You let your hands find his shoulders and hoist yourself up onto your knees. In turn, he takes hold of your hips to keep you steady and helps bring you onto his lap. It’s like you’re one. Like you’ve rehearsed this, done it a million times. A fluid, lustful, heavy dance that ends with pants and whispers of each other’s names.
And you forget how strange this might be. You forget your hesitations and your concerns. You allow yourself to have him and to enjoy it.
And it’s perfect.
When you finally open your eyes, you feel much braver. Ready to do what he came here to do.
His cheeks are flushed. His lips are pink and slightly swollen. His pupils are dilated and he’s wearing the softest grin—like a warm sweater.
“Please?” you whisper, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Where?” he asks.
“Bedroom.” It might sound like a demand, but you’ve never felt so submissive. “Please, Harry—”
He picks you up. Carries you down the hall and toward your bed. He’s been here before, seen it a hundred times when he and Rebecca would come over for movie nights or dinners.
But it’s different now and you both know it. He treats your space with reverence. Treats you with reverence. Awe. You are…everything to him in this moment. He makes you the center of his world, the focus of his attention.
And you have to remind yourself not to fall in love with him.
He drops you onto the mattress with care but just a bit of roughness. Exactly the way you like.
He follows after you. Slots his body between your thighs and brings his lips back to yours. You kiss until you feel dizzy. It’s quick and eager and tantalizing. He moves to your neck while your fingers move for his shirt. He nips at your throat and you fumble with the hem. And he only stops kissing you so you can slip the shirt over his head and toss it toward the floor.
You’ve seen his body before—saw it just today. But now it’s here, in your hands, in your bed, in your room. And it’s glorious. Tan, strong, firm. Covered in tattoos that make you want to drool and rippling with muscles you didn’t even know someone could have.
You want to gaze but he’s already back on your neck, sucking bruises below your ear. And then…his hand is on your thigh.
You’re tempted to freeze—to be reminded of how odd the situation—but you don’t allow yourself to succumb to the overthinking. You enjoy the feeling of his fingers moving up toward your robe. You enjoy the way they play with the tie as if teasing you. And you enjoy the warmth of his palm as he whispers, “May I?”
You nod until you get a headache. Practically flinging the robe open for him.
He’s gentle as he pulls it undone. Considerate as he pushes it back and reveals your naked body to him.
And there you are. Bare before your best friend’s boyfriend and it’s…
It’s…
Not nearly as strange as it should be.
His expression softens like your nakedness hurts him. In the best way. He groans and he stares and he parts his lips as if dying to take you in his mouth.
And who are you to deny him?
You nod again, allowing him to do whatever he might like, and he’s grateful. So very grateful for you as he guides the robe away from your body, disposes of it, and dives in.
He kisses from your shoulder to your chest. From your chest to your tits. To the valley between and down your stomach. He is practiced, he is patient, he is beautiful. And he feels like heaven.
“Harry,” you nearly whimper, eyes falling shut as you settle back onto the bed.
He squeezes your hips so you know he heard you. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just lay still for me, Kitten, okay?”
He’s telling you what to do. You listen.
He pulls your legs apart and scoots back. He wants to taste you. You can see that he wants nothing more. But he stops to look up at you. Wanting permission. Wanting to hear you say that he’s allowed and that you want it, too.
“Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, go. It’s fine.”
He rubs his thumbs along your skin to soothe you. “Can you do something for me, baby?”
Anything, anything, anything.
“Want you to grab my hair,” he tells you. “Want you to pull it, yank it, whatever. Want you to show me what feels good. Yeah?”
“Okay,” you agree breathily. “Promise.”
He grins and it’s all teeth. He returns his kisses to you. He starts at your bent knee. He goes down your inner thigh. He travels across your hip.
And finally…finally.
He’s gentle with your clit at first. A few kisses, just to prepare you. Getting a feel for your body, letting you get a feel for his mouth. For his face between your legs.
You bring a shaky hand to his hair and card your fingers through, fulfilling your vow. His hair feels good against your palm. Like butter. You gather him in your fist and tug.
His lashes flutter in response. He hums again—louder. You can feel it against your pussy and it makes your toes curl.
His hands keep you from bucking up, but he seems pleased when you try. He likes that you feel good. He likes that he gets to use his power to keep you still.
“Har…Harry,” you whimper, and he groans again. He likes the sound of his name in your mouth. “Shit—”
He slaps your hip. A warning. “Good girls don’t use bad language. Do they?”
No. You shake your head. Your heart is racing. “Please…”
He’s happy again. Moving his mouth down your cunt until he can taste the beginnings of your arousal beginning to gather. “You’re so good for me, Kitten. You know that? Being so well behaved.”
You love his praise. You always have. Winning his approval means the world, and now, in this moment, it means that much more. You want to make him happy. To please him. To do what he wants.
You yank on his curls and he seems to melt between your thighs. He moves back to your clit and sucks. Flicks you with his tongue and basks in the sound of your whiny cries.
“There you go,” he says, and it’s more to himself. “I’ve got you.”
You’re shaking. Overcome by this feeling and by the impending release. It’s really going to happen. Harry is going to make you cum, and you never thought you’d see the day.
He knows you’re close. Knows you can’t fight it and he doesn’t want you to. He steadies his technique. Goes harder, faster. Gives you everything you’re asking for. You are puddy in his hands. Clay for him to mold. You are whatever he wants you to be in this moment and you’re more than all right with that.
He brings a finger to your hole and gently slips it inside. The fullness of such a large digit makes your brain turn to mush and you whimper again as you yank on his hair. He’s pleased.
“That’s what you needed, hm?” He sinks to the knuckle and starts to pump. “Just needed my fingers, yeah?”
“Yes…yes.” He’s so good. So very good.
“I know,” he hums, and it’s almost condescending. He feels bad that you’re so easy. “Take whatever I’ll give you, won’t you?”
You will. He knows it. You know it. If all he did was look at you, you’d feel grateful to be under the warmth of his gaze.
“Tell me, Kitten,” he continues, dragging his tongue up the length of your cunt. From his finger to your clit. “Do the boys in your books do it like this?”
You don’t want to think about your books at a time like this. Not when you have him. Real and here. In your bed. Your clit in his mouth.
“Do they?” he pushes and adds a second finger. How does he expect you to speak? “Hm? Is this what you dream about? When you fuck yourself in this bed? You dream about someone tasting you? Burying their face in your sweet pussy?”
You whimper. You writhe. You cling to his curls and try not to disappear.
“Speak,” he murmurs, and slaps your inner thigh.
You whine again and pant, “Yes.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrects you, and lifts his head. He’s glistening in you. He’s beautiful. “M’not your friend here, Kitten. I’m the one making you cum. You will remember that.”
And you will. Because he is better than your books. He is considerate, and he is good, and he is making you cum before you can stop yourself.
Your back arches from the bed. Your chest caves in on itself. Your legs squeeze the sides of his head and he fucking loves it.
He releases your hips so he can grab onto your thighs and press them hard to his cheeks. He wants to suffocate in you. You want to let him.
“Harry—” you gasp. He slaps your leg. “Sir…I…”
You can’t say anything else. He knows. It’s okay. He rides you through. Takes every drop on his tongue. Swallows you down. Feeds on you. Indulges in you.
Today you are his.
And still, he’s not through. He begins again. He knows you’re sensitive and he knows it won’t be long before you give him another.
He adds a third finger and begins to thrust inside your quivering cunt. He says, “How many times do they make their girls cum?”
You glance down. “What?”
“Your books. Your fantasies. Your dirty smut that gets you off. How many times do they make the girl cum?”
You think. You can’t think. “I…I don’t know—”
“You do,” he argues and nips at your pussy. “Because I bet you wish it was more. I bet you make yourself cum for every time they do. I bet you fuck yourself while you read and pretend that it’s you.”
He’s right. You hate that he’s right. You hate that it’s so obvious.
“How many?” he repeats. “Once? Twice? Do they give up after that? Are they as good as you want them to be?”
You can’t hear him through the pounding in your ear. The second one is close. You’re shaking, trembling, dying. It’s already unraveling. You’re too far gone.
He pumps you through your second and carries right on to your third. “Shame you never called me. Shame you never read your little books and thought to ask me for help. Should’ve known I would have.”
Your cheeks are growing warm again. You’re embarrassed and sensitive to the touch.
He notices. “You thought about it, didn’t you?” he realizes aloud, and he sounds almost proud. “Thought about me when you touched yourself.”
You shake your head but it’s a lie. You both know it.
“You did,” he repeats, and he’s smirking. “Did you picture me when you read? Picture me in your dirty little taboo fantasy? D’you picture my cock? My hands? My mouth?”
You did, and you’re embarrassed, and he loves it.
“Did I make you cum?” he whispers, and slips a fourth finger inside. “Hm? Did I have you coming all over your pretty hand? All over your sheets? Or did you use a toy, baby?”
You squirm. You try to fight him, try to fight this orgasm, try to fight what he’s making you remember. But it’s useless.
“How many times did I make you cum?” he nearly purrs, and it’s over. It’s all over. You are powerless to him, and you embrace it. “How many times did you cum for me while you were reading your naughty little books—”
You don’t hear the rest. You’re unraveling for the third time before he can find his answer. But that’s more than all right because this was the answer he really wanted, anyway.
He strokes your skin as you come down. Then, he pulls his fingers out, takes them in his mouth, and swallows you. Waiting until you’ve caught your breath before he’s crawling back up your body and slipping his tongue against yours.
He kisses you, and you taste everything. Him, you, and five years of memories shared between you. Rebecca slowly starts to dissolve from the picture and now it’s just the two of you. In every flashback, every moment. Maybe it was always him and you.
You reach for his belt. You want his jeans off. You want your hands around his cock. You want to hold him, ride him, gag on him. You’re impatient and he’s amused and it feels as though time is moving far too slow.
“Easy,” he tuts, but he kisses you again. “M’gonna give you my cock, Kitten, just have to wait for me, yeah?”
You pout. He kisses it away. “Can’t wait, Sir. Need it.”
Sir makes him grin, and this seems to work in your favor. “You can’t, hm? Well, what if I wanna take my time?”
You groan and you whimper and you fling your arms around his neck to pull him close and plead with him. “Please,” you whisper, kissing along his neck, and his skin tastes divine. “Please fuck me, Sir. I need it. Might die.”
He chuckles, and the vibration of his chest makes your insides twitch. “I bet. S’been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Three years, and while you know sex isn’t necessary to survive…now that you’re here…you feel rather insatiable.
Because it’s not the fact that you haven’t had sex in three years that’s making you anxious. It’s the fact that you haven’t had sex with him. And you need to. You need him to scratch this itch that only he can scratch. And you need him to do it now.
“Are you gonna let me take care of you?” he asks, and you want to cry. He’s so good. “Can I do that, Kitten? Can I make it better?”
You nod, and you’re dizzy, and you’re dripping onto your sheets below. You feel so empty without him.
He laughs again and it’s heaven. “Good girl. Take off my jeans, okay?”
You do, and you do it well. They’re off in under thirty-five seconds and on the floor, next to your robe and his shirt. Your clothes look good together. It makes you smile.
He nods at his boxers, the only thing left between you. “Take ‘em off.”
You do. You roll the dark band down his gorgeously strong thighs and help him slip out of them before they’re joining the collection on the ground.
He’s got a large tattoo on his left leg that’s just begging to be licked and muscles in his calves that make your pussy clench.
You stare at him and you probably drool and he’s laughing again.
He slips his finger under your chin once more and lifts your head until your eyes meet. He is a meadow. Gentle and calm. “Do you want a taste, Kitten?”
More nodding, more drooling. He kneels and you scoot closer, grasping onto his thighs to brace yourself as you stare at him.
He’s hard, and big, and leaking in a way that makes your throat go dry. He is better than you wanted him to be and he is better than the books and he is real.
You dip down and you allow your lips to graze his tip. He smiles and puts a hand on your head to guide you. Comfort you. Control you in just the right way.
You extend your tongue and drag it up the side. He tastes good. More so than you expected. It’s like candy, and you lick and lick until you needily begin to take him into your mouth.
He squeezes your scalp lightly. Easy. You’re going fast and he wants to go slow. He wants you to enjoy yourself.
But you are. How could you not? He’s heavy in your mouth and you never thought you’d enjoy sucking someone’s cock as much as you do his. Maybe it’s true what they say. Maybe you really do get pleasure out of pleasing him.
You take more. As much as you can bear. Your eyes flutter shut. You’re tempted to gag but you don’t, not yet. You don’t want him to think you can’t take him. You want to be good. As good as he was for you.
He slips his fingers into your roots and tugs. “Baby,” he warns softly. “Don’t push yourself—”
You keep going. You groan around him and he curses at the feel of your throat. You go further. Until your eyes are screwing shut and your breathing becomes labored.
Suddenly, he’s yanking on you. Pulling you off as a string of saliva drips from his cock to your mouth.
“Hey,” he grunts, and he looks at you. You want to shrink. “I told you to go easy, yeah? You have nothing to prove to me, Kitten. This is not about doing something you think I need you to do. I want you to do it because you want to do it. It’s not a competition. I’m not gonna be disappointed if you can’t take much of me.”
You frown. “I know, but…I want to. I really do want to. I just…you’re big, Ha—Sir. You’re so big.”
You’re feeding his ego (but you’re also telling the truth) and he exhales a soft laugh. “I know,” he repeats. “But forcing yourself will only hurt. Besides, this is about you, yeah?”
Your expression falls. Another reminder that he’s only here as a service. To get you off and then get out. He won’t be spending the night, and he won’t be calling you tomorrow to set up the next time, and he won’t be promising that he’ll train your throat open to take his cock.
You nod. You concede. Bring your hands to your lap and pull yourself away.
Now he’s frowning. He smooths his palm down the back of your neck and tugs you to him. He looks at you and he’s looking for what you’re really thinking. Something shifted. He wants to know what. Why.
“This is about you,” he says again, and you wish he’d stop. “Believe me, I’d be happy to have you gag on me, but that’s not what we’re doing tonight, okay? Not tonight.”
And it’s not a promise of next time. You know that. But not tonight implies something more open-ended than before and you finally smile. “Okay.”
He sweeps his thumb along your throat. “Can I fuck you now, baby?”
“God, yes,” you breathe, and nearly drag him on top of you.
He smiles again and you feel whole. The dance continues. He kisses you and situates himself between your thighs, and you are so very ready.
“Shit, wait, hold on,” he says, and you almost burst into tears. “I need to grab the condoms—”
“No,” you nearly shout, and his brow raises. “No, I…we’re both clean. And I’m on the pill. Why…why don’t we just…not? Maybe?”
It’s selfish, you know it’s selfish. But you want to feel him. You don’t want something keeping him from you and you want to know that he actually fucked you.
You like condoms. You prefer condoms. But not now. Not with him. You have to know he really did this. You need to feel him in your pussy for years to come.
He looks at you. “You’re on the pill?” He doesn’t answer your question.
“Yeah. I take ‘em for cramps and regulation and stuff.” You wince. Talking about cramps is not sexy. “The point is…if you want…I mean, I want, but if you want…?”
He thinks about this. Brushes your hip with his thumb. Thinks. “I don’t mind, but only if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” you exhale. “God, I’m sure. Honestly. As long as you are. And…and Rebecca. I don’t know if you guys have a rule…or anything.”
You wince again. You don’t want to bring up Rebecca, either. But you know you have to. You know she’s your friend, and she’s Harry’s partner, and this has to be asked. It has to be considered.
So, he considers it. “Most of the time we have a rule, yeah. For safety and peace of mind. But that’s when it’s other people. She doesn’t mind if we do or don’t. She said it’s up to me.”
“You talked about it?”
“Yeah.” Of course they did. Honesty. “When I was grabbing the condoms. I asked if you had a preference, she said she didn’t think so. Said we could just go without if we wanted. As long as I got tested after.”
“Right.” You almost feel weird knowing they talked about you. But what did you expect? “And…do you want to?”
Another beat. He looks at you. Really looks at you. “I want to fuck you. I want to feel you. I think we’ve taken all of the right steps and I feel comfortable going without. As long as you do.”
“I do,” you assure him again. “I really, really do.”
He smiles. “Good.” He drags his tip down your cunt, gathering your arousal. “Then I wanna start like this. Wanna see your face. Make sure you’re doing all right.”
You nod quickly.
“And I wanna see you when you cum on my cock for the first time,” he whispers huskily before steadying himself above you.
You are giddy. He is everything. He is so much better than your books and he is lining himself up with you and he is big, and ready, and beautiful.
He kisses you again. “Deep breath, okay? Try to relax. Don’t want to hurt you.”
You do breathe. You do try to relax. You let your mind wander to a world where he does this to you every night. Where your pussy happily accepts him and knows him and molds to him.
He pushes in. You reel.
Still, he is good, and gentle, and kind. He kisses you more. He distracts you, even though he doesn’t need to. You pretend that he’s imagining a world with you, too.
He sinks in further, and life is perfect. Your nails claw at his back—at the many muscles that tense beneath your touch. Your leg hooks to his hip, your heel against his ass. You draw him in. You plead with him for more. You say his name, you moan, you shiver.
“Shh,” he coos, and he wraps his hand around your throat. He remembers what you like, and he squeezes gently. “Let me do this, don’t rush me.”
You whimper, “Sir,” and he kisses you again. You are addicted to his tongue.
He finally buries himself all the way, hips against yours, chests flush together. He’s heavy and he’s warm. Like a weighted blanket and you feel so safe. You’ve missed the feeling of another body on top of you. Of that connection and intimacy. That protection. It’s even better when it’s him.
You cling to him and ask every star in the sky not to take him from you. “Please move, Sir.”
He draws back. He begins to fuck you, and he’s so big. He stretches you, claims you. Owns you, truly. He sucks your tit into his mouth and you melt between his lips. He nips, and pulls, and groans. And you hate everyone he’s ever been with before. You wish you were his only.
He starts going faster. But not too fast. He wants to make you anxious for it. He wants you to beg. Wants you to unravel yourself from need alone. And you’re so close to doing just that.
“Good girl,” he praises, and your heart cracks down the middle. “Taking me so well. Is this what you needed, Kitten? Needed someone to fuck this tight little pussy until you felt better?”
You nod and you whimper again. He’s fucking you back to life. What happens when he leaves?
You shake the thought free and focus on now. His body feels good against yours. His teeth are perfect on your throat. His curls are soft and his skin is tan and his cock is fucking magic.
He’s relentless. Thick. Splitting you open and drawing you in. Your tits bounce from the thrusts and your back arches from the bed and his face is delicious.
He’s watching you closely, just like he said. He’s studying your reactions, your noises, your gasps for air and mercy. He wants to know he’s giving you what you wanted. He wants to know he’s doing it right.
And of course he is. He has to know that. He has to assume he’s better than the average man. You wonder if he learned this from Rebecca or someone else. You wonder what would happen if you were his. Could you be okay with him sleeping with other people? Could you accept that he still wants you?
You close your eyes and scrunch your nose. You’re doing it again. You’re letting yourself imagine a world you can’t have. You aren’t being present; you aren’t enjoying what you’re being given now.
Suddenly, his hand is back on your throat. He’s squeezing, but pointedly. Asking for your attention.
“Hey,” he murmurs, just as stern as before. You look up. “What is this? What is this face for, what’s wrong?”
You blink and then realize your expression is still bunched. You relax. “Nothing, sorry.”
“Hey.” Firm. Unrelenting. He stops thrusting and you want to die. “Baby, you can’t do that. I told you I need communication, I need honesty. If I’m hurting you, you have to tell me—”
“No,” you insist quickly. You take hold of his shoulders and then his hips as though to get him to continue. “No, that’s not it. I promise. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t move. “Then what was the face for? What’s wrong?”
You huff. Sigh. Squeeze his waist. “Nothing, I promise. I was just…thinking about something I shouldn’t. And I wanted to stop.”
“Stop fucking? Or stop thinking?”
“Thinking. I wanted to be here. With you.”
He relaxes now and you feel his cock twitch. “Kitten, I want you here with me, too. If you’re not, we can stop for a while—”
“No,” you groan. You feel like a child about to throw a temper tantrum. “No, I swear. I am here. I am. And if you stop, then I won’t be, and it might kill me.”
He sighs now. It’s heavy. “Nobody else exists outside of this room except you and me, yeah? Just us.”
You melt. “Yeah…”
He kisses you. “I want you here with me, baby,” he exhales, and it’s like he’s breathing the sentiment into your lungs. “I need you here. With me. On my cock. Don’t want you to think about anybody else. It’s just us.”
You nod again, and you claw at him, and you beg him to keep going. He does. It fixes everything.
When your fourth hits you, you see the stars. Even if they aren’t in your favor, they are bright, and warm, and they carry you through to the other side.
And once you’ve caught your breath, Harry pulls out.
You’re tempted to wither, to cry, to beg him to stay but he’s already flipping you around onto your stomach and driving himself back in.
Now you understand. And you’re ecstatic. He’s rough. Pulling your hair, forcing your cheek to the bed, slapping his palm against your ass.
“Give me another,” he demands, and he sounds angry, but he’s not. He’s ready. “Just like you would for your little book boys. You fucking cum for me, right now. Let me feel you. Let me cum with you.”
He slams into you and it’s so full. You could cum for a lifetime and still never feel finished.
He spanks you again. Grips your hair. Forces your nose into the duvet until it’s hard to breathe. It’s rough. Deep. And still…he’s caring for you. You know he’s making sure he isn’t pushing too far. Just enough. You love it.
“What a sweet little pussy,” he seethes, but it’s thick with lust. “Can’t believe you’ve fucking kept this from me for five years. All this time and you were right here.”
You’re glad he can’t see you now. He might be afraid of how happy that sentence makes you.
“S’all I’m gonna think about,” he says. “Tasting you. Fucking you. Feeling you. Gonna dream of this pretty pussy every goddamn night.”
You moan. You hope he does. Hope he dreams of it when he’s lying next to her.
No. You scrunch your nose. You reject it. You ignore it.
He spanks you. Kneads your ass in his hand, then spanks you again. “Gotta promise me something, Kitten. Yeah? Gotta promise me that you’re gonna think of me, too.”
And you are. Of course you are. You always do. “Yes…yes, Sir. I promise.”
Another slap and squeeze to your scalp. “Good fucking girl. Now cum. Fucking cum for me, baby.”
You want to. But not before he does. You need to feel him, too, and you hold off as best you can until you feel him twitch.
“Kitten,” he says, and you’re ready. “Want you to make me another promise, yeah? Want you to take my cum…and keep it. Keep it in your little pussy, even after I leave. Okay?”
You nod quickly. You will. Of course you will. God, how could he think you wouldn’t?
Your promise tips him over, and he cums, and he’s loud, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
You wish you could see him. It’s so cruel that you can’t, and you try to glance back to catch even a glimpse. You see his brows scrunch together, see his mouth drop open, see his cheeks flush from the force.
And seeing him tips you over. You cum together, a mess of moans, and pants, and nicknames. Sweaty bodies connecting as he collapses on top of you, further burying you into the mattress. And it’s so hot and you can’t breathe, but you have never felt more alive. This moment is infinite. He is infinite, and you are infinite with him.
“Shit,” he says, and you have to agree. “You’re so good, baby. So fucking good. Can’t believe you’ve kept that from me.”
It’s the second time he’s said it. You wonder if he realizes. “I didn’t do anything, this was all you.”
He snorts. “Kitten, I had nothing to do with how fucking good that was. Believe me. You…are fucking perfect. Every cute little flutter of your cunt. Your tits. Those big eyes…”
The room falls silent. You imagine he wants to turn you around and see you, but he doesn’t. He’s keeping himself inside you for as long as he can.
“Thank you,” you whisper, and the sentiment doesn’t feel strong enough. “For…for doing that, I mean. And…for not making it weird. I know I was probably kind of…rusty and nervous, and I just—”
“No.” He shakes his head. Squeezes your hip. Kisses your bare back until you fall silent. “You are perfect. Okay? That was perfect. I really, really enjoyed it.”
You smile. You are happy and miserable all in the same moment. “Me, too.”
You want to ask if you’ll be doing it again. You want to pretend that he’s not gonna leave you and go back to her. That he’s not Rebecca’s Harry or Just Harry.
That he’s Your Harry.
But all good things must come to an end. He will leave. And you will let him.
“Now what?” you dare to ask.
A small beat. “We don’t have to talk about it after I leave…if that’s what you still want,” he says next, and your chest feels heavy. “I just want to make sure you’re all right before I do. That you pee, and you drink your water, and you take it easy. I know I went kind of hard on you.”
“But it was good,” you tell him, and you grin at the memory. It feels so far away. “Really good. Everything I wanted.”
“Yeah?” He kisses you more. The space between your shoulders. Your neck. Your cheek. “Any notes?”
You laugh. “No notes. God, no. You’re like a sex god.”
“Better than your books?”
“So much fucking better.”
“Hm.” More kisses. “Don’t tell me that. I’ll get a big head.”
“You already have one,” you attempt to tease, and he laughs, too. “Both of them.”
The room fills with giggles until you both fall silent again. He doesn’t leave. You don’t make him.
“Do we…tell Rebecca?” you ask. “Like…the details and things?”
“Only if you want to.” He stops kissing you now but rests his cheek on your head. “She doesn’t expect us to, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
You nod. You like Rebecca. You can’t imagine you’d be so relaxed if you were in her position. “And this…works for you guys? The open relationship?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. Nods. “We have a lot of love and trust and I think that’s why. It’s what we both want.”
You resist the urge to scrunch your nose. You’re happy for him. For both of them, you are. This really is what’s best and you’re so glad they have each other. And you’re glad that they’re both willing to explore it with you and still keep you in their lives.
“Is it just sex?” you ask next, despite your better judgment. “Or…like, what if you wanted to date someone else? Or is that not what it means?”
“We can date around if we want. We haven’t in a while, just because we can’t seem to find people we like enough to keep around.” He smirks. “But we could. It’s not as rigid as it sounds.”
He finally pulls out and you want to cry. You feel cold and empty.
However, he’s quick to scoop the dribbling cum from your pussy and push it back in. Just for a little while longer.
You close your legs and smile. “I don’t think it’s rigid as long as it’s what you want.”
He smiles back. “It is.”
You shift now. You feel nervous again. “So…then, I guess by the rules and things…it wouldn’t be…totally weird to see if you wanted to do it again? Not that we have to—we could, I mean. Or not, if you don’t want. Or maybe I should ask her. Or you can. Or…actually, it’s dumb, never mind. I don’t know why I thought—”
He grabs your chin. Presses his thumb to your lips to quiet you. “Kitten, breathe.”
You do.
“We can do it again,” he says, and you have never felt so happy. You feel as though you were just set on fire. Your skin is tingling, and your insides are twisting, and your pussy is clenching. “We don’t have to ask permission. We’re adults. We can do whatever we’d like. That’s the point of an open relationship.”
You nod. You want to kiss him. “Okay. Are you…I mean, do you want to? We don’t have to just because I do, honestly. I just…we both liked it, so I thought maybe we’d want to. Unless it wasn’t really that good for you, which I would understand—”
“Kitten.”
You stop. You breathe.
He chuckles. “I would love to fuck you again. And again. And again. As many times as you’ll let me.”
You’re practically shaking. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He grins. He can tell how giddy you are. “What are you doing next Friday?”
“I am doing whatever you want me to.”
The expression that splits his face is like sunshine. He loves this answer, and he loves your pussy, and perhaps one day…he’ll love you, too.
“Good fucking girl,” he breathes, and surges forward to kiss you.
Rewatching peaky blinders, Tommy Shelby just does things to me I can’t event focus on the plot that’s how handsome and mesmerizing that man is, I mean Cillian Murphy c’mon prettiest baby girl alive I swear those icy piercing blue eyes oh my god
I’m 20 years old and I can’t have a normal conversation with my father without crying
Can someone fucking tell me why I can’t fucking have a normal fucking conversation with my fucking father without fucking crying at 20 fucking years old? Fuck
Rough needy sex with Eddie when you both just need it now.
Eddie pushing you over the kitchen counter and fucking you from behind, hands clutching your hips and leaving behind bruises.
You pushing Eddie down on the couch and taking what you need from him until he flips you over and you scratch up his back accidentally.
Eddie pushing you against the bathroom door after a Corroded Coffin concert, getting down on his knees to eat you out sloppily and biting your thighs, before fucking you against the sinks.
You pushing Eddie into the back of the van to go down on him, letting him fuck your throat before you bounce on his cock and choke him.
I have (had I guess cuz she called me a terrorist and said her and her family don’t want anything to do with me anymore) an Israeli friend and this is exactly how she acts towards the genocide of Palestinian people. It has been so hard trying to have a civil conversation with her because of this.
